Free The Sorcery Code by Dima Zales, Anna Zaires Page A

Kiam.
    Augusta gripped the side of her chaise, tense with anxiety, as the slim youth unsheathed his own sword, preparing to meet the peasant rushing at him like a maddened bull.
    The blacksmith lunged at Kiam, and Kiam gracefully dodged to the side, his movements smooth and practiced. Howling, the commoner charged again, and Kiam raised his sword. Before Augusta could even understand what happened, the peasant froze, a red line appearing on his neck. Then he collapsed, his huge bulk hitting the ground with tremendous force. His head, separated from the body, rolled on the ground, coming to a stop a few feet away.
    Kiam’s sharp sword had sliced through the man’s thick neck as easily as a knife moving through butter.
    For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then Barson laughed. “I said ten, the boy said fifteen, but you sent only a single man,” he yelled at the shocked peasants.
    In response, five other men pushed through the peasant crowd. While none of them were as big as the dead peasant, they all appeared larger and stronger than Kiam. They were also much more cautious than the blacksmith had been, approaching the boy silently, a look of grim determination on their hard faces.
    When they reached him, the first man made a lunge for the boy, which Kiam dodged, like before. This time, however, he proceeded to slice at the man’s midsection. Another two peasants attacked at the same time, but Kiam, like a dancer, moved his body away from the blows, and swung his sword. Three more men were on the ground in moments. The last man standing hesitated for a moment, but it was too late for him, too. Without giving the man time to make up his mind, the young soldier jumped and sliced.
    The last attacker was no more.
    Augusta could hear murmuring in the crowd. This was the critical moment, what Barson had been counting on with this demonstration. One fairly small boy against several large men—there could be no clearer statement of the soldiers’ fighting abilities. If the peasants had any common sense, they would turn back now.
    At least, that’s what Barson had been hoping. Augusta had been uncertain about this part of the plan—and she could now see that she’d been right to doubt. The peasants had come too far to be deterred so easily, and instead of retreating, they began to advance, pulling out their weapons. As they got closer to the soldiers, they spread out and started flanking Barson’s men.
    This was the point at which Augusta needed to teleport the soldiers back. Her hands shaking, she reached for the pre-written spell, and the card slipped from her fingers, falling off the chaise. She gasped, frantically trying to catch it, but it was futile. As the card flew to the ground, Augusta was overcome by a panic unlike anything she had ever experienced.
    If her spell failed, she would be responsible for the deaths of Barson and his men.

Chapter 12: Blaise
     
    Shocked, Blaise took a step back, staring at Gala. Did she realize what she was doing, kissing him like that?
    Despite her startling beauty, he had been trying not to think of her this way. She had just come to this world, and in his eyes, she was as innocent as a child. Her actions, however, belied that idea.
    This was getting complicated. Very complicated, very quickly.
    Swallowing, Blaise thought about what to say. He could still feel her soft lips pressed against his own, her slim arms embracing him, holding him close. He hadn’t realized that he would react to her so strongly, that it would take all his strength to step away from that kiss. 
    She took a step toward him. “Um, Blaise?”
    “Gala, do you understand what a kiss means?” he asked carefully, trying to control his instinctive reaction to her nearness.
    “Of course.” Her blue eyes were large and guileless, looking up at him.
    “And what does it mean to you?” Was she just experimenting with him, trying to ‘learn’ about this aspect of life as she tried to learn about