“I want to make sure I remain good at it,” Grange answered.
“Alright,” Brielle threw her hands up in the air.
The two of them practiced with swords for over an hour, using wooden swords and pads, until Brielle called a halt, and they switched to knives again. When Grange’s fingers began to cramp from practicing the grip, Brielle finally let him start throwing the weapon. After a session there, it was back to using the staves again, where they remained until Grange finally called a halt.
“I have to clean up and go,” he told Brielle with relief. He was sore and exhausted, and he knew he had to still double back to the wizard’s hall to meet Grace and escort her to meet Guy’s musical group, for whatever purpose the wizard had in mind.
The shower at the armory provided only cool water, but it felt good after all the work with the weapons, and he left the building with a promise to Brielle that he would return the following day.
He realized as he crossed the palace grounds that he didn’t have a wand that was empowered to allow him entrance to the wizard’s floor, but when he saw Grace sitting on the steps of the building waiting for him, the problem disappeared.
She grudgingly went with him and opened the door so that he could fetch his flute from his room, and then the two of them were off.
“What did you do today?” Grace asked him as they crossed the palace grounds.
He told her about swimming and the armory.
She made a disgusted face. “You didn’t take a nap, or go to a tavern or do anything fun? Why would you think you need to practice at an armory? I saw what you did to Cale with a sword – you don’t need practice,” she protested.
“How many members are in your band?” she asked.
“Six, sometimes seven,” he answered.
“What are those jewels that Master Brieed mentioned this morning? The ones that helped you with the Flame of Focus,” she switched topics.
Grange paused, not sure how to answer, then decided to reveal a slight amount of the truth. “They’re tools to help me focus,” he said.
Tools? The jewels repeated in a disgruntled tone.
“Approximately, sort of,” Grange clarified.
“Jewels are sort of tools?” Grace asked, as the jewels asked approximately the same question.
“It’s hard to explain,” Grange realized he was not going to answer either Grace or the jewels satisfactorily. “I’ll try to answer better later,” he added.
There was a frosty silence, but no further pressing questions, and they passed out of the palace gates, just as the sounds of horses’ hooves clattered inside the palace grounds.
“Someone’s going out on the town tonight,” Grace said. They both turned to look back, and saw the guards at the gate salute, as a dozen men and women rode out of the palace on horseback or in a pair of open carriages. An escort of guards rode with them, and Grange saw Brielle among the riders. She and all the other guards were alertly inspecting the crowds around them as they and their wards passed by; when she saw Grange, their eyes made contact, and she gave him a broad wink, and the ghost of a momentary smile, then continued by and disappeared down the road.
“Do you know her?” Grace asked.
“She’s the one who is teaching me how to use weapons at the armory,” Grange answered.
“That figures,” Grace snorted. “You become the favorite of the wizard just because you play music, then you start seeing the energy of the Flame after just one day, and now you’re pals with the palace guards. Some people live the lives of the lucky,” she said in disgust.
Grange started to reply with a heated denial, but stopped. He didn’t think growing up as a pickpocket from an orphanage, or working as a slave laborer in a prison camp counted as the life of the lucky, but he knew that Grace knew none of that. Only Garrel knew most of what had happened in Grange’s life.
They went in the opposite direction from the princely retinue, and within fifteen minutes they were at the plaza where the other members of Guy’s musical group was already atop a low stage, preparing to play their instruments. Grange walked Grace through the gathering crowd, and up to the stage.
“You can sit here by the stage and watch,” Grange suggested to Grace, a few minutes after introducing the girl to Guy and the band members.
“She’s a singer,” he had told them at that time, and found their response to be unenthusiastic.
“We have at least one person tell us at every job that they could sing for us,” Guy said in an aside to Grange, as they turned away from Grace.
“I wasn’t going to ask to let her sing,” Grange protested.
“If things get slow at the end of the last set, maybe we can let her sing along,” Guy suggested, “if you think it’ll get you in her good graces ,” he believed he was doing Grange a favor.
Grange shrugged, decided not to make a pun, then went back to Grace to point out the stage-side spot for her.
“May I dance if someone asks me?” she asked sourly, unhappy with being given direction.
“Perhaps,” Grange tried to hold a straight face, but broke into a smile as the girl scowled at him. “Of course.”
He began to tune up with the others, and just minutes later, they broke into song.
Grange watched Grace as much as he could, without her noticing his observations. She smiled and tapped her foot to the rhythm, quietly singing along with some songs. She left to get a glass of wine from a vendor, and drank that until a boy from the festival crowd asked her to dance. She looked up at Grange and stuck her tongue out at him, then stood and danced with her inviter.
She sat again, but then danced with another boy soon after. She appeared ready to accept a third invitation, as Grange watched, when Guy tapped his foot on Grange’s to gain the flute player’s attention, then nodded his head off to the side.
Grange saw a brightly-dressed party standing to the side, observing the street carnival’s joyous festivities. “That’s the prince, from the palace,” Guy spoke softly. “We’ll have to play a flourish to welcome him as soon as this song is finished.”
