The Elemental Jewels (Book 1) (29 page)

Follow me then,” Brielle turned and began to walk into the depths of the armory, with Grange rapidly scuttling along to catch up.

“This is nice of you,” Grange said as he walked alongside Brielle.  They left the cave-like hallway and entered a very high-ceilinged open space, one with rafters far overhead, and three levels of windows admitting an abundance of light into the vast space, in which dozens of matches were taking place – men and women were fighting with swords, staffs, knives, and strange rope-like weapons Grange had never seen, while at one end of the room there were archers firing arrows at targets as well.

“Women are allowed to fight in the Palmland Guard?” Grange asked, distracted by the sight of a shapely girl who was acrobatically practicing the use of a staff to fight against the shadows she cast on the wall.

“You have less brains than that sword of yours, don’t you?” Brielle asked angrily.

She’s right, you know,
Ariana spoke to him.

Brielle’s features seemed to virtually shift in front of Grange – though they didn’t move at all, as he looked at his presumptive instructor, and realized that the soft facial features and the unmanly body shape he had observed were in fact clearly the features of a female.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid.  My mistake,” Grange felt mortified.  “Obviously you and her and others are women here practicing.”

Brielle stared at him through slitted eyes, then suddenly laughed.  “Look at you change color!” she snorted.

Grange could feel the blush in his cheeks…and his neck… and even up to his forehead.  He had blundered terribly, he knew.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then felt a whack on his shoulder.

“Get over it, soldier.  All’s forgiven; at least I don’t have to worry about you wanting to ravage me, apparently,” Brielle put an end to the matter.  “Let’s go down there and see how you use the staff,” she pointed.

“I came to work on my sword work,” Grange protested.

“I saw how you handled your sword this morning; I know what your deficiencies are,” Brielle replied, drawing a growl of displeasure from Ariana, which Grange heard rumble in his head.  “I want to see how you handle other weapons.”

Grange shrugged and followed the woman along the edge of the wall, to a rack of staffs that were lined up against the wall.

“Grab a helmet from the locker,” Brielle ordered.  “And get a padded jacket too,” she grabbed a staff and pointed it at a door in the wall.  Grange opened the door and found a plentiful supply of helmets, jackets, and even leg paddings.  He pulled out materials for himself, then pulled out extra and held it out to Brielle.

“I don’t need any,” she laughed.  “You’re not going to be able to do any harm to me.  We just need to make sure you don’t get too banged up during our little test – put your things on.”

Grange sniffed, but donned the helmet and jacket, then took the staff Brielle offered him.   He followed her to an unused practice pad.

“Now, use the staff to try to touch me,” Brielle told him.  She stood in a relaxed pose, holding the butt of her staff on the ground.

“Get ready,” Grange told her, dropping into a wary crouch, his right hand holding the longer portion of the staff.

“I am ready,” Brielle assured him.  Grange feinted a strike with his left hand, but Brielle didn’t react.  He stepped forward and feinted again with his right hand but the woman stayed in her casual pose, mocking him, he felt.  He reacted by stepping forward and swinging the left end of his staff downward towards her shin, only to suddenly find himself spinning, then laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

He twisted his head and saw Brielle still standing in a casual pose, her staff position only slightly modified.

“Did you do that?” he asked in surprise.

“No, it was some little flying fairy,” she mocked him.

Grange climbed to his feet and stood crouched in front of Brielle, warily watching her.  “What did you do?” he asked.

“Try to touch me again, and then we can discuss it,” the guard replied.

Grange balanced his staff evenly between his two hands, watching Brielle’s eyes as he warily waited to see how she would strike him.  She held her staff in the same pose she had used before, a relaxed open, seemingly vulnerable position.

Grange decided to strike immediately, rather than feint.

He at least was able to see her counterstrike launched towards his feet, before he was knocked to the ground again.

“You’ve never used a staff before, obviously,” Brielle stated.

“I didn’t know it was a weapon,” Grange protested as he rose to his feet again.

“Everything’s a weapon.  Your hands are weapons; the floor’s a weapon; even the air can be a weapon.  Swords are just the pretty weapons boys wear to impress girls,” Brielle said flatly.

“Put your staff away, and let’s go test the other tools,” she said.

They walked to an area near the archers.  “Have you ever thrown a bola?” the guard asked.

“A what?” Grange was unfamiliar with the weapon.

“This,” Brielle picked up a length of rope longer than Grange’s arm, with wooden balls tied to either end.

“What does it do?” he asked, totally baffled by the simple tool.

“This,” Brielle casually began to swing the rope in a circle three times, then released it, so that it flew through air, twirling around an unseen axis, before it struck the legs of an empty stool.  The weights at the end of the rope wrapped themselves around the legs and their momentum easily knocked the stool on its side.

“This can be used to tangle the feet of an opponent, knocking them to the ground.  With heavy metal weights, or with blades implanted in the weights, the Bola can be used in a more deadly manner,” Brielle said conversationally.  “I presume you’ve never thrown one?” she asked.

Grange shook his head.

“What about knives?” Brielle asked.  “Archery?” she further inquired as he shook his head.

“Just swords?” she made it sound insufficient, as Grange nodded his head.

“Let’s start working with the knives today,” Brielle decided.

Just like that, Grange felt like his one small portion of independence was gone, and he was once again under the control of someone else, someone who would decide for him what he would do, where he would go, and how he would act.  Of course, as soon as he returned to Brieed’s hallway, that would be true there as well, he reflected regretfully.

He followed obediently behind Brielle, and they arrived at the knife-throwing range as he went off wool-gathering about his freedom.

