Venom and Song (22 page)

“Swing again!” Grimwarden ordered, this time backing out into the middle of the circle. Jett followed, now sizing up his opponent. “Come on, purple eyes, I have lunch waiting for me!”

“Not unless I get to it first!” Jett lunged forward with the end of the staff, driving it hard at Grimwarden's stomach. But Grimwarden sidestepped as Jett nearly fell flat on his face. Another smack to the head. “Hey!”

“Mmmm, that was a good lunch, Mumthers.” Grimwarden rubbed his stomach in mock form.

Jett spun around and leaped toward Grimwarden again, this time trying a combo, throwing each end at his target: one jab toward the face, the other toward the groin. But both Grimwarden avoided. Then Grimwarden grabbed the staff in the middle, twisted it so quickly that Jett lost his grip, and twirled the weapon around so that one end was but an inch from Jett's cheekbone.

“That was so cool!” Tommy wailed.

While Jett's pride was more than a little bruised, Grimwarden was too preoccupied with Tommy's language. “Lord Tommy, why would you ever say that was coo—?”

“Um, Grimwarden,” Goldarrow waved to get his attention. She mouthed the word
Earth
.

Grimwarden shook his head. “I'm not sure I will get used to any of this.” He turned back to Jett. “Well done, Lord Hamandar—I mean, Jett. You fared quite well.”

Jett, feeling far from worthy of any praise, followed Grimwarden's gesture to return to his place.

Grimwarden searched the circle again. “Lord Miarra,” he said to Autumn. “You are the one gifted with speed, are you not?”

“I am,” she replied with a wide grin. Visions of what she had done to the enemy at Dalhousie Castle filled her mind's eye. But those were instantly replaced by the devastating carelessness she had displayed . . . carelessness that almost cost her life.

Grimwarden saw the change in her countenance. “Do not be afraid. There is no shame here, and what's past is past. You are good to remember your mistakes, but wiser still to learn from them.”

Autumn hesitated for the slightest of moments, then took the staff he offered and walked forward into the circle.

“Go ahead.”

“You
want
me to use my gift?”

“Do your worst.”

She took a deep breath. “If you say so.”

Autumn raised the staff and all at once became a blur of motion. The wood whizzed past her body, arms hardly discernable. The Guardmaster stood very still as Autumn moved forward. Everyone was sure Grimwarden had met his match. A blow at this speed could be fatal. Grimwarden reached out his hands. All at once the staff stopped in front of Grimwarden's face, between his two palms.

Autumn stood, eyes wide. “How—how did—?”

“What your eyes cannot see, your ears can sometimes hear,” Grimwarden said. Suddenly all the lords in the circle spontaneously high-fived each other. Grimwarden glanced over to Goldarrow, slightly uncomfortable from the look of it.

“They like you,” she yelled. “It's all right. Relax!”

Grimwarden raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to the circle of faces.
Strange customs
. He lowered his hands to silence their praise and sent Autumn back to her place.

“Lords of Berinfell, you have learned your first lesson. Skill and talent are two different entities. Skill by itself lacks inspiration, while talent alone will yield mistakes. But together they are a force to be reckoned with. The difference is discipline and desire. Each fuels the other. If you desire to do what you saw just now, then you must discipline yourself.”

Goldarrow, still leaning against the tree, marveled at the Guardmaster's words. She had heard this practiced routine countless times before, even remembering when she took her first class from him when they were but a few decades old. He was still amazing. Lost in thought, it took Grimwarden a few times of calling her name before she realized he was asking for her.

“Are you listening?”

“What? Oh.” Goldarrow reached a hand to her face, slightly flushed. “Yes, sir. What?”

“The
staffs
,” he said for the third time.

“The staffs? Right. Yes. Right here, sir.” She reached down beside the oak and carried the bundle of poles to the center of the circle. Grimwarden took them and turned away.

“Each of you, step forward,” he ordered.

One at a time, the Seven came up to him and received a stout length of oak, sanded as smooth as the countertop in their kitchen back on Earth. “The staff does not leave your side for the next week,” Grimwarden ordered. The students weren't sure exactly what Grimwarden meant. Reading the look in their eyes, he went on. “Let me be precise. When you eat, it is with you. When you run, it is with you. When you bathe, it is with you.”

“Bathe?” said Kiri Lee.

“Bathe,” replied Grimwarden. “And if Goldarrow or Claris catch you without it, that's extra training.”

The Seven reasoned they could live with a little extra running for their apathy.

“And no food for a whole day.”

“Bathe,” said Kiri Lee. “Check.”

“One!”

Seven
swoosh
es graced the air of the circle as seven staff ends met the upper-right-hand corner of an invisible square in front of each pupil.

“Four!”

Again, the staffs raced to the space at their lower left with a rushing of air.

“Two!”

A quick pass to the upper left.

“Three!”

Seven staffs whistled to the lower right.

“Very good,” said Grimwarden. “Now focus. Each movement is a deliberate action. Intentional. But never the end of your thinking. Only the beginning.” He waited as each of the students held in the
three
position.

“Four! One! Two! Four! Three!”

The staffs crisscrossed the air again, only this time more than one missed a mark, and two staffs struck one another accidentally.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Grimwarden said, frustration mounting in his voice. “I said, focus!”

