hood, a
mischievous glint in her eye.
“I’d say you taught him a few things too,” she wheedled, loosing her sharp, reserved laugh.
Charlie blushed a furious red but laughed with her, the pair exchanging meaningful glances. Another odd
history, longer than we know. Corayne couldn’t help but be amused watching them both. They reminded
her of the Tempestborn crew, a collection of killers and rogues, at home with each other and no less
lethal for it.
Craning her neck, the bounty hunter looked back, twisting her body in her leather-bound armor. Her own
smile was brittle. “I’m surprised Garion wasn’t waiting in the marshes, same as me. You didn’t exactly
make yourself difficult to find.”
His smile disappeared in an instant, replaced with a pained frown. With unsteady motion, he slipped
from the saddle, landing hard in the dirt of the road. “I think I’ll walk for a bit,” he grumbled, stumbling on
uneasy legs to put some distance between them.
Sigil let him fall back.
“That was unkind,” Sorasa said in a flat voice, without judgment. A simple statement of fact.
Sigil shrugged. “No one pays me to be kind.”
At Corayne’s shoulder, Andry leaned, closing the distance between them. “She might be harsher than
Sorasa,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
At the rear of their line, Dom scoffed. “I did not realize there was a competition for worst personality,” he
crowed.
Sorasa didn’t hesitate. “It’s not a competition with you around, Elder.”
On the road, Charlie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, his discomfort forgotten. “Do all immortals have
sticks up their asses or just him?”
Their joined laughter carried through the Larsian fields, rustling the tall grass. To Corayne’s delight, even
Dom’s lips twitched, betraying a smile.
“Get up.”
Corayne opened her eyes with a jolt of terror, expecting her uncle, or the red wizard, maybe even What
Waits himself, a looming shadow set to rip her apart. Instead she found Sorasa bending over her
sprawled form, the weak fire dancing in her copper eyes.
Shaky, Corayne rose up on her elbows, looking around their camp. Embers glowed in a ring of stones.
Charlie sat over it, his cloak wrapped around his body as he poked the flames, barely awake. Sigil
watched over him, alert as a hawk. The moon was gone, but the stars still hung in the sky. The eastern
horizon was barely tinged in blue.
“Sorasa, it’s still dark,” she protested, scrubbing at her face. “I’m not on watch—”
But the assassin took her by the shoulder, hauling her to her feet. The night air bit cold when her cloak
fell away.
“Hurry up. We don’t have much time until they come back,” Sorasa said, half marching her toward the
fire, where Sigil loomed. Corayne stumbled along, trying to get her bearings as sleep faded away. “I
should’ve done this a long time ago.”
Done what? Corayne wondered, her mind snapping awake. She opened her eyes fully to Sigil, whose
attention shifted from the fugitive priest to Corayne’s own face. Doubt bled through her, its edges tinged
with fear. With a jolt, she realized Dom and Andry were gone, their sleeping spaces empty.
“Where’s Dom?” she asked, uneasy and wary. As much as her protectors chafed, she felt bare without
them, too vulnerable. “And Andry?”
Sorasa let go of her arm, planting them both in the center of the camp. She crossed her arms over her
chest and settled back, tapping one boot. “The walking scowl and the noble squire are hunting for
breakfast.”
Corayne nearly jumped when Sigil began circling her like she was a horse at auction. With a gulp,
Corayne shifted to keep her in sight, turning steadily. “Can I help you with something, Sigil?”
“The Spindleblade is too big for her to ever use properly,” Sigil finally said, taking Corayne by the
shoulders. She balked, surprised, as the bounty hunter gave her a shake. “She doesn’t have enough heft
for an ax either. What about finger blades?”
It took Corayne a second to realize Sigil wasn’t speaking to her at all.
“She’s too slow,” Sorasa answered, also sizing her up. “Archery is out of the question too.”
Corayne squinted between them, at a loss for once. Then the pieces slotted together, all at once. “Are—
are you going to teach me to fight?”
Firelight gleamed on Sorasa’s teeth. “If I had a year, yes. I could make you passable,” she answered,
smirking. Then she shook her head, looking Corayne up and down. “If I ever meet your mother, I’ll
certainly have words for her. What a lesson to neglect.”
My fighting skills are not
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