The Thief and Prince

Chapter 8: You're Acting Strange

The air is knocked from my chest when I hit the hard ground and I gasp, trying to regain it. The hot sun bears down and I squint, trying to make sense of what just happened. Suddenly, a dark figure peers over me, blocking the bright light and I see the tanned Acadian grinning mischievously at me.

"I told you to stop being so obvious with your strikes, Cora. You'd think you would have learned by now," he says, offering a hand.

Sucking in one last breath of air, I take it and allow him to help me onto my feet. "Again," I pant, bending down and picking up the sword he has loaned me. It's heavy and has caused blisters to form on the soft flesh of my hands but it'll have to suffice.

Glancing over, I see Laria and Crispin lounging on the soft grass where we had set up camp for the day—grins etched onto their faces. Watching the two of us spar for the past three weeks has become their new form of entertainment, even resulting on betting how long I'll last each evening.

I have to admit, at first—once we got past the basics—I would regrettably yield only after a few seconds. As each day passed though, I noticed I could last a bit longer as I grew stronger, faster, and all around wished to avoid getting beat to a pulp as I threw myself into training. Today might be a personal record as it felt like I had been both parrying and countering his blows for a good ten minutes. Even though he stated I was a fast learner, something told me that no matter how quickly I caught on I would never be a match for the famed Amiri Alrestimaowi.

"Aren't your chicken arms tired yet?" he teases as I grip the hilt. Sending him a glare, I quickly swing my blade in a circle using my wrist readying myself.

"Again," I repeat in a more demanding tone, "And stop going easy on me. If I ever end up in a real fight they won't return the favor."

His grin wavers and he shrugs, "You know I hate hurting you, but suit yourself." He then gets into stance and slowly makes his way towards me, blade at the ready.

Wiping sweat form my brow, I stand my ground and mirror his position. We then slowly rotate in a circle–almost as if it's some strange dance—testing to see who will make the first move. Steeling myself, I quickly strike but he easily counters my blow, swiping at my legs. I hurdle over it with only half a second to spare. "I guess he really isn't going to take it easy on me," I think, both concerned and excited.

Exchanging a few more strikes, we parry each other with precision, more so on his end than mine. It's clear that he isn't trying to mortally wound me; always turning the blade to where I'd be stuck with the flat end.

Spinning out of the way during his third foray, the edge of his blade catches my left bicep and I feel an instant sting as the blade cuts through flesh. Sucking in a breath of air, I'm tempted to look down and inspect my wound, but given that this isn't the first injury the assassin has given me, I know that in doing so would give him another chance to overcome me.

"Keep fighting until you can fight no more, no matter how severe an injury you have," Amiri said when he first nicked me.

Instead, I use the pain as fuel and lunge forward, lashing out with my remaining energy. He isn't expecting this and stumbles backwards but still manages to block me. He feints, causing me to believe he is going to drive his blade towards my sternum but ducks down at the last moment and sticks out his leg, rotating in a circular motion before sweeping me off my feet once again.

I hit the ground hard, letting out an audible "oof" as my head slams onto the earth. He is about to bring his blade down to gain a victory but I roll out of the way and gain my feet, not bothering to brush myself off as dirt and grass cling to my tunic.