“Do you know ‘The King and the Jester’?” she asked.
“That sounds familiar. Sing the opening,” Grange suggested.
Grace hummed two bars, then began to sing in a low voice, looking intently at Grange as she did. He could see her eyes only as two dark pools in her face in the dim interior of the room, and her expression was beyond his ability to see or interpret.
He recognized the tune, though he had only played it once with Guy’s band. He knew enough to play most of it, and so he began to accompany her, joining her as she sang through the first stanza, then easily providing instrumental support for the rest of the song. The combination of their two musical skills felt relaxing and soothing, so much that he was able to shift his body slightly into a different posture, without causing his injured leg to twinge with pain.
“Ah,” she gave a little laugh as the song ended. “I remember so many fun times with that song.
“Excuse me,” she said, and she abruptly left the room, only to return seconds later with a lit candle and a thin sheet wrapped around herself. She had been wearing only a flimsy shift when she had first come in, Grange realized.
“Now, you play a song for me,” she told him, as she placed the candle on top of the half wall, then carefully sat down on the corner of his bed.
He thought about music from Fortune, songs that he hadn’t been able to play for an audience since his journey had begun, and he thought about Ariana, no longer a woman in his life. He selected a haunting melody about a lost love, and began to play it, while Grace slowly leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, as she let the song wash over her.
“That was sad – beautiful but sad,” Grace said without opening her eyes.
“Do you mind if we open a window and get some fresh air in here,” she asked. “It really cools off after the sun goes down, and the breeze blows across the harbor.” Without waiting for his permission, she rose from the corner of the bed and went to the windows, pulled the curtains wide, and opened the wide panes of glass. Grange immediately felt the air start to circulate around the room as she did, a relief from the heat he didn’t realize he was sitting in.
“Ah,” she said, then resumed her seat. “Play something happier,” she commanded. “I don’t want to feel melancholy all night.”
“Do you know this one?” he asked, picking another local dancing tune that he felt confident she would know.
Grace looked down in concentration, her lips pursed as she prepared to focus on the music. After just four notes, she raised her face with a lopsided grin, and began to sing along. They ran through the song, then finished, each breathing to catch their breath in the silence.
“Can you zap those bugs?” Grace asked Grange, referring to a small swarm that had come in through the open windows. Her hand was at her chest, where she had started to reach for her wand, before realizing that she hadn’t carried it in her sleepwear.
“I don’t know how to do that,” Grange shook his head.
“What do you mean? You just knocked a wand out of my hand a couple of hours ago,” Grace said with a hint of dissatisfaction. “Surely you can screen the bugs out.”
“I don’t think I can. I didn’t know I would knock your wand away – it just happened,” he answered.
“Really? It ‘just happened’?” Grace asked in disbelief. “That kind of thing doesn’t ‘just happen’,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Good night,” she said brusquely, then left the room, taking her candle with her.
“See what you did?” Grange spoke to the jewels as the door slammed shut. “You made her mad at me.”
The jewels were silent, and the insects in the room were buzzing loudly as they circled and swooped in the darkened room.
Grange gave a sigh, then put his flute on the floor, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 15
Grange awoke to the sound of Grace knocking loudly on his door the next morning.
“Get up,” she spoke loudly. He heard his door open, and saw rays of light from the lantern she held. “We’ve got chores, and I don’t want to wait.”
Grange took his time sitting up, then pulling his clothes on, determined to not let the girl feel in charge.
“Hurry up, or we’re going to miss breakfast,” she told him, and he stood up to pull on his new long sleeved green shirt.
“We have to start the fires, clean the equipment, open the curtains, and mix the precursors,” she told him as they began to walk down the hall.
“The what?” he asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“Precursors – everyone knows what they are,” Grace sniffed dismissively. “Just follow me, and do what I tell you.”
She opened one of the doors that had been closed the previous day, and started opening curtains. “You open these in this room and next door, while I start the fire,” she instructed, then left the room.
Grange dutifully opened the curtains of the windows in the room, then went to the next open door, where he found Grace striking sparks into a small metal dish atop a table. “What are you doing?” he asked as he headed to the window curtains.
“I have to ignite the Flame of Focus,” she said absently as she began to fan a thin tendril of smoke rising from the collection of tinder that rested in the slightly curved dish. Grange watched while a single small flame arose, then grew quickly, as she fanned it and fed it more splinters and straw. Grace took a thimble Grange hadn’t noticed, and poured its contents into the bottom of the dish, then grabbed a pinch of dark powder from a stone jar, and dropped it onto the flames.
She opened another jar and used a pair of tongs to remove a small crystal, which she added to the fire, then paused. She finally opened a beaker, and poured a thimbleful of its contents into the flaming dish, where the small fire was starting to diminish as it consumed its fuel. Grace put the thimble down, placed both her hands together in front of her chest and closed her eyes, then uttered three words, “lasracha, thabhairt teas,” she spoke softly.
As soon as she finished the phrase, she clapped her hands, and the flame instantly became an intensely bright ball of energy, hovering just above the dish’s surface.
“That’s amazing,” Grange said.
