Black Moon Draw(31)

He was an obedient yet shoddy squire, but it was his intelligence and patience that made the Shadow Knight assign him to his witch, in the hopes the boy might teach her a thing or two about their world.

“Squire,” his growl made the boy jump. “Water.”

The squire tucked his scrolls away and bounded away without another command, and the Shadow Knight walked forward.

The night was cool, and he wore a tunic rather than go bare chested, his whip strapped to his hip and sword at his back. Arms crossed, he paused at the fire and looked up.

As with every land he conquered, the perpetual gray fogs of Black Moon Draw had begun to roll across and cover the skies. It was his legacy and curse never to see the sun over his kingdom. He had long since stopped seeking magic solutions to the fog, for no witch or sorcerer yet had been able to break the curse on his family line. He grew accustomed to being shrouded in shadows. On nights like this, he found the light of stars and moon to be excessively bright without the gray fog to dampen their shine.

“A great battle won, and she does not eat,” his second reported, standing with a wooden plate in hand. The nightly stew went untouched on her trencher.

“He can’t tell me what it is,” the witch said, eyeing the lumps of meat covered in gravy.

“What does it matter?” the Shadow Knight growled.

“Mayhap this is more of her food magic,” his second said. With a dark, quick sense of humor, his master-at-arms kept his spirits up on the days when the fog threatened to sink them.

“’Tis a good one,” the Shadow Knight replied with a wry smile. “Mayhap she will cast a spell so none of us will need to eat and we can move faster across the battlefield.”

The wolf-headed man chuckled.

“Fetch the box.” The Shadow Knight motioned his head towards his tent, where he kept a secret store of edible delicacies.

His second obeyed, and his eyes went to the battle-witch.

She was pale, her voluptuous body trembling despite the thick cloak she wore. She watched him with haunted eyes, her discomfort plain. She did not like his boar’s head. He wore it as much for the way it enhanced his senses as because it scared men in battle. It was an extension of him, like the sword at his back. He reached up and removed the boar’s head, sensing she was in shock.

What did he do with a battle-witch that did not want to go to battle? She was too valuable to release from his service. He could not risk other kingdoms taking her, in case her magic manifested later. But he also had little time to train her and hope she became powerful enough to help him.

Why had his dreams and the legend of the curse claimed she was the last of the great battle-witches, the one who would guarantee his victory across all lands that were supposed to be his?

They gazed at each other, the witch looking at him in a combination of fear and resentment, while he debated what to do.

“M’lord,” his second returned with the box.

The Shadow Knight accepted it. “Go.” Aware no one among his men would dare disturb him, he knelt beside the battle-witch.

She shrank away.

“Eat.” He held it out to her.

With an expression of dread upon her pretty features, she took it and opened it. Her frown softened. She reached in and withdrew one of the sweet cakes made in White Tree Sound. The Red Knight sent a steady supply for his sisters. They were flat and round, decorated with dried fruit and drizzled with honey. Sweet cakes had won his battle today; maybe they would help her accept her world faster.

“Thank you,” she murmured, withdrawing one. She handed the box back.

“I cannot have you starve,” he said. “An army can ill-afford to waste food, but if the nectar of queens is all you will eat, I will have it brought.”

She sighed and nibbled on the sweet cake. “I’m sorry. This is new to me.”

“So ‘tis.”

They studied one another. Pink rose in her cheeks and she turned her gaze towards the fire. Situations were rare where he hesitated to act. This woman was different. Worse than a page new to battle, she had no understanding of war, the kingdoms, his world, and he had no real experience guiding him with where to start.

“You won a battle. How are you not happy?” he asked finally, bewildered by the tears she shed this day.

“I don’t like hurting people,” she whispered, troubled. “How many men did you kill today?”

“Less than usual,” he mused. “You slowed me down.”

“Barbaric.” She shivered. “What happens to the ones who remain?”

“They are given a choice of serving me, slavery, or death.”

“What do most choose?”

“Depends on the kingdom. There have been whole armies that chose death.”

“How awful.”

“Necessary.”

She lowered her gaze to the fire. “Because you have to save the rest of their kingdoms.”

“Finally you understand aught.”

“I understand everything,” she replied, bristling. “I’m not an idiot.” Her cheeks flushed. “What I don’t get is why you can’t try a different approach. You have a noble cause. Surely –”

He held up a hand. “I shall not humor this discussion again,” he said sharply. “Do you think a thousand years of Shadow Knights did not try every other way possible to prevent what comes?”