Free The Forgotten King (Korin's Journal) by Brian Beam

There were metal buckles on my backpack and a couple metal objects within it.  Aside from that, there was only my belt buckle. 
    Practically tearing my belt from my around my waist and shrugging off my backpack, I rolled away and pushed up into a crouch, ready to make after Til’.  Before I could move a muscle, I caught sight of another metallic flash in the air, this time noticing that Kait’ had lobbed whatever it was in an underhand throw.
    The object landed in front of me with a wet thump.  It appeared to be a small metal sphere.  I was suddenly jerked forward, as if someone had grabbed my cloak at its clasp and pulled.  From my crouched position, I was dragged face-first into the sodden ground.  There was a simple metal button clasping my cloak, and it had completely escaped my attention.  I quickly ripped my cloak from around my neck.
    In the meantime, Kait’ had closed the distance between us, her leg drawn back and ready to plant a boot into my face.  As her foot rushed forward, I rolled away, grabbing her ankle with both hands.  My rolling momentum allowed me to twist her leg and bring her down onto her back.  I jumped to my feet, ready to run, but Kait’ recovered just as quickly.
    “Why?” I asked, tensed and ready to defend myself. 
    Kait’ let out a humorless chuckle.  “Because you and the Kolarin will be useful additions to our group.”  The baleful tone in her voice made me wonder how I’d ever found it—or her—attractive.
    I didn’t have time to care about what Kait’ meant.  I had a friend to save.  Giving her my most impressive “you really don’t want to fight me” look—which I hoped was bolstered by my week’s worth of unshaven facial hair—I took a couple of retreating steps backwards. 
    “Look, I don’t want to fight you,” I admitted honestly.  First of all, she apparently had magic at her disposal.  Without knowing what she was capable of, I was at a huge disadvantage.  Secondly—and I know it sounds chauvinistic—she was a woman.  It’s not that I believe women are weak or anything; it’s just that I was raised to never lift a hand against them. 
    Kait’s eyes flashed with maleficent mirth.  “Then don’t,” she said, swiftly flinging another of the metal spheres towards my face.  With our close proximity, I barely had time to jerk my head to the side to dodge the projectile.  Only when I saw Kait’s amused expression did I realize that I’d done exactly what she’d expected. 
    My scabbarded sword, along with the attached daggers, slammed painfully across my chest.  I threw my leg back to widen my stance and hold my ground.  I twisted my upper body, allowing the sword and daggers to slide off my chest and resume their flight towards the sphere Kait’ had thrown.  I’d put together that whatever the objects were, they somehow drew metal to them. 
    Deciding that I had no desire to see what other tricks Kait’ had up her sleeve, I charged her.  Sometimes a little recklessness goes a long way.  Her eyes widened slightly at my brazen attack, and she reached a hand into the lining of her cloak.  I was too quick for her, though, throwing an arm around her waist and tackling her with my shoulder. 
    We hit the ground hard, and Kait’ exhaled loudly, her breath knocked from her lungs.  I leaned up, ready to give up the manners of my upbringing as I lifted my right hand to strike her.  Before I could follow through, she threw a hook punch towards my jaw. 
    Now, I’ve mentioned before how my uncle, Chasus, trained me in both swordplay and hand-to-hand fighting.  He was an expert in many techniques of unarmed combat: Tau’Shal, Henreti, Palong, and, you know, general street-tough brawling. 
    The fighting technique that I’d always found most versatile was Palong, its basis grounded in anticipation and adaptation.  It’s almost a state of mind more than anything, and it was this state of mind that recognized the incoming attack in