“Do I need to keep wearing this padding?” he asked.

The woman laughed.  “Heavens no; we’re not going to use you for target practice.  Take it off; make yourself comfortable,” she urged him.  She opened a drawer in a large case, and pulled out a set of four heavy metal knives.

“These are the throwing knives,” she handed one to him, and held one herself.  “This is how you hold one,” she demonstrated the grip, and the lesson began.

Two hours later, Grange called an end to the lesson.  “I have to go join the band to play music tonight at Acton’s temple, and my fingers are cramping up from all this knife-gripping,” he complained.

“You’ve barely begun,” Brielle protested.  She unconsciously emphasized the point by poking the metal knife against Grange’s chest, though not so strongly as to draw blood.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he impulsively promised.

“Really?  You’re not just saying that?” Brielle doubted him.

“If you’ll let me have at least some time with the swords, I promise I’ll return tomorrow, and every day I can,” he said earnestly.

“Go on with you then,” Brielle said.  “Put your pads away on your way out.”

He thanked her and departed from the armory, strolling quickly through the showers to wash away the sweat and grime of practice, glad there was no one else present to see the three jewels on his exposed arm.

“I suppose you’re pleased I practiced,” Grange grumbled to the jewels.

It is good.  You must defend yourself, and you must be prepared for when the great battle comes to you
, the jewels responded.

“I hope it’s not anytime too soon.  I couldn’t make a knife stick in a barn door if it was within an arm’s length,” he sighed.  He had no towel, so he pulled his clothes on over his damp skin, then left the armory and palace grounds, and arrived at the plaza in front of Acton’s temple just as Guy and the drum player were starting to set up.  A number of people were already gathered around, tables were numerously spread, and vendors of food and drink were positioning themselves to serve the public.

As the band members arrived, Guy sent one of them with Grange to go over the first two songs, the marches he had promised they would play.  The songs were jaunty tunes but simple ones, and when the musical proceedings began, Grange made few errors – which in any event were effectively drowned out by the rhythmic clapping of the audience as they accompanied the musicians.

Afterwards, the dancing music began, and Grange happily played along with the familiar tunes, until the band took its first break.

“Grange, we’re glad you’re back!”  a pair of girls younger than he was giggled and smiled at him, then ran off into the crowd.

“See, I told you the audience missed you,” Guy laughed, while Grange blushed faintly, glad that the darkness of nightfall masked his embarrassment.

Only one other thing unsettled Grange during his return to the band.  High atop the front of the temple, standing and looking down upon the plaza where the festival was held, stood an imposing statue of Acton.  The god of war stood with a raised sword in one hand and a shield in the other, ready to slaughter and fight.  His eyes though, seemed to Grange to glow, and to be focused squarely on him.  All through the night he felt as though the god was looking down upon him, judging and weighing him to determine if he was worthy and capable of standing at the temple.

When the music ended he accepted his handful of coins and directions for the following night’s show, then hurried back to the palace, through security, and up to the floor where Brieed’s quarters awaited.  The loaded wand effortlessly responded to his command to open the door, making him smile with momentary delight, and then he was back in the hall of wizardry and on his way to bed.  His fingers were cramped from the long work of knife-wielding and flute-playing, and he was tired.

Grace’s door opened as he quietly walked by.

“Where have you been?” she asked.   The girl stepped out into the hallway, wearing only the light shift she had worn the night before.  In the light of the hall lamp Grange could see her more clearly, and could see the feminine features of her body more distinctly as well.  He looked at her, then tried to look up, to keep his eyes focused on her forehead or higher.  She noticed the movement of his eyes and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“Well, where have you been?  You smell smoky,” she added.  “You’ve been out at some wild party, haven’t you?”

“I was playing my flute in a band at a temple function,” Grange slightly sanitized the description of his event.

“I was going to sing with you again tonight.  I’ve been waiting up, and we’ve got to get up early again tomorrow to do the chores.  Come in here and play two quick songs, then we’ll call it a night,” she turned and walked back into her room, letting Grange take a speculative peak at her figure again as he followed her into her own chambers.

Her room appeared to be smaller than his, but a full wall divided it into two separate rooms, and they stopped in the first space, a place with chairs and tables.  Grace pulled a wrapper around her shoulders and draped it over her chest, then sat down in one low chair and pointed to another for Grange to sit in.

“Did your ‘band’ play temple music?” Grace began to interrogate Grange.

He was tired, and he decided he was just going to get past whatever battle Grace was prepared to initiate.  The sooner it was finished, the sooner he could sleep, he concluded.

“We played at a festival in front of Acton’s temple,” Grange admitted.  “It was mostly dance music.”

“I went to that festival when I was young,” Grace replied, in a relaxed tone of voice.  “That’s a popular festival; only the best bands get invited to play there.

“Start to play one of the dance tunes, and if I know it I’ll sing along; if I don’t, I’ll tell you to choose another song,” she smirked at her decision to control the circumstances.

Grange didn’t mind. He concluded that his acquiescence would let them carry out the mini-concert in the shortest possible time, so that he could go to his bed and rest.  He raised his flute, and started to play a quick-paced dance step, one that just hours earlier had brought hordes of men and women into the center of the plaza to dance when Guy’s band had played it after a break.

Grace smiled, then began to sing the lively lyrics immediately.  Her voice was good, Grange thought distractedly; it wasn’t a great voice, but there seemed to be some particular harmonic affinity between her voice and his flute that caused the combination of the two to be greater than the sum of the parts.  He felt better as he played and listened to Grace – even his cramped fingers seemed to relax as his entire body responded pleasantly while the music played on.