Heart of Flame

XIII. Khiirdu

Sorne felt as though she had simply blinked and four years passed in that instant, despite how grueling her days were. There was so much to learn, both perfecting her knowledge of the Unshiir Iirzar and learning how to be a warrior. It occupied her days, and raising Nirsal claimed her nights. The black dragon was never far away, of course, and always seemed to be eating. She grew faster than Sorne expected, shedding scales often, which lead to a dragonling scraping herself against the fledgling njoshari's body to get rid of itches. Needless to say, it was impossible to sleep through. Sorne appreciated the affection, but less so the abrasions.

Khagra was a surprisingly good teacher for her age. The girl had a good patience and was less brutal as an instructor than Banaak. Granted, the imp was often distracted and had no fear of heights or risks in the slightest. Sorne had nearly died of a heart attack many times when they roamed away from Throkk, whether it was Khagra scaling some cliff face to see a bird nest or playing with a bear cub. Kalg was often her teacher as well these days—whenever Banaak was busy—though Vridash had her a day or two of the week to teach her archery.

Sorne hadn't added much in the way of bulk to her form as she grew stronger and stronger, but her wiry muscle made her deceptively strong. Combined with the ability to harden her bones, joints, muscles, and skin to rock-like hardness, she was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Sun had bleached her hair to a pale blonde and tanned her skin, though it was still fairer than an orc's. The patterns of a njoshari were painted across her body in woad to enhance the flow of magic. Someday, they would be replaced by tattoos or scars, depending on her preference. She rather liked the way the dark ink looked.

"Deceptions are a powerful tool," Kalg said, stepping in. His hands covered Sorne's, shifting her grip on the spear. It was becoming her favorite weapon, versatile enough to do plenty with while retaining reach that evened her chances against Rirk and others who also preferred the sword. That rivalry was still going strong. "The last one we will discuss is broken time. It is my favorite. The premise is simple. People fall into rhythms when they fight, tempos. You have already learned that this must always be on your terms. Broken time is simply to set such a rhythm and then suddenly change your pattern. Perhaps you begin slowly and cautiously and then suddenly overwhelm them. Perhaps you press them ferociously and then slow your true attack so that their parry misses and creates an opening. Anything that breaks the time you have set."

Sorne grinned. "I like the sound of it." She had learned quickly that she absolutely couldn't compete with the other njoshari initiates in terms of raw strength, though her stamina was finally comparable. She had to be quick and she had to be cunning. Kalg and Khagra had been teaching her how to hide strikes and disguise movements to be unexpected since she started training in Throkk, and it was paying dividends now.

Kalg chucked. "It is a good one," the orc spearman said. "Come, let us see how quickly you grasp the concept. Then I expect you to test it on Banaak or Rirk."

Sorne was a quick study when it came to combat, perhaps because she gave it her undivided attention. She moved like a dancer, finding a beat with Kalg, her spear weaving and darting towards openings as she feinted and probed his defenses. Kalg was more skilled by far, but she could keep up sometimes in terms of her creativity. The moment she saw him mirror her just a touch too much, Sorne lunged forward like a viper, driving the padded end of her training staff towards a small opening at his shoulder. Kalg barely managed to recover in time, smashing his spear against hers in a block. She darted to the side, using the momentum of the one end that he'd stopped to bring the other around, hitting him in the outside of his thigh with the butt of her spear before darting back and opening distance. She had to block a thrust from his spear, but she was able to clear his range of threat.

"Excellent," Kalg said with a chuckle, wincing a little as he moved. She'd struck the nerve there quite well, and he didn't have the magical training to protect himself the way Banaak did—just dense muscle and thick orcish skin. She had to rely on her leather armor, when she opted to wear it, which had been battered nearly to pieces and repaired many times. Every piece was heavily scarred. The orc grinned at her. "I approve of the recovery. Again."