Wilde's Army (24 page)

“Kate, that was not Ogilvie. That is not a person at all.”
Arland directs his thoughts into my mind, but while I’m aware what’s on the ground isn’t Ogilvie, the resemblance is too similar.

The shifter lurches forward, bands cracking with energy. Mirain rears, kicking her hooves at him on her way down. Shaking my shock, I jump from her back then rush toward Marcus, but he’s stuck to the bands of the shifter’s body.

Dark, red blood drips from Marcus’s arm, and wild screams escape his mouth. Matching high-pitched cries come from a tiny voice buried in the crowd. Without looking, I know it’s Anna crying for her brother. I cannot face her; the shame I feel for this, the guilt—I should have known to check Ogilvie when he returned from scouting the path.

Protect him
.

The shifter darts back up the hill, dragging Marcus behind.

I rush forward, but Arland grabs my forearm, preventing me from running after the daemon.

Marcus’s feet drag through the dirt and leaves; he screams and claws at the shifter but is not strong enough to escape.

“This is not your fault, Katriona. Now, send the magic after him,” Arland says, pitch flat … empty.

With every fiber of my being, with every ounce of love I can muster, I close my eyes, clench my fists, keep my feet rooted firmly to the ground then force the magic out of me. Instead of shaking from fear, fury rocks my body. Around my feet, sprites crack open the earth; explosions of flames burst from the ground.

The winged creatures fly in front of my face. Pebbles, leaves, water, sticks … life itself thrives in the forest, electrifies the air, makes
me
powerful.

“Kill the shifter,” I command the magic with a deep, resonating voice. The strength it possesses takes me by surprise, but the sprites respond without hesitation and fly away from the river, forming a straight line, swirling in, out and around the trees. I hold my breath. Hold my hope. My sanity hangs on them finding the boy.

“K-Kate,” Anna cries, breaking into my concentration.

Shay and Keagan hold Marcus’s sister back, but I kneel then open my arms for her. She sprints to me and almost knocks me over with the force of her hug.

“You have to s-save him.” She buries her face in her hands and loses herself to sobs.

“We will, Anna. We will.”

Arland pats my shoulder. “Katriona, you need to stand up.
Now
.”

Pain pricks from my heart and spreads to my fingers as fast as fire does. Holding Anna to me in a giant bear hug, I stand, but am not prepared for what I see. Hundreds of daemons encircle us. Hounds, coscarthas, shifters and tairbs. All of them inch closer; all of them carry a different terrifying death threat.

Soldiers pull weapons from their holsters, notch arrows, or create fire in their palms. Preparing for a battle they are all too tired to fight, they form a barrier in front of the youngest children.

Flanna lights her arrow with a flame from her hand then looks to me. “What should we do?”

Griandor, help us. Help me.Give me the strength to fight for these people. Give me the strength to get through this
.

Arland takes my right hand in his. “
You already have the strength, Katriona Wilde. Command your army. They wait for your instructions
.”

His thoughts fuel my anger, the rage I have for Dughbal’s indifference toward life. Flames spread from Arland and me to Anna.

She leans back, and her gaze bores deeply into my eyes; there is no emotion on her face, no fear, no pain, no sadness, just a blank expression.

“Kill them, Kate.” The power of the old magic flows through her, fills her with strength, with anger, and with the will to fight.

Anna glances at the daemons that advance too close to our people, too close to battle. Flanna waits for an answer … everyone waits for an answer. I open my mouth, feed the fire into my words, feed the hatred into the sprites swirling around the forest. “Kill them. Release your arrows into them, strike them with your swords, cut them open with your knives. Whatever it takes, burn these daemons. Send them back where they came from.”

Arrows zip through the air from my left and right, streams of blue light trailing behind. Some daemons fall and burn under the power of the fire, but others move forward at an alarming pace.

I set my sights on the tairbs first—the fastest—focusing my hostility on them. “Steal back what they have taken. Return the magic to this land. Feed the power to the soldiers.”

