Black Moon Draw (15 page)

The Shadow Knight begins talking to a man with a possum head far too small for his human body, and I don’t let myself giggle the way I want to. I’m stuck in this place between laughing and running when it comes to most of this world.

The army is mostly ready. We pass the defeated warriors of Green Dawn Cave, chained together in lines that wrap around the camp. I hate seeing them like this and cling to the hope that the Shadow Knight wasn’t lying about sparing their lives.

I hope they aren’t sent to the edge of the world. Slavery seems like a fate worse than death. The men appear miserable already. The Disney Princess is riding among them, pausing occasionally to address either the defeated or the victors. I’m expecting her to hand out water bottles or something in the role as the perfect princess.

As if spotting her, the Shadow Knight steers the horse away, putting her behind us. Something really weird is going on, but I’m not about to delve into it. I can’t get the picture of people dying, or the defeated men, out of my head.

What makes everything so much harder to bear: the Shadow Knight is doing what’s right in his own barbaric way. It’s eye-opening, soul shattering, and absolutely necessary.

If I believe this place is real, I’ll never stop crying.
No matter how it feels or smells, or how real last night was with the Shadow Knight, I can’t accept a reality so different from my own.
It’s so cruel.

“What say you, witch?”

“How can you
hear
me?” I mutter. It’s sporadic, and judging by his expression last night, he’s not even aware that he’s occasionally overhearing one of my thoughts.

“Madwoman.”

“I am
not
a madwoman.”

Silence, followed by a terse, “You should not have heard that.”

“Finally! So did I read that thought out of your mind the way you’ve been doing to me?”

“I possess no such power.”

He’s so dismissive of the few things that make sense to me! With frustration and desire bubbling inside me, I’ve never wanted to slap or throw myself at anyone in my life, aside from Jason, who rightly deserves a punch. Would my family be happy I’d finally left the house? Am I
grounded
enough now?

The bitter thoughts weigh on me. Which is worse? Being dumped at the altar or ending up here?

After yesterday’s battle, I’m almost thinking here is worse. I didn’t think it possible.

I have to pull myself together. I’ve been floating around in shock, but it’s my third day here and I’m no closer to finding out what to do about the countdown on my hand. It’s hard for me to admit that the brutal, unrepentant Shadow Knight who wipes out entire armies might be the Hero of this story, and I’m no closer to getting home.

“Summons, sire,” a man says, approaching on foot with a satchel. He has the head of a weasel.

The Shadow Knight pulls the horse to a halt and takes the bag. As I watch, he reaches in and pulls out a fat yellow bird.

“I’ve seen one like that!” I exclaim.

“Messenger bird.” The Shadow Knight sets it on his hand and holds it open for me to see. I can’t reconcile the Shadow Knight who kills men with his bare hands and the man who can hold such a small, delicate creature. The bird is tiny, further dwarfed by the size of the knight’s hand. He makes everything he does appear effortless, no matter what level of strength the task calls for.

I take the bird carefully in both my hands, not wanting to hurt it. There’s nothing attached to its leg like a carrier pigeon’s and I lift it higher, seeking out the alleged message.

“Share your story, little bird,” the Shadow Knight says.

I lower the bird and stare at it. “Seriously? So it does talk?”

“A bird does not
talk
,” the Shadow Knight replies with some scorn. “It conveys a message into your mind.”

Because that’s not weirder than a talking bird.

“’
Tis the way of our world,” he growls. “You alone now have a fourth law, witch: Acceptance. Of everything.” He hands it back to the messenger, who rides away. “We are being summoned to a Knights of the Square Table meeting.”

I laugh. “Really? Knights of the Square Table?”

“How is that amusing?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Grinning, I shake my head and clear my throat. “So what is this meeting about?”

“I imagine my reclaiming of land. The remaining Knights are displeased and trying to garner support among my conquered subjects. They have tried bribing and threatening me but to no avail. I will conquer them as I did the others.”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes.

He nudges the horse forward and in a new direction, back towards the forest.