The song was in its first stanza, but Guy gave the signal to wind it up, much to the surprise of those on the dance floor. He then began the first notes of the royal flourish; the other band members knew the tune, while Grange stood with his instrument ready, pretending to know the pattern of notes that he wasn’t familiar with.
The audience turned and bowed in the direction of the prince’s party as the flourish revealed his presence. With his arrival announced, the prince and the other nobles and guards broke out of their cloistered corner of the square and began to walk about, visiting vendors to purchase food and drink. Grange saw Brielle, and the guard’s eyes widened when the musician on the stage waved at her, then she waved back, before resuming her examination of the crowd.
“Stay alert,” Guy said to Grange, as the group prepared to take a break between sets.
“Why?” Grange asked.
“The man to the left of the prince,” Guy indicated a nobleman wearing a garish green and yellow set of robes, “was accused of riding his horse through the city streets while he was drunk last month, and he galloped through a group of children playing in the street. The horse killed two of the children, and the man didn’t stop or show any remorse.
“The regular folks of the city are pretty upset with him, and with all the ale and wine and cider folks are drinking, something could happen,” Guy explained.
Grace was still on the dance floor, speaking to the boy she had danced with. Grange placed his flute on the stage, then hopped down and approached her. As he did, the prince and his friend in the green robes, attended by Brielle and another guard, also began to walk across the open dance floor towards Grace.
“Dirty scum,” an anonymous voice called from the crowd.
A ceramic mug of ale flew through the air, and struck one of Brielle’s fellow guards in the shoulder.
Grace looked up from her conversation with her danc
ing partner, while Grange paused in his approach, uncertain about what to do.
“Who did that?” the guard who had been struck by the mug asked angrily.
“That’s nothing compared to killing young children!” a voice answered, and there were mutterings throughout the crowd. Brielle stepped in close to the prince, her hand on the hilt of her sword while her eyes roved over the crowd, and she said something in a low voice.
The prince listened, then shook his head negatively. Grange looked around, and saw that the other guards were doing two things: some were escorting their noble guests back to their carriages, while others were moving in closer to the prince and his friend. The vendors were starting to close up their stands; Grange knew from his days in Fortune that the vendors’ action indicated they thought trouble was coming.
Even Guy’s musicians were trying to unobtrusively pack their instruments away.
Grange walked quickly over to Grace, arriving seconds ahead of the prince and the others.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said urgently to Grace, placing his hand on her shoulder.
“Take your hand off of her,” said her dancing partner, oblivious to the drama around them as he focused on Grace.
Just then a stone was thrown by someone in the crowd; it missed its intended target and struck Grace’s partner in the head, knocking him to the ground.
Grace looked outraged. She shook off Grange’s grip, then pulled her wand free from her blouse.
“There’s trouble here; we need to leave,” Grange told her.
She looked around finally realizing that the prince was standing almost next to her, and she gave a small curtsey. As she did, a splattering of bread and mustard rained on the group.
“Outrageous!” the prince’s friend roared. “Guards, seize them!”
“We’re here to protect his highness,” Brielle replied. “Your highness, we need to leave right away,” she urged. “The others in your party are back in the carriages, on their way to safety.”
“We shall leave; this was ill-advised,” the prince replied. “Take the lead, guards,” he said, with a nod to Brielle.
Two other guards had joined the group in the middle of the open dance floor, as Grace started to kneel to tend to the injured boy she had danced with.
“Get up and let’s go,” Grange hissed as he bent down by her.
“I’m not going to leave him to be further hurt,” she replied vehemently, as Brielle and the others started to move the prince and his friend away.
“He won’t be hurt,” Grange answered. “These people don’t care about him; they want to get their hands on the prince’s friend. He rode his horse and killed some children around here recently. The mob will ignore everyone else.”
A shower of objects suddenly began to fly through the air, and then the crowd around the dance area seemed to turn into a packed mob, as people surged forward.
Brielle gave a shout, and Grange saw that the Prince had been struck by some flying object. He was crouched over, holding his head.
Grange pulled his sword free. “Bring your friend if he can walk,” he urged Grace, who was helping the boy to sit up. Grange reached over with his free hand and grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt, then lifted him to his unsteady feet. The three of them moved over to where Brielle and the others formed a square around the prince and his friend. Grange pushed Grace and the dancer into the middle, then took a position in the protective guard group, holding his sword ready for action.
The pelting items flying at the trapped group began to increase, as the menacing mob closed and stopped just beyond the reach of the swords, taunting and swearing.
“Give us the murderer, and the rest of you can go,” several men demanded.
Grange was holding one hand up to try to shield himself from the most damaging missiles that were flying at him, while he held the sword in his other. There was a sudden rush, as the mob closed in from all sides simultaneously. Grange sliced his sword back and forth, trying to injure and frighten the attackers without offering serious injury. A walking stick was thrown up to block his sword, then multiple pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him downward.
A bright flash of light made all the participants in the tableau freeze in place.
Help her, the jewels said.
