Sides of War

Chapter Eighteen: Sharp Eyes

They left the castle at sunrise. The Decaster camp would only be three days away, as it had progressed northwards since their absence. Jorlin hated leaving Asher behind, but she looked forward to hopefully finding Tholan at camp.

They ate lunch without bothering to stop and take a break, so they set up camp for the night just inside the border of the forest. With all the traveling, Jorlin hadn't lost any of the muscle she had gained at Clovis's castle; however, she couldn't help but worry that her reflexes with a sword were deteriorating.

That night around the small fire, Draven must have been thinking something similar, for he asked, "Do you have any skill with a sword, or do you only play the part of a soldier?"

"I can fight well enough," she answered. She managed to catch the thick, relatively straight branch that he threw at her. He stood up with a similar one in his hand.

"You've got to be joking," she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. He was probably significantly more skilled than her.

"Neither you or I can afford to be out of practice," he stated, spinning the branch around his wrist.

"Come on," she complained, "we've been traveling all day."

"Your enemies won't care if you're tired," he replied.

She rolled her eyes and grunted as she got to her feet, grasping the makeshift sword tightly. Bending her knees, she put her mind into fighting mode, her heart already beginning to thud faster. His good eye focused on her, taking into account what her body might betray about her next move. He was the first to make a move, and he sprang forward, swinging his stick downwards. Jorlin moved hers to block the blow, but he twisted the weapon at the last second to whack it against her ribs harshly. She clenched her jaw shut even though the strike was painful. It was bound to bruise later. Jorlin took the offensive, aiming a hit at his dominant arm. He blocked it without much difficulty and parried her following swing. They exchanged strokes and blocks a few more times until Draven shoved her to the ground with his free arm. Before she could regain her footing, he twisted her stick out of her hand with his branch and pressed it against her neck.

"Dead," he stated, taking a few steps back.

"You're stronger than I am," she complained, retrieving her stick.

"Then don't use strength tactics. Use your head," he replied. "And if you're going to pretend to be a soldier I'm going to treat you like one."

Agitated, Jorlin stood back up. She pretended to lunge at him, making him plant his feet firmly. Before he could move, she darted to his blind side and landed a strong hit on his thigh. She blocked his swing at her as he turned, and she kicked his shin. He grimaced, then pressed his branch against hers. Jorlin threw all her weight against his force, but he was considerably stronger than her. He put his foot behind hers and shoved her backwards, tripping her and sending her onto her back. The wind was knocked out of her lungs, but she rolled out of the way of his following blow. Jorlin pushed herself off the ground, blocking a strike headed towards her left arm, and she took a stab at his chest, but he batted the weapon out of her hand. She cursed under her breath as he swiftly moved between her and her stick.

She let out an exasperated breath and muttered, "Hardly a fair fight."

He took a step forward, but she jumped around him in a couple large bounds. Before he could retaliate she kicked his knee in from behind, and he knelt on the ground in imbalance. Jorlin made a break for her stick, but Draven grabbed her ankle, sending her into the thin layer of snow on the ground. He planted his makeshift sword firmly over her heart once he regained his footing.