Black Moon Draw (10 page)

“So you prayed for a battle-witch to help you.” I don’t like this sinking feeling inside me, the one that says I need to help an unlikely hero save his world. I don’t want anything to do with this place and definitely don’t want to be responsible for not having bizarre magic powers.

“Aye.” He lifts the boar’s head once more.

I watch in reluctant fascination as he puts the monstrosity on. The inanimate head comes to life the moment it’s on securely, the eyes flaring gray and snout wrinkling as it breathed in and out.

It’s just so creepy . . .

He starts towards the entrance.

The leather strap snaps me forward, and I’m soon trotting to keep up with his long, quick stride. Embarrassed, I purposely don’t look at the people we’re passing because I’m afraid of what they’re thinking. After my exchange with the Shadow Knight, it’s harder for me to pretend this is fiction.

But it is
! I scream at myself internally. It’s not like these people will show up in real life anyway and the new me, the person I want to try to be here, isn’t going to be upset with what complete strangers think.

A group of horses mill near the edges of the field where the earlier battle occurred. Two wait a short distance from the others and the Shadow Knight takes us in that direction.

The squire is holding the halter of one, a gorgeous gray dapple, that’s only a few inches shorter than the huge black steed beside it. The horse’s eyes glow the same strange color blue as the Shadow Knight’s.

He goes to the gray one and stops on the left side.

“That
is your squire,” he tells me and points to the boy.

The kid waves.

“Ah. Got it,” I reply.

The Shadow Knight faces me. “He stays with you at all times when I am not present.”

I don’t ask why. The kid is too small to defend me, unless I’m supposed to defend him. It makes more sense that this is the case, seeing as how I’m allegedly a magical being.

“I will take care of him,” I say in the awkward silence that’s fallen between the Shadow Knight and me.

The squire frowns.

The Shadow Knight shakes his head. Without another word, he grabs me at the waist and lifts me off the ground and onto the horse. I catch a whiff of brownies, or maybe it’s simple awe at his strength. Whatever it is, I forget to react or think and instead revel in the experience of him holding me.

He sets me on the saddle, his large hands nearly circling my waist. I’m not a little girl by any means and haven’t been a virgin in three years. In that moment, I feel like this is the first time I’ve ever been touched by a man, like I’m delicate, tiny, and about to melt at his feet in a pitiful puddle.

“You have something to say, witch?”

Realizing I’m gawking at him, I shift back and grip the saddle. “No.”

He releases me and walks around the back of the horse, adjusting the loop around my belt to the side nearest his horse. Mounting, he accepts his reins from his squire.

I watch how he sits on the horse and what he does. With some effort, I swing one leg over the horse’s neck and straddle the saddle. It’s not comfortable. The saddle is thin, and my dress is bunched up beneath me.

I take the reins from my squire, who smiles reassuringly, and try to figure out how to get my horse to go.

The beautiful gray ends up following the Shadow Knight. My challenge then becomes steering, for fear of the horse going one way and the Shadow Knight dragging me the other.

He starts trotting and so does my horse. I drop the reins and grab its mane to keep from falling off at the jarring pace. Within a couple of minutes, my ass is hurting. Thank god my horse is content to follow the black one. I’m not sure how I could hang on and steer at the same time.

There’s no way I can spend nine days on horseback.

We reach a second field where thousands of men are lined up on horses in neat rows. We slow, and my attention shifts with no small amount of amazement. The men all wear the heads of different animals and ride horses as large as the one I’m on. They’re also as well armed as their leader.

“Is this your whole army?” I ask.

“A small scouting force. The rest guard my kingdom and the Knights I have defeated.”

Small?
Wow.

Yells go down the rows as he rides in front of one formation. Rather than addressing or riding the length of the men, he points his horse towards a gap in the trees and begins trotting once more.

I grimace and clutch the horse’s mane. Before we reach the opening in the trees, we’re flanked by several dozen of his men. Twisting to see behind us, I watch the formations converging and moving with us, on the heels of the men escorting us.