“Alright,” Grace gave a small smile of pleasure at the compliment. “Let’s clean the equipment,” she motioned for him to follow as she left the room.
Grange followed. “What’s that fire for?” he asked. “Should we just leave it there without anyone to watch it?”
“It’s the Flame of Focus. Now that I’ve started it, all of us tied to this flame can raise the energy more easily,” she grudgingly explained. “Where’s your Flame of Focus?” she asked.
“I don’t have one. I’m not a wizard,” he answered.
“I saw what you did to my wand. Only a wizard could do that,” Grace shot back. “Keep your secrets if you want to; it doesn’t matter to me.”
“In here now,” she opened another door. “We have to clean everything on this table,” she gestured. “You take this bucket down to the pump downstairs and fill it with water.”
“I can’t open the doors on the stairs to come back up,” Grange protested.
“For the love of Shaina!” Grace burst out. “We’re going to take more time than if I’d done this myself,” she stormed, She handed a bucket to him, then picked one up for herself, and led the way down to the pump, which she made an elaborate show of operating to fill her bucket, then stepped aside so that Grange could fill his as well.
They walked back up the stairs, lugging the buckets, as the light of the breaking dawn began to filter into the building. At the third floor landing, Grace pulled her wand from her shallow cleavage, fired a momentary shot of energy that opened the door, then tucked the wand away again.
They proceeded back to the room where their tasks awaited, and Grange lifted the buckets of water to dump them in a tank raised above his head.
He turned to look at Grace, who was mixing a number of fluids from
colored bottles together.
Around her, the work table was spread with a variety of items they were expected to clean. There were wide bracelets, gleaming bands of hinged metal that were wide, and etched with intricate drawings. There were lengths of fine chains, glass beakers, a variety of balls in all sizes and colors. Diadems, solid metal pairs of glasses that seemed to block vision, not enhance it, swathes of intricately printed clothes – all were scattered among papers and candles and metal stands that covered the table top.
“Here,” Grace handed Grange a fine brush and a small pot with blue paste inside. “Take this and this and this,” she pushed a number of metallic objects towards him, “and clean them with the paste – thoroughly – then rinse them in water, and set them on the window sill,” she directed.
The brush was a small one, and Grange spent considerable time cleaning the delicate designs that were etched on the intriguing metal objects. He rinsed them and placed them in the emerging sunlight that bathed the window sill, then turned to see what else needed done.
Grace was brushing the fabrics on the table, and looked at him as he stood waiting.
“Let’s go get the firewood, and then we’ll be done,” she said as she set the fabric and the brush down.
She led him back downstairs and outdoors, over to an area near the stables, where a squad of guards was saddling horses for a cavalry outing.
Grange heard Grace give a soft groan as she saw the soldiers, looking resplendent in their splendid cavalry uniforms.
Her steps slowed, but before Grange could ask any questions, one of the guards gave a long wolf whistle, making all heads turn to look at the two apprentices.
“Cale, look who’s come to wish you a good ride,” one rider said to another.
“I think I like my horse better, and she’s prettier too,” Cale responded.
“There’s no reason to be rude,” Grange blurted out. He hadn’t meant to defend Grace, who he recognized was not always an amiable person, but he didn’t think there was any cause for the men to be needlessly rude.
“Oh ho, she’s got a calf on her leash, does she?” Cale spoke loudly to the others, drawing laughter.
“Better to be a calf than a mannerless pig,” Grange spoke heatedly.
“Don’t, Grange, don’t,” Grace said. “Let’s just go get the firewood and get back. We don’t have to fight them,” she said in a low voice. She had a hand on his arm as she spoke.
“That’s it, Gracie girl, hold your big ferocious man calf back,” Cale mocked the pair of apprentices.
“I see that Palmland doesn’t believe that manners are part of being a soldier, and maybe brains are optional too,” Grange growled.
“You get out of here now with your little piece of trash, boy,” Cale stepped away from his horse and towards Grange, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword in a threatening manner.
“Grange, let’s go,” Grace said. “I’ll get in trouble if you get killed.”
“It’s easy to be a bully when you’ve got a sword and the other person doesn’t, isn’t it?” Grange mocked the Guardsman. “Who wants to lend me their sword, and we’ll see if this bully is ready to bleed,” his anger was suddenly boiling. He’d been subjected to too much manipulation and control to too great a degree while in the palace, given no opportunity to set his own course for his life. He was missing Ariana and all the other elements of his previous life, which itself was a displacement of the life he’d known in Fortune. He was ready to explode, ready to take his anger out on a target, and Cale had just turned into the target.
This is not good, one of the jewels said.
A Guardsman with a smirk creasing his face lifted his sword from its scabbard and tossed it to Grange.
“Stop, stop now!” Grace insisted.
Grange stepped forward, and pushed Grace back with his free hand, as he held the sword, waiting to see how Cale would approach.
He has done this to himself, let him suffer the consequences, another jewel’s voice spoke. There will be time to intervene if we need to.
Cale dropped into a fighting posture, and stepped forward aggressively, expecting to quickly disarm the unschooled wizard apprentice.
