Ashk glanced to her right and saw the V of the other Wild Hunt—and saw several men fall before an arrow could touch them. Good. Morphia had joined the hunt. Yesterday, the Sleep Sister had worked with the healers to ease the suffering of the wounded. Today, she would use her gift to put some of the enemy to sleep, making it easier for the huntsmen to deal with the others.

The human companies poured down from the center of the rise, keeping the Hunt from being surrounded as it continued toward the stones.

Then an arrow struck her horse in the chest. It was more luck than skill that she managed to land on her feet when she threw herself out of the saddle.

“Hunter!” One of the huntsmen slowed, reached out a hand for her.

“Go on!” she yelled.

They flowed around her, giving her a breathing space. She reached back—and touched her last arrow. Unbuckling the harness, she dropped bow and quiver beside her dead horse, then crouched, waiting for the last of the huntsmen to pass by her.

When she could see again, she cursed viciously to herself. Mother’s tits, Liam! Don’t you ever listen?

He was in the field, fighting with a short sword now, out-matched by the guard captain, who had a longer sword and the benefit of training. Liam took a wrong step, lost his footing. As he went down, the guard captain raised his sword for a killing blow—and was struck by an arrow in the throat.

Well done, Varden, Ashk thought as she looked back toward the rise. But it wasn’t Varden nocking another arrow, it was Breanna taking aim at the next man who came near her brother while a hawk, a vixen, and a whoo-it owl did their best to protect her back.

She understood Falco going into the field with Breanna, but she was going to have a talk with the Bard and the Muse when this was over. What did they think a fox and a whoo-it owl could do in the middle of a battle? The two of them had more courage—or more compassion—than sense.

She half rose from her crouch, then froze at the sight of more companies of men running out of the trees at the far end of the field. She glanced back at the rise, but there were no more fresh companies of men coming over the top to join the battle, no more Fae. Mother’s mercy, how many more men did the Witch’s Hammer have?

Then she realized they weren’t running to join the battle. They were fleeing.

She couldn’t move, could barely breathe when she saw the dark horse burst out of the trees, saw those men fall in waves as the horse and rider caught up to them, cut through them.

The Gatherer had come.

“Liam!” Breanna screamed.