He found himself recalling Benny Youngs, the man who'd taunted him and his unit with that duck leg. (Went for a piss in the woods and got himself killed. Genitals ripped clean off, and they're telling me it was an animal attack?) He scratched the back of his head. (What kind of beast eats that? Hope those deserters don't run into it.)

  Not far from camp, two figures reclined against a pine trunk. (More deserters?) Anger flared hot in Lothar's chest. (Deserters should all die, damn them.)

  As he approached, their features became disturbingly familiar. (What in blazes are they doing here, and why are they...?)

  Stellan nestled against Lannord's chest, sleeping with peaceful abandon. Lannord's right arm encircled Stellan's waist, every inch the devoted guardian.

  "Godsdamn it," Lothar muttered, shaking his head. "So he was right after all. Nobles and their peculiar... proclivities."

  Ivan Northes' pupils contracted to pinpoints, his bow unwavering as bedrock. (Come on, alpha. Make your move.) His silent prayer hung in the still air. (Don't be a coward.)

  He held his breath. The alpha's burning gaze bored into him. He held his breath.

  Then the forest erupted into chaos.

  It began with the alpha's growl—shorter, sharper, more urgent than before. The two flanking Dire Wolves lunged toward Ivan while the remainder of the pack hung back, poised for the second assault wave.

  The female was fiercer than the male, leaping at Ivan's throat. Ivan's eyes locked on, and her movements seemed to slow. (One.)His arrow punched through her open maw, the steel tip erupting from the back of her skull. Her death wail ended abruptly as she crashed to earth. The sight of his dying mate drove the male into frenzy, accelerating his charge. Before he could leap, a second arrow cored through his cranium, pinning his twitching form to the forest floor.

  (Two.) The pack retreated several paces, while the alpha remained unmoved, calculating. Ivan had already nocked his third arrow when movement flashed in his peripheral vision—a severed wolf head spinning through the air. "Two," came Raymond's voice, sharp with satisfaction.

  Ivan's ebony stallion tossed its head nervously.

  The pack tensed visibly, muscles coiling beneath matted fur. Ivan withdrew two arrows from his quiver in one fluid motion.

  Another growl from the alpha signaled the second wave. Three Dire Wolves charged from separate vectors. The center wolf advanced most rapidly—and perished most swiftly. Ivan's cedar arrow pierced its right eye, stopping it mid-stride and sending it tumbling. Draw, aim. The rightmost wolf prepared to spring. Release. This time the arrow struck just above the beast's left hind leg, embedding deeply before it could leap. It howled but completed its jump regardless.

  Momentary panic seized Ivan. (This one's larger than the others.) He frantically nocked a third arrow, targeting the wolf's head. The beast seemed to lose all vitality mid-flight, collapsing heavily across the haunches of Ivan's stallion. The horse lurched forward under the impact.

  Only then did Ivan remember the third wolf.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  She accelerated into the night. Swarms of Crimson-Eyed Bats pursued her, their discordant shrieks assaulting her sensitive hearing. The cacophony didn't emanate solely from behind—it erupted from the woodlands on both flanks as well. Aethelwing beat her massive wings with powerful strokes, propelling herself forward with explosive speed. After gliding some distance, she banked to assess her surroundings, believing she'd outpaced her pursuers.

  What met her gaze was a writhing tapestry of ruby-red eyes and frantically beating wings—far from escaping them, they'd closed the gap further. The airspace above was now completely choked with Crimson-Eyed Bats. Without hesitation, Aethelwing folded her wings tightly against her body and plummeted earthward.

  Her dive reached fifty-seven miles per hour—the maximum velocity possible at such limited altitude. The bat swarm followed, cascading after her in a grotesque black waterfall against the night sky. Bats lacked her diving proficiency, allowing Aethelwing to create separation and seize momentary advantage. Mere feet from plunging into the forest canopy, she unfurled her wings with a thunderous snap, skimming over the treetops and climbing sharply. Her pursuers, tenacious despite their limitations, executed awkward aerial maneuvers to match her course correction. The distance between predator and prey diminished once more, but Aethelwing remained focused on her strategy. Crimson-Eyed Bats ranked among the swiftest of their kind, capable of ninety-three miles per hour in optimal conditions. She continued her vertical ascent, watching as the previously clear night sky darkened with the silhouettes of countless enemies.

  She screeched in defiant fury, her powerful wings beating against the resistant air. Her objective: create sufficient separation for the swarm to congregate beneath her position. Left with no alternatives, Aethelwing initiated a second dive, this one from greater height and achieving even more terrifying velocity. Within heartbeats, the sinister dark sea of bats fell behind her plummeting form.

  The magnificent raptor leveled out just above the treetops, her passage generating such powerful air currents that leaves spiraled skyward in her wake. She climbed again, carrying this vegetal confetti with her as the bat shrieks intensified behind her. Aethelwing glanced backward, noting her tireless pursuers still giving chase. She released a piercing cry; the distance was now tactically sufficient. After climbing steeply for several more seconds, Aethelwing executed a precision aerial maneuver, banking sharply into a tight circle that positioned her face-to-face with the oncoming swarm. The bats had now consolidated directly beneath her.

  Aethelwing parted her pale yellow beak, tilting her head slightly upward. Between her mandibles rested a multi-faceted crystalline stone, jagged and ancient. The stone began emitting an ethereal blue luminescence, illuminating the atmospheric particles surrounding it. The radiance intensified exponentially, engulfing first Aethelwing herself, then the swarming Crimson-Eyed Bats below, until finally the entire night sky blazed with otherworldly cerulean light.

  "The horses—protect the horses!" Ivan Northes shouted, twisting in his saddle while desperately grasping for another arrow. In his focus on the immediate threats, he'd forgotten the third wolf, which had likewise disregarded him in favor of his mount. "They're targeting our mounts!"

  Too late for warnings. The Dire Wolf had positioned itself directly before Ivan's stallion, the animal's dark head obscuring the archer's line of sight. Ivan leaned precariously from the saddle, but the wolf had already launched itself upward.

  Before Ivan could drive his heels into the stallion's flanks, the horse—instinctively reacting to the lunging predator—reared in terror and sidestepped violently. The wolf's attack missed its primary target but connected with Ivan's quiver instead. Its powerful jaws clamped around a cluster of arrows, nearly tearing the entire quiver from his back. With savage efficiency, the wolf splintered the wooden shafts between its teeth, spitting the fragments to the forest floor before reorienting toward Ivan. The archer stared in momentary shock at his destroyed ammunition. With no time to nock one of his few remaining arrows, he drew the short sword sheathed across his back. Undeterred by the moonlight glinting off the blade, the wolf lunged for Ivan's right arm, jaws agape. To prevent his wrist from being severed, Ivan reflexively released his grip on the sword after driving it into the wolf's lower jaw. The beast shook the blade free with contemptuous ease, the superficial wound insufficient to deter its attack. (This is the end,) Ivan thought, his fingers grasping futilely at his depleted quiver. (I can't stop it from ripping my throat out.)