Sprites create a circle around us, spinning faster and faster until all I see is a flowing band of white light. The daemons stop and stare at the ring of magic, and after exchanging glances with one another and giving what appears to be a moment of consideration, continue forward.

“Now,” I shout.

More arrows fly from the soldiers’ bows, bouncing off the bristly fur of the hounds, but piercing through the gray, mangled skin of the coscarthas. The tairb’s eyes flash red and angry; their hooves propel them forward. Within an inch of the ring of sprites, all the evil beings stop again.

“Kill them,” I repeat.

Sprites break from the protective ring and dart into the tairbs, knocking them back then consuming their bodies with flames. Cracks and screams fill the night. Smoke rises from the forest floor.

A familiar and bone chilling hiss rustles the air behind us, blowing leaves by our feet.

Serpents
.

“Anna, you have to get down. I will protect you, but you must go stand with the others. Arland and I have to fight, and we need both our hands. Do you understand?”

Her body shakes, and her wails break my resolve. She grips me tighter. The weight of her ten-year-old body pulls hard on my muscles.

“Please, do not make me go. I will help you fight. Please?”

Arland releases my hand, peels Anna’s fingers from my back, then transfers her to her feet. Kneeling, he takes her by the shoulders; his hard face softens and he meets her eyes with a look of utter sweetness and sincerity. “Anna, I know you are afraid, but we have to fight. You must go.”

Perth runs over to us, dodging a misfired arrow with a quick roll on the ground along the way. “I will take her to the others.”

With an empty quiver and sword covered in blood, he comes to rescue a child?

She watches his hand as he reaches for her, then screams and grasps for me. Tears streak through her cherub-like cheeks. “Please, save him.”

Her painful plea for her brother cuts me in two. “I will.”

“Go. Now. I will cover you,” Arland says, returning to his feet.

Perth yanks Anna’s hand and rushes her to the others. She disappears inside their protective circle.

“She will be okay, Kate, but you should not have told her we would save Marcus. I fear it may already be too—”

Hissss
. The serpent’s breath kicks up the wind, carrying with it the pungent smell of death.

Daemons move in closer. Mirain and Bowen are the only calm amongst all this madness. They stand side-by-side in the path. Nothing attacks them; nothing even pays them any attention.

Arland takes my hand and follows my gaze. “The magic protects them. Look.” He points at Mirain. “Her coat is glowing whiter than ever; the light surrounds Bowen and Euraid. They are safe. Maybe that is how they made it here without being attacked.”

“So they would have been safe … .”

“I was wrong again, and I am sorry.”

A quick check of his facial expression reveals a split second of pain in his eyes. “Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known Ogi—”

Arland pushes me to the ground, draws his sword, then stabs it into a coscartha. The leathered-looking beast lands next to me with a thud, his hollow eyes widen, his hot breath rank and sickening. Black seeps from his mouth full of rows and rows of pointy teeth.

Pain radiates through my jaw; a tickling of metallic liquid flows onto my tongue. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I smear my shirt with bright red blood.

“There was no time to warn you.” Arland offers me his hand. “Are you okay?”

Fighting the urge to vomit, I take his hand and stand. I wipe more blood from my chin from its unhappy meeting with a rock, then nod. “I am fine.”

Hiss
.

My hair blows back. My face moistens. I cannot see the serpent, but he is close.

I remember the snake in the caves and how difficult it was to kill him, how much magic it took to cut through his body.
Illuminate that which seeks to destroy us
, I pray, focusing everything I have over my heart.

Sprites rise from the ground and the water, descend from the sky and the tops of trees. Power and magic flow all around and through me, surrounding the group of soldiers, my mom and Brit—more than I’ve ever conjured before, more than I can handle by myself. I should feel weak by now, should feel the energy drain from my soul, but I don’t. Someone is helping me. Someone besides Arland, Flanna, and Cadman. There must be.

