Black Moon Draw

His newfound battle-witch proved too inconsistent - and scared - to be useful. Aye, she won the battle for him, but he had never heard of aught as bizarre as a battle-witch who preferred trees and was motivated by sweet cakes.

The Shadow Knight did not know what to make of her. It was one thing for her to be a little nervous about her first battle. It was another thing for her to be opposed to war entirely. She had slowed him down on the battlefield by not killing their enemies. Live men required more effort and time to round up, count, feed . . . The battle was won in under a candlemark - and it took ten times that to organize the defeated.

Now, after dark, he stood in the doorway of a tent on the savannah, overlooking the small fire where the witch and her squire sat. They were too far from the forest for the trees to provide them shelter, another side effect of the late battle, so they slept next to bonfires, beneath the stars.

He had seen men react differently the first time they saw blood spilled. Most warriors were not naturally attuned to bloodshed, though some - like him - viewed it as an essential part of battle from the beginning. He was rumored to have been born with a sword in his hand and had never wept one tear for the slain. His sole purpose since that moment was to reclaim what had been taken from his family. He was the last of his bloodline that might succeed at breaking the curse before the end of the era. War was his life.

However, many warriors went through stages of horror, grief, and anger when they first took a life or experienced battle the first time, and they learned to be stronger for the next. Eventually, killing became second nature and they no longer cared about seeing blood spill. He was lenient with pages and squires, unless they broke one of the laws.

A very, very few men were ill prepared to be warriors at all. It was not in their temperament to witness death, physical ability to take a life, or - like the witch's squire - had talents that lent them more useful in other areas of war. They became support personnel in his armies. From cooks to apothecaries to grooms, there was a place for even this type of man in an army.

But a battle-witch with no temperament for war, who sobbed uncontrollably after winning a battle? It was unheard of. Every witch preceding this one had been bloodthirsty and cold, the way he was.