Page 113 of Lies of the Wicked
“Never mind.”
“Sir.” Their driver sounded from outside their tent.
“Yes Oleander, what is it?”
“The first group is arriving now, I’ve spotted them.”
“Thank you, be right out.” Soren pressed a kiss to her lips and said, “Put your shirt on before you kill me,” then ducked out of the tent.
By nightfall a majority of the remaining rebellion had made it, and the rest would trickle in overnight. They’d told stories of how the Illusion Spell proved useful when the trees grew sparse. They’d camouflage themselves as rodents and insects until they were protected again.
After a brief evening meal, Soren led Thessa away from camp. “Bring your dagger,” was all he’d said.
46
LECTURE NOTES FROM SPELLCASTING AND CURATION:
Astral Projection is a far worse spell. Not only does it play tricks on the eyes, but it’s impenetrable. There’s no stopping the spellcaster unless their body is found. Due to its nefarious nature, it’s strictly forbidden.
Thessa pivoted, dodging Soren’s blow, and kicked his stomach. He curled on impact while simultaneously grabbing her foot. She was hopping, hopping … she was down.
At least all the dirt and dead leaves had softened her landing.
“For someone so concerned about my leg, it doesn’t seem like it.” He didn’t need to know it was feeling good today.
Soren bent over her, offering his hand. “We’re running out of time, and you’ve hardly trained in combat.”
She took it and stood.
“Don’t kick unless it’s below arms reach, or your opponentis facing the other way.” Soren stepped farther back and said, “Unsheathe your blade.”
Thessa bent down and freed the dagger from her boot. Poised and ready she asked, “Where would you like to be scarred, general?”
He smirked, charging her without warning.
Thessa bent her knees, preparing to strike until her head whipped to the right and her blade was on the floor. Soren had driven his palm into the side of her face, while blocking her striking arm.
“Now what?” he asked.
Stuck between his arms, she answered with a question, “I die?”
“Thessa.” He shook his head and released his counter-attack. “Never hesitate. It gives your opponent the chance to disarm you. If someone’s charging at you, run to meet them. Make them think you’re mad. Dodge at the last second to regain the advantage.” He picked up her blade, handing it back. “Try it again,” he said, flicking his hand in silent command.
Thessa had left a decent gap between them before bolting. She ran hard, meeting him in the middle, but not before dipping down and barreling into his knees.
Soren tumbled over her, groaning. “That works too.”
Before he could find his footing, she slammed her body onto his back, thrusting her dagger into the crease of his neck. “Do you yield?”
He huffed a laugh, and then they were both laughing. She rolled off him, placing her palm beneath her ear to rest. Soren shifted to his side, meeting her.
“I’m not a fighter,” she pleaded.
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been fighting one battle or another your entire life.”
She blushed beneath the moonlight, unsure how he managed to truly see her.
“Get up, we're doing it again,” he said, rising in one swift motion.