Light brightens the black forest like the sun at noon, revealing two serpents standing at least forty feet tall with long fangs dripping with poison and at least another hundred daemons standing in the shadows to our left. They were probably waiting until we thought we’d won, waiting to move in and kill us when our guard was down, but their game has been exposed. I meet eyes with each one, hoping my stare is defiant and fearless, then draw my sword and call to the magic again.

The daemons from the shadows rush forward, tearing through the trees and underbrush, rumbling the ground with their stampede. Turning to our left, we have just enough time to raise our swords.

“We need to split up,” Arland says.

“Stay close.” I step into the sea of approaching monsters. Alone.

Arland and I stab and slash our way through daemon after daemon. Coscarthas attack first, shrieking and clawing. Three surround me, staring; I release a guttural scream as I use every muscle in my body to strike through the heart of one. Spinning around, I slice the neck of another, then the decaying face of another until they are all dead and burning.

A hound lunges from behind a tree, teeth bared, black fur raised on its haunches. He lands in front of me and takes three steps forward. White foam drips from his mouth. I meet his yellow eyes and see the reflection of the towering serpents behind me. They lower their bodies and circle the soldiers.

We are outnumbered
.

Growling, the hound paces in front of me. Four more spring from the bushes to join him. I turn around, watch for any indication of an attack as they walk a perimeter, encompassing me. Their muscles twitch, their teeth shine from the light of magic. Sounds of swords stabbing into hard skin and bones, of arrows zipping through the air, of magic humming as it protects the soldiers—of war—fill my ears. The smallest of the hounds jumps at me, grazing my arm with its claws as he flies past.

Blood trickles toward my hand. Stinging rushes to my shoulder.

The black beast returns to his feet. The others sniff the air. As if intoxicated by the smell of my blood, they inch closer, growls rumbling louder, and lunge at me at the same time.

I’m frozen. Powerless. Going to die.

“Bhrú,” Arland shouts, sending a wave of blue flames from his chest into two of the hounds, but the other two land on me, knocking my sword from my hands.

My defense lies in a pile of leaves too far away for me to grab. All I have is my magic, but the pain searing in my arms and chest makes it impossible to move. Impossible to breathe.

“Kate, you have to get up,” Arland yells from the middle of a fight with a tairb, coscartha, and hound.

There is no time to think; the mutts have already bitten me. I don’t know if I’ll die because of the wounds. But it doesn’t matter what their bites will do to me, I cannot sit here and wait for more.

“Get off me.” Pushing through the protest in my arms, I thrust each of my palms into the hound’s chests.

The daemons burst into flames and whimper as death consumes them.

Jumping to my feet, I grab my sword. Pain and anger swell within me. I fight through the emotions and the horrible throbbing in my arms to evaluate our situation, but my breaths come quick. My vision is unfocused. My heart beats rapidly.

“Kate.” Arland’s voice is urgent but distant.

I bend over, stare at the ground. Blood drains from my arms, creating pools of red around my feet. My skin is cold, but sweaty—numb, yet full of stabbing sensations. The sword falls from my hand, splashing in the blood.

Sprites swarm around me, rush over my skin, seal the wounds created by the hounds, but the energy of the gods is not enough.

I’m dying.

I try to lift my head to look at Arland—to be loved by his eyes one more time—but I’m paralyzed.

Blood curdling screams of panic and anguish rise behind me. Magic is failing us. I am failing us.

I have no control.

A hand, warm, small and familiar rests on my back. Running along my spine, the touch of my mother sends chills over my skin.

“Katriona Wilde, you will not die. You must fight this. Fight the venom inside you. Use the magic. Call to the gods. This is who you are born to be. This will not be your last fight.”

“I can’t.” Talking is too painful. Must. Stop.

“You can. Now call to the magic. Use what the gods have given you. Be the strong woman I know you to be.”

My stomach knots and squeezes. Tears stream down my face. “I … I’m dying, Mo … Mom.”

“Call to the magic, Kate. Let it flow through you. That is all I need.”

My heart speeds to the point of one constant beat. I fall to my knees. “Arland … .”
My love
. With one last thump, my heart stops.