“Stop this or I’ll pull my wand out!” Grace insisted shrilly.
Grange lunged forward, his own sword low, then raised it suddenly. As soon as the two blades made contact he corkscrewed his blade around Cale’s, catching the Guard unprepared for the sudden change in direction, then he jerked the swords downward, pulling the hilt out of Cale’s hand, leaving him standing disarmed and shocked as Grange stamped his foot down hard on the weapon.
“So apparently members of the Guard are ineffective, in addition to being rude,” Grange sneered.
“She distracted me!” Cale protested in shock.
“Why are you helping him?” Grange tossed the words over his shoulder at Grace, as he lifted his foot from the sword and stepped back, gesturing for Cale to pick the weapon up. “Do you think he needs all the help he can get?”
“Now I’ll have to give him a second chance,” he exclaimed.
“Do you want a second chance, or are you done here?” Grange asked Cale.
The man scowled, as the other cavalry riders murmured among themselves. Cale looked at the others for a moment, then he stooped and raised his weapon.
“You keep your tramp under control this time,” he snarled as he took a defensive stance.
Grange studied the man, judging his competence in comparison to Ariana, the opponent who Grange had faced so frequently. The human embodiment of the jewel had figuratively been the stone on which he had sharpened his skills, always believing that he was inferior because Ariana had defeated him so easily. But now, he was coming to realize that Ariana’s abilities had been an unattainable challenge, that by even coming close to them – though he hadn’t – he had reached for a level of ability that was as good as all but the best of human swordsmen.
Grange attacked, striking his sword against Cale’s, seeking to disarm him again. He didn’t want to draw blood, or not much. He didn’t want to inflict serious injury. But he did want to teach the man a lesson about throwing insults at Grange, and even at Grace, who might or might not deserve them.
He thrust at Cale’s legs, and as the Guard tried to swing his blade down to block the attack, Grange performed the same maneuver he had used before to disarm his opponent. Cale’s sword slapped onto the ground, wrenched from his hand.
“I guess that’s settled,” Grange spoke into the silence of the stunned audience. He tossed the borrowed sword to the cavalry rider who had lent it to him.
“Let’s go get the firewood,” he said to Grace, turning to address the girl behind him.
She was standing open-mouthed, staring at him in astonishment.
“How did you beat him? Was it wizardry?” she asked.
“Grange! Look out!” she screamed a moment later as Cale lifted his sword and stabbed it at Grange’s back, seeking revenge for the humiliation he had suffered.
This must not be! the jewels screamed loudly.
Grange felt as though he were moving in slow motion as he turned around to see what was happening. Before he could react to protect himself, one of the other Guardsmen pulled his sword free and flipped it at Cale. The long sword blade somersaulted awkwardly through the air, but when it struck Cale’s wrist, its point pierced his joint, knocking the man’s arm sideways, and making him shout and simultaneously drop his sword as he was thrown to the ground, leaving Grange shaken but untouched.
“No one will dishonor our squad,” said the empty-handed soldier, “by attacking a man in the back.” He strode past his shocked companions and looked at Grange.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Grange nodded his head numbly.
“Then I suggest the two of you do whatever you came here to do, then leave as quickly as suitable,” the man suggested in a curt manner.
Grace tugged on Grange’s shirt. “Let’s do what he sa
id. Come this way,” she told him, dragging him along without resistance as she moved past the squad and around a corner.
“Hold out your arms,” she said in a shaken voice. He did as commanded, and she loaded several small logs and put sticks into his grasp, then picked up a few that she clutched lightly to her chest.
“Just walk past them, and don’t you dare talk to them, don’t respond to them, don’t look at them,” she still sounded shaken. “Just follow me,” she emphasized, and then she led the way back out.
Cale was sitting up, attended to only by the man who had injured him. He had a bloody cloth wrapped around his wrist as the two apprentices strode quickly past, all parties refusing to make eye contact.
“Two things,” Grace said as soon as they were around the corner and out of sight of the guards. “No, make that three.”
She shifted the pieces of timber that she carried, then her free hand shot out and slapped Grange, leaving a bright red handprint on his pale skin as his head rocked back from the resounding contact.
One, that was stupid, stupid, stupid,” she told him. “There were a dozen men there, and we could have been hurt badly.
“Two, how did you manage to beat him so badly? He used to brag about how he was so good at handling a sword,” she stopped and blushed.
“And three, thank you for standing up for me. Now, let’s get back. We may still have a chance to eat breakfast,” she finished her lecture, then turned and began to hurry back to the wizard’s hallway.
Grange turned his neck and tried to rub his cheek against his shoulder, desperate to remove the sting from the girl’s stout slap. The shoulder rub was less than satisfactory, but better than letting the shock of the slap reside undiminished. He looked up and saw that Grace was several steps ahead of him. With a snort, he began to awkwardly trot forward, shifting his load of wood to keep it intact.
He reached Grace as they entered the building.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded of her.
“Here,” she said as they started up the stairs, “take these.” She placed her small load of sticks on top of his.
The Elemental Jewels (Book 1) Page 25
