He could see Aren and Ty move into place behind her. He didn’t betray them by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. He kept his gaze locked on the witch. Daris would give the signal when they were ready. He just needed to keep her distracted for a few moments longer.
“You have no authority over me, witch hunter.” Her voice was from the grave, oddly echoing as if her body was hollowed out. “This is my town now. Every corner of it. Every soul. You think to trap me here?Me?”
She waved a hand and he heard a shout from the rooftop. He glanced in that direction and saw Kenet waving at the flock of crows attacking his position. Another shout came from behind him, but he didn’t dare turn around.
Shit.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I have every authority over you, Emela. The authority granted to me by king and Church. This can only end one way.”
“Yes.” Her hiss of agreement ended with a shout as she flung up her hands.
The skies darkened. At first Casrian thought it was a trick of the light until he lifted his gaze and saw that the flock of circling birds had grown in number.
Their crossbows were useless now. There were too many birds. It took too much time to reload.
His mind froze as the birds struck his men on the roof. Their screams were an odd counterpoint to the witch’s laughter. And then all sound was drowned out by the deafening rush of wings as the birds fell upon him as well.
He aimed his crossbow at the witch’s head. Before he could fire, the witch pointed at him. With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she sent him flying against an overturned cart that lay in the square. His shoulder cracked against the wheel, and his breath rushed out in a whoosh.
He rolled and scurried beneath the cart, away from the swarming birds and the witch’s sight. A witch needed to be in direct visual contact with their target in order to cast an unanchored spell.
He thrust his arm out from under the cart to grab his crossbow and quickly checked it for damage before crawling to the other side. He swiped the dirt from his eyes and peered out from behind the cracked front wheel.
The witch was gone.
His gaze swept from one end of the square to the other. Where the hell?—?
A heavy thump sounded from above him and the unstable cart shifted. With a smothered curse, Casrian pulled back his hand before it was crushed. Hollow footsteps sounded abovehim, and he rolled onto his back. He was tempted to fire through the floorboards, but that would be a waste of ammunition. He couldn’t take the chance that he’d miss.
Only one bolt left.
He held his breath as the witch moved from one end of the cart to the other. There was a sudden lurch. A gap of silence and then a heavy thud as the witch landed only an arm’s length away.
Her bare feet were covered in black dirt and ashes, her nails worn and cracked. There was a gash on her left ankle that looked as if it went right down to the bone. Her skin gaped open when she took a step forward, but there was no blood.
He swallowed and slowly, silently, repositioned to take aim.
One shot. It wouldn’t be a death wound. Only the area below her waist was within view, but the bolt was tipped with iron. It would slow her down.
He squeezed the trigger. The recoil, given the tight space and awkward position, nearly dislocated his shoulder, but he didn’t have time to recover. Scrambling out from beneath the cart, he drew his sword, a cavalry weapon, short and slightly curved, dipped in holy water and etched with the symbols of the Church.
The witch was on her back, writhing, an unpleasant hissing noise coming from her throat. No, that wasn’t the witch. She’d summoned more of the damned birds. She wasn’t hissing. The buzz was the locust hum of their flapping wings.
Before they reached him, he fell on her with his sword, going for her neck first. Her flesh sizzled as soon as the blessed steel made contact. He went about it as a workman, hacking and sawing at her until she stopped moving. He avoided looking at her face, flinched whenever a blow revealed a suggestion of humanity. A breast. A shoulder. The pale curve of a thigh. He’d block the images from his memory. He would not carry them with him. The witch was evil. He was fighting evil, no matter what form it took.
“Casrian.” A hand fell on his shoulder and he spun, raising his arm even as Daris jerked away from him, raising his own blade in defense.
“Cas, it’s done,” Daris said, lowering his weapon. “Don’t you feel it? She’s gone. Truly gone.”
Casrian took a deep breath and looked first at the corpse—unmoving, unrecognizable—and then he looked around him at the destroyed town. The birds had fled. The oppressive gloom was gone with them. A faint breeze touched his skin, making him flinch, but the air smelled clear, normal.
“It’s done.”
Thank the good Lord.
Daris’s face split in a relieved smile. “A clean kill your first time out as captain. You’ll be a legend.” He clapped Casrian’s shoulder. “Come. Let’s burn the body. The sun fades fast this time of year. We don’t want to be out here past dark.”
No, they didn’t. He looked helplessly down at the gore clinging to his blade. There was nothing to clean it. It would have to wait. Better to purify it completely. Pass it through fire. Wash the rest in swift running water. Treat it with the blessed oil he’d purchased from the Church for that purpose.
