Ellara Brightleaf's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

They left at dawn and reached Erikku's clearing by midmorning. It was a plain open space, ringed by grass and scattered stones, with his small hut at the far edge. The fox kit darted ahead and sniffed at a rock. Ellara stopped at the center and watched Erikku stretch his arms, loose and unbothered. She had hired a sword-arm. She did not yet know if the arm was any good. "Before we walk into the grove," she said, "I want to see what you can do." Erikku raised an eyebrow. "You want to fight me." "A quick match. So I know you won't freeze when the trees start moving." She flexed her fingers and felt the warmth gather in her palm. "I have magic. You have a sword. Let's see whose is faster." He didn't argue. He walked to the hut and came back with two sturdy sticks, handled and worn smooth from use. He tossed one to her. "No sword. No fire. We use these. I'd rather not explain to the village why the elf came home scorched." Ellara caught the stick and frowned at it. "You think a stick will stop me." "I think you'll want it in a second." She moved first. She flung her free hand out and pushed a gust of wind at his knees, meaning to drop him. He was already gone. He stepped sideways before the air reached him, light and quick, like he'd read the thought off her face. Her stick was still rising when his tapped her wrist. The blow stung. Her grip opened on its own. "Again," she snapped. She tried the wind lower, faster. He slid under it and closed the gap. She saw his stick come at her ribs and twisted, too slow. It caught her side, light but certain. She stumbled a step. The fox barked. Ellara reset her feet and reached deeper for the magic. She held the spell this time, waiting for an opening. Erikku didn't give one. He circled, patient, never where she aimed. When she finally let the wind fly, he was inside it. His stick knocked hers from her hand and tapped her shoulder. Then her chest. Then it rested, soft, against her throat. The clearing went quiet. Her own stick lay in the grass. She hadn't landed a single hit. Erikku lowered the stick and stepped back. "You telegraph every spell," he said. No cruelty in it. "You pull your hand back first. I just watch the hand." Ellara stood there, breathing hard, her pride stinging worse than her ribs. She'd expected to be humbled by the grove, not by the man she'd hired to protect her against it. If she fought like this in there, the thorns would have her before Erikku could reach her. She picked up the fallen stick. "Then teach me," she said, the words bitter in her mouth. "Before we go in. Show me how to stop telegraphing." Erikku almost smiled. "Now that," he said, "I can do."