Potent: Book 1

Chapter 12: A Rescue

Ber, Day 37 of Rhexia, Winking Moons, Year 602

"Blue Pietersite may also be called 'tempest stone' and is said to repel negativity and remove spiritual blockages. It it also very healing to the psyche, attracting light and life." —Precious Stones of Heladrith

* * *

It was mid-afternoon. His alchemy class now over, Bricot had returned to his room to work on his residency project. He unbuttoned his light sweater and tossed it over the back of the desk chair. These teaching rooms in Craestor didn't seem to let in much light, and student and teacher alike complained of growing constantly chilled over stretches of time.

Relieved that his own small room faced east, he strode over to his window and looked down onto the green, seeking warm sunlight.

Two figures stood in the center of the lawn, holding—what were those? Broomsticks?

Bricot squinted. Quarter staves.

The second-story tower room was only about twenty gerds high, so he wasn't peering down at the tops of heads; he should be able to tell who—

Ishka. And with that long auburn hair—the second figure could only be Farax.

Bricot watched them.

Tall, toned Ishka was speaking to her, using his hands to explain something animatedly. Farax was nodding.

They backed away from each other and stood that way for a moment, then Ishka broke and advanced on her.

Bricot could feel the adrenaline surge from his vantage point in the garret room. Farax practically glowed with the energy of it.

Ishka brought one end of his quarterstaff sharply downward, targeting Farax's forehead.

She raised her own straight up to parry this horizontally with both hands, catching the attack before it could reach her. Then she let go of one end and allowed her right hand to sweep the long piece of timber downward, taking a swipe at Ishka's belly.

He backed up, avoiding the blow easily. Then he grounded himself and, using the butt of his quarterstaff, stabbed out with it, attempting to catch her in the chest.

He almost did, but then Farax used both hands to parry vertically, barring the thrust and shoving it to one side. With Ishka's arms flung the other way, she saw an opening and advanced, kneeing him—in the groin!

No, it only looked like the groin. She had taken him on the inner thigh.

He laughed, backing away, and held up one finger, as if to acknowledge the point went to her. Farax smiled triumphantly at him.

He seemed to be much stronger, but she was clearly the cleverer fighter. She watched him carefully, trying to predict his next move.

They held their places for a moment, catching their breath.

This time, she broke to advance upon him. She took a broad sweep at his shins and he was forced to jump to avoid it. As he landed, she swung again, viciously fast and obviously hoping to capitalize on his offset rhythm.

With a comically panicked look on his face, Ishka leapt forward into a shoulder roll, tucking around his quarterstaff and keeping it close to his body. He stood up easily and faced her, then the two got used to their new positions with respect to one another. He nodded his compliment to her.

It was Ishka's turn. He tried the same blunt thrust, this time to Farax's left shoulder.

She, of course, moved to parry it vertically, but this turned out to be a mistake.