“Why do you say
reclaim
?” I ask reluctantly. I don’t want a reason to sympathize with him more as the potential Hero, but I’m curious. “Did you lose them?”

There’s a pause then a clipped, “Yes.”

“Bad story?”

“To repeat such a story is to invite its reoccurrence.”

Another stupid rule.
“Okay. We won’t talk about the past. You’re taking me to this meeting?”

“I am.”

“Do you think that wise?”

“They do not know you are a very poor battle-witch. Were I to attend without you, they might suspect,” he reasons.

My mouth drops open. I’m offended, but should I be? I’ve been trying to convince him I’m not a battle-witch since he found me. But he doesn’t think of me as a non-battle-witch.

He thinks I suck. Just like everyone else in my life.

Would Jason have gleefully sold me to a slave trader to marry someone not obsessed with fictional characters?

New start.
I chant the words. They’re drowned out by the part of me that wants to break down and sob until LF lets me go home.

“We may have to cut off your hand to show them you have power, since you cannot perform any great feats yet,” the Shadow Knight adds, increasing my misery.

Is that amusement I hear? My god – why can’t I figure out this man?

“We may
not
have to cut off my hand,” I snap. “You promised! No more dismemberments. I can’t believe I actually have to say that.”

“Mayhap you can learn a spell to show them.”

“Won’t they take your word?”

“Mayhap the slave traders will be there,” he growls.

“Maybe we should take your betrothed with us to see her brother,” I retort.
Oh, snap.
No idea where that smart-assery came from, but it kind of felt good.

I’m almost proud of myself, until he takes my throat loosely and presses my head back to his shoulder, whispering in a lethal tone, “Careful, witch. Do not tread on thin mud.”

What the hell does that even mean?
I shiver at the brush of his warm breath against my ear. He sounds so dark and commanding – it’s the perfect voice for a sexy vampire creeping into your bedroom at midnight wanting to make hot, passionate, kinky love to you. I don’t know him well enough to understand the difference between insubordination and wit. He appears approachable to an extent, especially with the way his master-at-arms talks to him.

Then again, I don’t have the years of battlefield camaraderie with him either.

He releases me. I can’t muster a response because my head and stomach are both filled with fire and the idea I’d really love for his mass-murdering hands to be roaming my body about now.

We ride in silence towards the forest for a short time and my hormones settle. I can’t think of a worse ending to my life than to be stranded at the edge of the world under the whip of a slave trader in a place that doesn’t really exist.

And Jason goes on to be happy with his perfect little wife.
Like I never mattered or worse- never existed. I bet she’s like Disney Princess. Am I doomed to finding men who interest me only to lose them to beautiful women? The idea stings so bad, tears blur my eyes. My heart hurts more than it did before and the fantastic body pressed to my back isn’t cheering me up.

“What color are the skies in your world?” he asks some time later.

Skies? I look up. The fog blocks everything. “Blue. Probably the same here, right?”

“No Shadow Knight has seen the sky in a thousand years.”

“How awful. Do you want to?”

“I shall. ‘Twill be the sign I have defeated the curse. I will stand on the bridge leading to my hold and look out over my kingdom beneath the blue sky.”

His earnest, fierce response touches me on a level I’m not expecting. That the man behind the death and destruction of this world wants something so simple as to see the sky makes me sad for him. I don’t know how that can be, given the lengths he’s willing to take in order to win his war.

“Will the Red Knight be there?” I ask, trying to refocus my sad thoughts.

“Aye, he will.”

“Good.” Maybe he can tell me what the Shadow Knight won’t about the history of this place. The Red Knight already gave me a few tips.

“You will not speak to him. He is the defiler of battle-witches.”

“He didn’t deflower me the first time we met, and I didn’t find him that charming anyway,” I reply. “I’ll take my squire.”
Poor kid is about as useful as I am in battle.

“It is against custom for a battle-witch to address any but her Knight.”

“We’ve established I’m not from around here.”

