Incarnate: The Moray Druids #3 (Highland Historical) by Kerrigan Byrne Page B

Niall’s sword cut them navel to throat before kicking them off into the red-stained field.  Their flesh sizzled and stunk as flaming arrows and bolts of Kenna’s magickal fire decimated and illuminated the carnage.  
    Malcolm mourned for his lush valley, and for the souls of those he claimed as he used his magick to pull the black, sharp boulders from the earth and roll them through the advancing horde.  The crunch was sickening, but the tactic effective, cutting neat swaths of blood and bone.
    And still foes spilled from the gathering shadows of the night as new waves of enemies broke upon his walls. 
    “I cannot see the Wyrd Sisters, Malcolm.”  Morgana grasped his elbow. “Something’s not right.  Where are they?”
    Turning to search, Malcolm noticed the Four Horsemen had begun a slow and steady advance down into his valley until they stood at the edge of the battle.
    Apart from it, and yet an inevitable part of it.
    Conquest, with his white stallion and silver armor looked like an arc angel sent by a vengeful god.  Whereas War, with his horse almost the same color as his blood-red breastplate resembled some kind of Hell spawn.
    Next to them, Pestilence, his visage hidden in dark robes, perched atop his nightmare steed more regally than Malcolm would have imagined.  And Death, his horse pale and dappled, his armor dark and antiquated, surveyed the carnage with a relentless power that could only belong to an immortal such as him.
    “Ye will not have this day,” Malcolm vowed at them, in a voice too low for anyone but him to hear.
    Death’s head turned slowly toward him, far enough away that Malcolm barely marked the movement. 
    The question is, will you?
    The words were not spoken, and yet Malcolm heard them clear as day. 
    Death lifted a finger, and pointed to the edge of Malcolm’s land, where Dun Moray’s keep was buffeted by craggy Highland peaks.  At first Malcolm saw nothing.  Then a shimmer of disturbance in the air around his wards caught his eye the moment before lightning flashed, and two women straddling broomsticks flew through the air and pierced the protection of his magick.
    “Nay,” he growled.  “How is this possible?”
    “The Grimoire!”  Morgana pointed.  “They have it.”
    That had to be how they got through the wards.  Cradled under Badb’s left arm was the book filled with all the secrets of his Druid family since the beginning of time.
    We’re after you both now…   Badb’s eerie voice brushed past his ear on a chilling breeze.  Even as he watched her hag’s robes draping below her as she circled his keep on her broomstick, it was as though she whispered right next to him.
    Fear sliced through him, followed quickly by a cold fury the likes of which he’d never before felt.  Moray Village, full of innocent souls, separated the space between his walls and the castle. Could he get to them in time?
    A sister for a sister… Badb’s cruel winds hissed.  With a deafening crash, she called down a silver fork of lightning.  It struck his parapets and half the roof of Dun Moray gave a great shudder, and then collapsed.
    With a harsh sound of strain and rage, Malcolm did all he could to keep the stones from crushing any of the inhabitants of the castle, but knew that from this distance, he had to have failed. 
    Come to us and we’ll let the wee Moray babes and their mothers live...
    Malcolm hesitated, though his heart bled.  Of course it was a trap.  One that if sprung, could seal the fate of the entire world.  And yet, what of his people?  How could they make him choose between those whom he loved most dear, and—everyone who was or would ever be?
    Bring Morgana, and we’ll give you what you want, or should I say who you want …
    Vían.
    The thought of her locked away in their hellish void nearly drove him to his knees.  The sounds of the battle receded into the background.  Though Vían had been the one imprisoned all these decades, Malcolm felt as