Grange looked around and saw that Grace stood with her wand pointed straight up in the air, held tightly in both hands. He could see that energy was flowing into her, just as he had seen energy flowing into the Flame of Focus in the morning.
From her wand’s tip, a tenuous dome emerged, one that spread outward before falling towards the ground, offering a thin means of protection from the angry mob.
Help her, the jewels repeated.
“How?” Grange asked.
Give her energy, they answered promptly, urgently. Find the energy, pull it in, give it to her.
“How?” he repeated.
Close your eyes and think about the energy you saw this morning. Put your hand on her, and let the energy flow through you into her. Think about this morning. Remember seeing the energy that is everywhere. Remember the Flame pulling the energy – the Flame was pure and simple. Let your mind and heart be pure and simple, and ask the energy to come. The message was delivered as a concept that was implanted in his soul.
Grange followed the directions, closing his eyes and thinking about the energy that he realized was all around, about how the bright, pure light of the Flame had attracted it. He imagined the Flame was within him, and felt the energy around him start to slowly coalesce. Everything else around him fell away; the world seemed to be silent. He reached out with his hand and groped for Grace, then felt his hand touch her, at the boundary where her blouse neckline opened up, part of his hand on the cloth, while his fingertips touched her warm flesh.
He let the power flow, encouraged it to come into him, and to travel through him to her.
“Stronger,” he heard Grace breathe the word softly. “This is good; I feel stronger.”
Grange opened his eyes and looked. Grace’s protective shield had grown larger, pressing the mob away from the trapped group in the center. The shield had grown brighter and stronger too.
The people around them were fleeing, running from the demonstration of unearthly powers, afraid of what was to come next.
Grace was looking upward, watching the wand spew forth the energy that transformed into the dome. She looked down, as Grange looked up, and their eyes locked. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, and her glance was a glassy stare. Her left hand moved in slow motion, leaving the grip in the wand overhead and floating down. It came to rest atop his hand, the hand that was cupped upon her breast. Her fingers intertwined with his and lifted his hand away from its position, while maintaining the linkage that transmitted the energy between them.
The dome was glowing still.
Well done, the jewels told him. The job is done. You can release the energy.
Grange broke the mutual stare with Grace and looked around. The mob was gone; as the dome had grown brighter, stronger, larger, they had fled.
Grange closed his eyes, and ceased to focus on the image of the Flame within him; he cut off the flow of power, and ceased to send it to Grace.
She felt his efforts cease, and she released his hand. The dome around them dissolved into nothingness, and the sounds of the world suddenly descended upon Grange’s ears once again. There were shouts and noises all around, the sounds of a mob dispersing. The tendrils of energy that he had seen seeping through the air were no longer visible, as he returned to the status of an ordinary person.
Grace poked his shoulder sharply with the end of her wand. “Don’t you put your hand there again unless I tell you to,” she hissed.
“My eyes were closed! I didn’t know,” Grange protested.
“Extraordinary!” the prince exclaimed. “I didn’t realize we had Brieed’s accomplished apprentices here with us. You do belong to Brieed, don’t you?” he asked.
&n
bsp; The prince was a man in his late twenties or more, Grange guessed his age. He was dark-haired and had the same dark tan complexion that so many of the residents of Palmland had, Grange noted.
“Your highness, may we return to the palace now, while the hostilities are in remission?” Brielle asked.
“We should go, Grael,” agreed the man whose accident with the neighborhood children had sparked the tumult in the first place. “And then send the palace guard back here to burn the neighborhood down,” he added spitefully.
“You!” Grange was outraged. “You killed the children of these people. Of course they’re mad at you! None of us would have been in danger if we would have just turned you over to them for justice the way they think it should be,” he stormed. He remembered too well the way the poor and the working people of Fortune had been abused and neglected by the nobility, and he vented his memories against the irresponsible man.
“Grange!” Grace reprimanded him for speaking out.
“What’s he say, Maurin?” the prince asked his friend.
“Just a minor thing, a misunderstanding, my lord,” the nobleman said, as he stared venomously at Grange.
“The locals say that he was drunk and rode his horse through the neighborhood, killing some children along the way,” Grange repeated what Guy had told him.
“Your highness?” Brielle urged. “You should go to safety, and discuss this later,” she tried to prompt the prince to go.
“I’ll want to hear more from you,” the prince put his finger on Grange’s shoulder, then he let Brielle and another guard lead him away.
“If he hears any more from you, I’ll have your tongue cut out!” Maurin snarled at Grange, as he began to follow the other guards away as well.
“Look what you’ve done!” Grace said as soon as the others were gone, leaving the two wizard apprentices alone in the center of the dance floor, with a few figures standing in the darkness around them. “You’ll get in trouble with the nobles.”
“I just told the truth,” Grange said. “At least, it’s what’s been told to me. And he didn’t deny it,” he added.
He turned away from the girl and walked back over to the stage. Miraculously, his flute was undisturbed. He picked it up and blew a few notes into it to test it; the resulting sounds were as pure and enjoyable as always.
The Elemental Jewels (Book 1) Page 29
