She fell back a pace, dragging her hand across the ground like a painter with a brush. Another line of water whipped upward, this one thinner, sharper.
He ducked and pushed forward another two steps.
The distance closed fast.
Enya exhaled sharply, mana shifting again.
The ground behind her steamed faintly where her heels dragged across the dampened dirt.
But Lindarion didn't go for her arms.
He just raised a hand, then tapped her shoulder with two fingers.
"Out."
She blinked.
Then smiled, barely.
"That fast?"
"You're talented," Lindarion said. "But you're spending too long prepping the field. That kind of strategy works once. After that, anyone faster than you won't give you time to set it up again."
She nodded, brushing her braid back. "Understood."
She stepped away without protest.
More heads turned now.
There were only two left.
One was a heavy-built soldier in heavy greaves. He looked more like a smith than a fighter, his arms thick, his jaw square.