I’ll admit: I know nothing of war. They don’t have planes to bomb us that I can tell, and I doubt they use chemical weapons or anything else nasty. The Shadow Knight is focused but not tense, so I’m assuming we aren’t in danger yet.

“Does Green Dawn Cave have more warriors?” I ask.

“Many more,” he responds somewhat proudly.

“And that’s not a problem?”

“My army is greater in skill.”

“So they don’t get scared?”

He looks at me, the boar head unnerving me.

“Fear is not tolerated,” he replies.

I clamp my mouth closed. I’m starting to panic long before the forest turns to rolling hills and we walk out onto a savannah.

He’s right about one thing: his enemy has a lot more men. They spread out too far for me to count. They also appear better equipped, with metal armor instead of leather, and horses that wear shields at their chests and leather protection around each leg.

He halts, and so does everyone behind us, except for one man who races ahead towards the enemy bearing a white flag.

There’s no way his small army, with subpar armor and weapons that don’t look anywhere near as new and clean as his enemy’s, can win. How did he defeat seven kingdoms thus far?

Omigod.
I must’ve said the words aloud because the Shadow Knight is looking at me.

“What say you, witch?” he asks.

There’s nothing written on my hand. “I really think I’d rather be a tree-witch.”

He nudges his horse next to mine until our legs brush. Without a word, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me onto his horse.

“Would you stop?” I gasp, wriggling.

Ignoring me, he maneuvers me in front of him on the horse, jostling and shifting me until he’s comfortable. His arm loosens but stays around me, reins in hand, his chin stirring the hair at the top of my head. One of his large hands rests on my leg, wider from pinky to thumb than my chunky thigh.

My discomfort is only partly because of the hard body at my back. My dress is even more bunched and my ass hurts worse than before from trotting.

Unable to move, I stop wriggling and sigh. He tucks me into his body. My shoulders fit perfectly between his, giving him space to reach for the weapons at his back and hips without me getting in the way. His thick thighs are pressed against mine, the smooth shapes of his muscles moving against my back.

“My men are better disciplined. They also have nothing to lose,” he says quietly.

“Except our heads,” says the man who approaches from the side. He’s wearing the head of a wolf with silver eyes.

“Aye, but they grow back.”

The two laugh at a joke that’s over my head.

“My master-at-arms and second in command,” the Shadow Knight says, motioning to the man. “He is the only man I will ever send orders through for you, witch.”

“Oh, great,” I murmur.

Wolfie eyes me.

The army of animal-headed warriors has one advantage: intimidation. I’m not sure what I’d do if I saw them coming towards me on the battlefield.

I’m starting to overheat once more, even though it’s a temperate day. I want to think it’s the horse, but a glance at the roped forearm in front of me makes me admit otherwise.

“Position the men,” the Shadow Knight says to Wolfie.

“Aye.” Wolfie kicks his horse forward, and I notice for the first time he’s not using a saddle.

“Since this is your first battle, I will advise you of this: do not get captured and do not get in my way, witch,” the Shadow Knight tells me.

Great advice.
I say nothing.

“No trees,” he adds more quietly. “You may be a new battle-witch, but you are trying my patience.”

I close my eyes and begin my little chant.
This isn’t real. I’ll be home soon.

“What say you, witch?”

My eyes snap open. I might’ve said something aloud before without realizing it, but I know I didn’t this time.

“Nothing,” I reply, uneasy with the idea he might be able to read my mind. It’s ridiculous, not remotely possible. “I have a name, you know.”

“Name?”

I roll my eyes. “You know, what friends and family call me instead of
witch.
”

“You would share this with me so soon?”

What weird rule of LF’s did I miss now?
“Um, sure. Don’t you have a name?”

“’
Tis not spoken.”

“Do people flee in fear?” I ask sarcastically.

“You who do not know our ways should not mock them.”

“I’m not mocking your world. It’s so . . . strange to me. There is nothing like this or you where I’m from.”

