Black Moon Draw

"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 six 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.