Black Moon Draw by Lizzy Ford Page B

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.
    How did I get the one incompetent squire in the army? Is this a reflection of what the Shadow Knight thinks of me? Shitty witch, shitty squire?
    “Witch, mayhap you should prepare a spell,” he advises.
    “Yeah. That’d be nice.” I straighten.
    The six men are almost upon us.
    “What would you think about running?” I ask, shuddering at the sight of their swords. I may survive a confrontation. The kid with me won’t.
    Whipping around, the squire takes my hand and bolts, all but dragging me with him. He’s strong for being so skinny; it’s me who slows us down.
    Someone collars me, grabbing the back of my dress and yanking me back. I tumble to the ground, inadvertently bringing down the squire with me. Rolling to my knees, I hold up the medallion.
    “Don’t make me use this!” I cry.
    The attackers freeze, indecision crossing the expression of every one of them.
    “Kid, come here!” I order the squire urgently.
    He complies, scrambling to me.
    “Our orders,” one of the warriors said to the others, clearly trying to convince himself as well as the others. “The witch dies!”
    “Do you remember the last battle of Green Dawn Cave, where the battle-witch annihilated every last member of the army?” the squire cries. “’Twas the greatest defeat in the history of our realm! She will do it again!”
    The men freeze in place once more.
    “Good job, kid,” I murmur. More loudly, I quote the Shadow Knight. “To speak of the past is to invite its reoccurrence!”
    “Do you recall how she did it?” the squire continues. “By boiling every man in his skin where he stood!”
    Yuck. Is that the type of thing I’m supposed to do as a battle-witch? What a painful way to die. I can’t see myself ever doing that, even now.
    A look around us indicates the men are still not yet convinced to leave us be.
    “Kill her quickly,” one says. “We must protect our men.”
    Shit. They took it the wrong way.
    The six close in around us.
    I snatch the squire and shove his body beneath mine the best I can, willing the shield at my back to protect us both.
    “You can use your magic,” he whispers hopefully.
    “I can apparently take a beating. Wait ‘til they chop me up then run, okay?”
    He gasps. “I cannot leave you! I shall die at your side!”
    Melodramatic much? “Look, kid-”
    “I have never bedded a woman or eaten a sweet cake,” the squire moans. “Now I will die without ever knowing those pleasures!”
    I almost laugh. The image of Red Velvet pancakes flashes through my mind and I silently agree that I’d love to have one more stack before dying.
    The first man reaches us. He raises his sword and I close my eyes, praying to pass out the first time they chop off something.
    The medallion grows hot at my chest.