The Shadow Knight says nothing.

I’ve been wired since waking up here, a nervous sort of energy that makes me feel eternally caught between wanting to cry and wanting to eat. Breathing in his scent and tucked against his body, though, I start to relax, even if I’m on top of a horse getting ready to go to battle. I don’t really know why, but I’m nowhere near as scared of him as I was reading about him.

I’m even less scared in battle knowing he somehow manages to slaughter entire armies and survive unscathed. If there’s anything I know of this bizarre world, it’s that I want to be at his side when the fighting starts.

He’s huge, fierce, and yes, very overbearing and uncivilized the way he goes around chopping off people’s heads. However, I have to admit, I didn’t think he’d react this way to me, with what patience a man like this has. He didn’t seem alarmed at my claim of being from another world like the Red Knight was. If anything, I think he’s trying to figure me out the way I am him.

Not that I’m complex. I’m just . . . not of his world.

The man with the white flag returns. He’s wearing the head of a squirrel. With a shake of the furry head, he slows and continues past us.

“They refuse to surrender.” The Shadow Knight sounds satisfied about this. “Now I will wipe their army out of existence.”

“Have you tried telling them why they need to surrender?” I ask. “I’m sure they’ll be reasonable about it.”

“Then you know less about this world than I first thought. There is no reasoning with an enemy.”

“Why not? Maybe one big peace summit would fix this.”

“You speak nonsense, witch.” He nudges the horse forward and reaches back with one hand, withdrawing a massive sword from its sheath at his back. The scrape of leather and metal scares me. “My forefathers spent nearly a thousand years seeking other approaches, leaving me with eight days to conquer.”

The sword is wider than my hands together at the base, the razor edge sharpened to the point it’s nearly transparent. The seconds are ticking down on my hand. If I didn’t have a front seat to battle, I might understand this approach.

The lines of his enemy are starting forward at a run.

“I’m sorry it came to this and more sorry you have to be the way you are,” I murmur.

“I am sorry for neither, witch. My only regret was not finding you many years ago.”

I understand why he’s fighting without wanting to be a part of it. “This is the only way,” I say doubtfully, struggling for some explanation that’ll help me cope with what’s coming.

“Aye. We destroy three armies or lose it all. You may not be of this world, but ‘tis your battle now.”

“What happened to the battle-witch before me?”

“She perished in battle.”

“So the whole speech about protecting me with your life, about me being invincible . . .”

“You are invincible. I alone know how to kill you.” His horse starts trotting. “She betrayed me and I ensured she did not live through the battle.”

“Good to know. What did she do?”

“We do not speak of the past, lest we wish to invite its reoccurrence. What I have told you was necessary. I shall share no more.”

My mouth drops open then closes.

His enemies are closing in. I push back into him, trying to avoid the inevitable. “I’m not ready for this!”

“Think of the purpose and it becomes easier.”

I glance over to our right, where Wolfie rides, weapons in both hands, and legs guiding the horse. To our left is my squire, whose expression is little less terrified than I feel.

He’s definitely in the wrong line of work and, apparently, so am I.

The two armies clash like a scene from
Braveheart
. Until this moment, I thought those movies were exaggerating. What sense does it make to run into one another like this?

A sword flashes before my face. I squeeze my eyes closed and start praying. The knight at my back is slashing and hacking, his buff muscles jostling me around. The horse whinnies loudly and rears, and I open my eyes. We pitch forward as it then kicks back at someone.

The melee before me is utterly insane. Horses, men, and weapons race, swirl, and clash around us in a dizzying, fast-paced display of brutal power. The Shadow Knight has dropped the reins to the horse to use both arms, and the creature is deftly maneuvering, smacking men on foot who get too close with his front hooves and occasionally shooting off kicks with its back legs.

The jolting ride is anything but smooth, and I cling to its mane for dear life, all too aware of the steel slashing near me. If anyone takes off my head, it’s going to be the Shadow Knight, whose weapons come close enough to graze my skirts.