Somehow, he wandered into an area with only a sprinkling of Black Moon Draw warriors. He's trapped, or will be soon, if he doesn't find a new direction. I start forward and then stop, fear piercing me.
Disobey and I will have your head, witch!
Which scares me more: being hacked apart by these soldiers or facing the Shadow Knight after?
"Witch!"
I can't leave him to die. After all, I'm invincible. If I get hacked to pieces, I'll wake up healed. With misgivings heavy in my gut, I dash forward. Most of the men are too focused on the warriors in front of them to notice me. I squeeze the medallion just in case anyone does and make my way towards the direction where my mostly-useless squire is headed.
One blow lands on the shield on my back and sends me sprawling. Spitting out grass, I twist to look over my shoulder. Whoever whacked me is gone. Climbing to my feet, I continue in the direction the squire is running.
The idiot has broken away from the edge of battle and is running - straight towards Green Dawn Cave's back-up warriors, who appear to be waiting for the results of their first wave as it ploughs through Black Moon Draw warriors.
"Hey!" I shout.
It's useless. The boy's back is towards me. He's barreling straight into armed warriors.
I am so not a runner. I'm already breathless but force myself to go as fast as I can. My lungs soon burn, my arms heavy, and my legs like wood. Every part of me wants to stop, but I can't let the kid who at least tried to protect me before get hurt.
"Hey!" I shout loud enough that it hurts my throat. "Squire!"
He hears this and twists as he runs. Spotting me, he switches directions, running a wide circle around to avoid his pursuers.
Exhausted and out of shape, I stop and bend over, panting. This is reminding me of the year we had to run track and field events in high school as part of physical education. After my horrible performance, I was never asked to be on anyone's team again.
"Man . . . that kid can run." The squire is rounding back towards me, far ahead of those chasing him, a hopeful look lighting up his face. His sword is gone. He reaches me, breathing hard, but nowhere near as spent as I am.
"Witch, use your magic! You can blast them away!" he says eagerly.
"Take my sword and . . . defend us," I gasp. "I gotta catch . . . my breath."
With a glance over his shoulder, he obeys and takes up a position in front of me, the sword raised like a baseball bat. I'm no swordswoman by a long shot, but I don't think that's the way he's supposed to hold it.