Black Moon Draw

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 frame 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.