Black Moon Draw

by Lizzy Ford

  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.

  “When I learn a good spell, you’ll be the first I use it on,” I tell Wolfie.

  He laughs. The Shadow Knight chuckles.

  “’Twould be my pleasure,” the wolf-headed master-at-arms bows his head.

  Did he take that as a compliment? I’m not understanding their humor here.

  Irritated at them, all it takes to cheer me up is to imagine what the Lord of the Wings looks like. Will he be a hobbit? Or will LF surprise me yet again?

  The Shadow Knight pulls out a satchel and plucks the bird from my hands.

  “How can you put him in there?” I ask. I reach for the bird and reclaim it. “What if he can’t breathe?”

  “’Tis the way it is.”

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be repressed all day long? To be shoved away and acknowledged only when some idiot of a man decides he wants to use you? He deserves to be free, to see the sky, and not worry about being judged by . . .” I hear my words then and realize I’m not really talking about the bird. We’re a lot alike, and it hits me then that I really am sick of living in the shadows, too afraid of making mistakes to take a chance and really live.

  “They do not fly, witch.”

  “He can learn!” I snap, suddenly defensive of the bird whose sheltered existence has been too much like mine. “He’s not going in the bag!” And neither am I. Ever again. I place the creature on the horse’s mane. It lowers itself to a squat or roost or whatever birds do.

  “Very well, witch.” The Shadow Knight gives a deep, rolling laugh.

  “Bird-witch,” Wolfie says, eyeing me as if he’s uncertain if he should laugh or lock me up. “Mayhap we have discovered a new magic.”

  “In eight days, she can be any kind of witch she wants. But for now, she’s a battle-witch.”

  I feel vindicated, even if I’m not sure I should. I wish Jason could’ve heard that along with everyone I ever went to school with, my parents, the neighbors who only knock on my door to borrow stuff . . .

  My gaze falls to the fluffy yellow bird. We’re both going to be free. Hell, maybe I’ll take him back with me to my world when this is over.

  “Where did you see a messenger bird?” the Shadow Knight asks. Lowering the bag, he rests his hand on my thigh again, his nonchalant act of possession distracting me.

  “Forest,” I murmur, studying his strong hand. “I mean, I rescued it from the Red Knight.”

  “Did it impart a message?” Wolfie asks.

  “Yes. It said something like, there’s an attack at shadow moon, and capturing someone’s heart.”

  The Shadow Knight’s hand tightens into a fist, drawing my attention to my leg. Wolfie growls.

  “Is shadow moon a place?” I ask at the tense quiet.

  “’Tis the last day before the end of this era,” Wolfie answers.

  “The Heart of Black Moon Draw will protect us,” the Shadow Knight adds. His hand moves to the medallion around my neck, and he taps it. “’Tis carved from a black gem from the depths of the mines of Black Moon Draw, the only of its kind.”

  Heart of Black Moon Draw. “What a beautiful name,” I murmur. “But why is it called a heart when it’s round?” I lift the medallion and study it once more.

  “’Tis not known,” the Shadow Knight’s answer is clipped.

  Capture the Heart. I get it now. The Red Knight was being paid off to grab the medallion. Interesting.

  Both men are edgy once more after a relatively relaxed start to our journey. Comfortably settled against the Shadow Knight’s body, I grow drowsy at the rhythmic hoof beats and sway of the horse’s back. Exhausted after a horrible night of sleep, I close my eyes and start to drift off, hoping we keep to this slow pace all day and not the awful trotting that makes my ass hurt.

  I’m sick of riding horses by the time we reach an impressive stone fortress straight out of the Middle Ages. It’s been hours and should be midnight, but in another of LF
’s time glitches, it’s barely late afternoon. I think I prefer days that end too soon to days that don’t seem to end at all. I’m starving, thirsty, cranky, and need a bath.

  There are warriors from different armies stationed outside the fortress, their tunic colors helping me identify the lines between the different kingdoms, of which there seem to be ten. We ride straight through the gathered troops, while all but Wolfie stay behind.

  The castle walls are thicker than I imagined, a full twenty feet wide, massive stone blocks that make me wonder how they were dragged here to build a castle.

  Aliens? I’m too tired to laugh at my own joke.

  Inside the walls is a wide, open space, with stables along one wall and what looks like a small farmer’s market along the other. We continue onward towards the castle proper and ride through a second wall, this one leading to a cobblestone courtyard lined by trimmed green bushes.

  “Whose castle is this?” I ask, amazed by the size and solidness of the structure around me.

  “It’s a hold, and it belongs to the Red Knight,” the Shadow Knight replies.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “A castle is much grander,” Wolfie supplies. He appears to disapprove of the surroundings, if the narrowing of his canine eyes and the lift of his lips to reveal long fangs is any indication.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “Mine is larger,” the Shadow Knight grumbles.

  “Men are the same in every world,” I stifle a giggle. “Besides you all sleep on the ground. This seems like a palace after that,” I add. “So why meet at the Red Knight’s, if he goes around defiling everyone’s witch?”

  “He normally refrains from taking sides with any of us. He is usually an honest mediator,” the Shadow Knight replied.

  By the note in the Shadow Knight’s voice, he’s already ruled the Red Knight out as an ally anymore. He pulls the horse to a halt, and we wait. Moments later, a familiar form in a long, red cloak appears from behind a thick wooden door.

  The Shadow Knight growls at the sight of the blond knight, a purely animal sound.

  “You’ll take care to inquire quickly,” he says to Wolfie.

  “Aye.” Wolfie dismounts and leads his horse away.