A sliver of surprise flashed through Kestrel's face when he parried one of her strikes and answered with a short, almost vicious counter that drove her sword off-line.
He advanced another half step, turned his wrist, and forced her to shift her footing. That alone told him how much he had improved, because Kestrel had not expected him to move her at all.
Her dragon spectre snapped toward his side, and he rolled under it with a movement that would have been impossible an hour earlier, then came up swinging. She blocked, but he had already seen the angle and adjusted, forcing her to retreat one measured step across the summit stone.
Lancet breathed hard, the thrill of it all surging up through the ache in his limbs.
She was still clearly the better swordsman.
But he was not helpless anymore.