The Shadow Knight falls silent. He seems to be trying to discourage rather than order me around, which makes me think I’m not quite yet crossing the line into -

“I will chop off your head if you speak to him.”

- or maybe I did. For some reason, I don’t care for this threat, less so than the others. If I need to talk to someone to find a way home, then I’m not about to let anyone get in the way.

Challenge accepted,
I tell myself. “How far away is the Square Table?” I manage not to giggle, but it’s hard.

“’
Tis a day riding quickly.”

“So how far with the army?”

“They will stay here. We go alone with a small guard.”

I don’t like the idea of sleeping on the ground again, which seems to be the way they do things. But maybe if we reach our destination before dark falls, it won’t be quite as bad. Maybe they’ll have running water and hot baths, a real kitchen with chocolate cake…

Now
that
is pure fantasy. There’s nothing here that makes me think they have a clue what luxury is.

However, this might be the break I’ve been looking for. I can hunt down the Red Knight and then evaluate the other Knights to see which of them might be the Hero. Worst-case scenario, if the Shadow Knight is busy, I can slip away.

“This will be a good chance to meet with the Lord of the Wings about the messenger bird shortage,” the Shadow Knight adds.

“Did you just say Lord of the
Wings
?” I ask, startled.

“Aye. He oversees the training and dispensary of . . . what ails you, witch?”

First the Square Table and now this. I break out into a fit of giggles most unbecoming of a full-grown woman. “Is . . . is his name . . . Frodo?” I gasp.

“Krodo. How do you know this?”

Omigod, LF, really?
I swear the author is trying to kill me!

I can’t stop laughing. My whole body contorts in the fit, one that makes the Shadow Knight tighten his grip around me as if he thinks I’m about to fall off the horse.

Only when my stomach starts hurting do I make an effort to quell the giggles. Exhausted and the most relaxed since setting foot in Black Moon Draw, I rest my head back against the Shadow Knight’s shoulder and close my eyes with a heartfelt sigh.

I needed that
. Maybe LF knew. It felt soooo good to laugh out all my anxiety rather than breaking down and crying.

“Your orders were given, sire.” Wolfie has joined us. “The armies go to Brown Sun Lake to start the attack tomorrow.”

“I do not trust the Red Knight not to try aught foolish,” the Shadow Knight says. “We will proceed to my hold upon leaving the Square Table.”

“Aye. Our fastest messengers ride with the body and will send word when our enemy is defeated.”

“Good.”

“Is our battle-witch mad?”

Opening my eyes, I grin at him.

He moves his horse away.

I rest my head on the Shadow Knight’s shoulder once more, unconcerned with pretty much anything at the moment.

“I would say so,” the Shadow Knight replies. “It is often the way of the battle-witch.”

“Aye, ‘tis,” his second agreed. “But any man who has been through enough battle will break down. Your battle-witch . . .” He trails off, thoughtful, troubled.

“. . . is young,” the Shadow Knight snaps. “She needs training, discipline, and time, like any other warrior new to war.”

“Aye, true.” His second doesn’t sound convinced. “The price for being much fairer than any other battle-witch I have ever seen. ‘Tis unfortunate her temperament is more delicate than her hands.”

“Hey, now. I’m right here,” I reply, lifting my head to eye him.

“Would she not fetch a price worth three of my horses?” the Shadow Knight asks, ignoring me.

“She would.”

“Would you stop comparing me to a four-legged animal?” I stiffen and twist to glare at the man wearing the creepy boar’s head. “And stop talking about selling me?”

“You are right, m’lord. She has no sense.”

The Shadow Knight jostles me around until I face forward once more, brushing me off the way Jason used to as being worth talking about but not worth talking to.

A second urge is building, one that started last night when the Shadow Knight was manhandling me to put my shield on correctly. I want to prove to them I’m not the wallflower-y, weak-willed, insecure woman Jason considered me. I’ve been that my whole life, and now, with a potential new start that leaves much to be desired, I at least want to change who I am.