Page 198 of A Courage of the Chosen

“I’ll make sure to take care of her for you,” I growl, ready to be done with this.

Callahan’s gaze finds mine, wild and frenzied at first, and then his eyes go distant for all of a second before his focus zeros in on me.

He smiles . . . and laughs hysterically.

Snarling, I lower my face inches from his. “We’ll see who’s laughing.”

I press the blade down, cutting deeper into Callahan’s throat, and he cackles harder. As I’m about to command my darkness to disintegrate his armor and expose his chest to me . . . I feel it.

Dark threads, that have lain empty and hollow for days, bounce to life. Where my paw rests on the ground, the footsteps of thousands ricochet through my muscles. The fighting pauses, as a cacophony of howls, wings, and wet hooves echo from the forest.

Rising to my full height, the view across the battlefield is uninterrupted as a dark blur explodes from the treeline and sweeps over the nearest Brollachan.

Shaggy fur as black as midnight, and yellow eyes holding a clarity and focus not naturally possessed by wild animals. More Wulver than I thought existed pound forward, with strength that matches my own armies. Hundreds and hundreds of the wolf-like creatures descend.

Teeth meet teeth, snarls meet snarls.

Brollachan aren’t easily killed, but against the Wulver in numbers like this, the fight is equal.

My heart skips with what comes next.

A ten-foot-high wave from the river not far from here washes through the thicket, and contained within are countless pairs of mist-clouded eyes. As they reach the fighting lines, they separate into a stampede, made of thousands of angry Colpach, Elfayne’s water spirits, that engulf Brollachan in globes of water that suffocate and drown.

The wildlife come next, animals big and small, using what weapons they have to attack. Birds, foxes, raccoons, wolves, rabbits. All of the forest coming together, emboldened by whatever power drives them.

The air turns chill as Spreits materialize between the trunks, summoned down from their homes along the highest mountain passes. Their sunken skin strains even tighter over their mouths, as they drop open and unleash a collective shriek that threatens to tear my eardrums. They dart forward, pale, skeletal fingers lacerating through Brollachan while they remain impenetrable.

Skelf—the giant spiders that possess grotesque mouths full of razor-like teeth, and jaws that open in all directions—skittle through the undergrowth. They consume my soldiers entirely, spitting out their bones.

The Nathair, with enough venom to wipe out entire units in their twelve-feet-long bodies, send Seelie running from their path. The gargantuan, purple snakes weave through the chaos, downing my soldiers as they go. Scorpions the size of hounds, with pincers that cleave off limbs, follow closely behind.

The Brollachan fight, they fight fearlessly, but they falter against creatures long forgotten by this world, that annihilate everything in their path, commanded by something unseen.

Or someone.

At their heart, emerging from the chaos, astride the horse she claimed as hers the moment she arrived, my queen is a vision.

Elsie’s sword points directly at me, blade alive with light . . . and darkness.

She doesn’t hide who she is. Crowned and magnificent, as wave after wave of creature plow onward and obliterate my forces. A man slides off the back of her horse. Her grandfather. He follows the swarm they brought with them into battle.

Màiri’s Anamara. His war-cry can be heard for miles as he wields mist with devastating precision. He downs the five Brollachan that attempt to attack him, using a swipe of his sword that he extends with magic, so it’s more like a scythe of Aotrom power. The water spirits encase them once he’s through, cutting off their oxygen supply until a Wulver dives through the water spheres to finish them off.

Elsie charges forward, her short sword singing to the pendant hanging around my neck as it arcs and soars.

Where she rides, my units fall by the tens. Harpoons of light and dark shoot out from her in all directions, skewering Dorche after Dorche, and leaving piles of bone and dust in her wake.

Home. Let me home.

The Craobh Beatha wants to be with her as much as I do, begging me to return it to her.

Seelie cry out when they see their queen, rallying behind their ruler as her enforcements start to shift the tide of this war.

Explosions boom at the top of the hill, as a few units of the royal army move from between my catapults until they’re nothing but piles of wood, and then charge to join the fight.

Reyne and Eòghann are at the forefront as more Brollachan succumb. The red-headed daughter of the general uses all that she knows to lead the few units in a charge that fucking decimates a line of Brollachan. They might not be capable of killing them, but under her command, and with Eòghann right behind her, they render my soldiers more than useless with the way they chop and disembowel.

I peer around, and my once-regimented army is now scattered, and surrounded on all sides as they’re pushed into a desperate circle.