“Why don't you let me take them?” Goldarrow asked, resting her hand on Grimwarden's shoulder.

“That's not a bad idea,” Grimwarden replied. “I'm thirsty anyway.” He walked from the circle, leaving Goldarrow in the middle.

“Everyone, hold your staff like this.” Goldarrow had her hands shoulder width apart, palms down, staff level at chest height. “Similar to what Grimwarden taught you, the
five
position is here.” She raised it to just above her head. “
Six
”—down to her waist—“
seven
”—left hand over the right, staff standing vertically to the right—“and e
ight
”—right over left, vertically to the left. “Now: all together. Five, six, seven, eight. Again . . . five, six, seven, eight.” They repeated the form several times. “Tommy, pull your elbows in. Five, six, seven, eight. Kat, a little higher.” Goldarrow counted through over and over. “Johnny, watch the bend in your arms. . . . Jett, lower. . . . Autumn, Jimmy, bend your knees.”

“Oh, got it,” Tommy said. “One is here,” he swept the tip of his staff to the upper-right-hand corner.

“Like we're attacking,” Jett added.

“Precisely,” said Goldarrow. “One through four are offensive forms, while—”

“Five through eight are defensive,” finished Kat.

Goldarrow looked to her. “Did you cheat?”

“No, no! I figured it out! Honest!”

Goldarrow laughed. “I was just kidding.”

“So it looks like this?” Jimmy asked, moving his staff while he counted out loud from one to eight.

“Well done,” said Grimwarden, walking back into the midst of their circle. He carried a long bundle of fabric under his left arm. “Well done indeed. After a few more weeks like that and we'll start you sparring one another. And then, something new.”

“Something new?” asked Tommy.

“Aye, something like this.” With
this
came the sound of steel ringing in the air: a magnificent blade drawn out of hiding from its scabbard and brandished in the morning light.

13
Playing with Fire

AUTUMN HELD her sword in low guard, eyeing her opponent across the Vexbane Circle. Jett, likewise, circled slowly to the right, edging carefully around. Any sudden moves would be interpreted as an advance, and he could not afford to mess up with Autumn on the other side of any weapon. When at last Jett felt in control, he lunged forward. Autumn instantly disappeared from his view, but he anticipated this, sank to his knees, and spun around to face the opposite direction.

The moment Jett raised his sword up to parry, a series of hard blows hammered down on it like a woodpecker drilling a tree. Sparks lit up the circle. He absorbed all the hits and then lunged toward Autumn, ceasing her speed attack and knocking her on her back. He pinned her hands to the ground and she dropped her sword.

“Get off me!” Autumn yelled, struggling under his inescapable grip.

“Say ‘uncle' first.”

“Just get off, okay?”

“ ‘Uncle' first!”

“Yeah, right! No way!”

“Then I'm not getting up.”

“Autumn, Jett,” interrupted Grimwarden, “might I remind you this is a sparring exercise in weaponry, not verbal bickering.”

“Then tell him to stop using his strength on me!” Autumn contended.

“Well, you used your speed! How am I supposed to counter that?”

Grimwarden harrumphed. “Well, I can see we need to move to the next level.”

“The next level?” Tommy inquired. “What's that?”

“Come with me . . . and bring your weapons.” And with that Grimwarden turned from the training court and entered the castle. The Seven quickly picked up their swords, staves, and bows and followed Grimwarden.

When Grimwarden finally stopped deep in a seldom-traveled section of Whitehall, the Seven stood before a dead end. A solid stone wall. Grimwarden didn't seem about to say anything, so Jimmy piped up. “So . . . what're we here for?”

“Your new training lair,” replied Grimwarden, a subtle smile creeping across his face.

“I hate to sound ungrateful, but it's an empty corridor,” Kiri Lee said, looking back down the way they had come.

“Oh really?” Grimwarden said, leaning lazily up against the stone wall before them. He stood there for a second; then all of a sudden the wall began to move.

“Whoa!” the teens cried out.

“What'd you do?” asked Jett, pointing at the wall sliding away from them. The receding surface revealed an opening on the right-hand side of the corridor. “Check it out!”

“A new door!” Kat exclaimed, walking toward it. “Can we?” she looked to Grimwarden.

“Be my guest,” he said.

The Seven walked through the door and continued down a very narrow passage, roughly cut from the bedrock of the mountain. A few sharp turns lit by torches on the wall eventually led to a descending staircase. And upon clearing the last step, the Seven emerged into a massive hall aglow with a hundred torches at least. From wall to wall, the room was filled with every kind of training apparatus imaginable. Ropes interlaced one another and crisscrossed from floor to ceiling; wooden planks rested on fulcrums like giant seesaws; knotted ropes hung from the ceiling every few feet in long lines, while telephone pole-like beams stood straight up in the middle of the room; there were balance beams, suspended stepping platforms, even floating pads in a long pool of water. And all about the room were wooden boards cut out in the outline of men, hinged at the bottom—targets, from what the Seven could tell.

“This, m'lords, is the lair.” Grimwarden stood back, allowing them to look on in awe. “Created thousands of years ago and seen only by those who built it . . . for one purpose.”

“It's incredible!” said Johnny.

“What purpose?” Tommy asked, turning to their teacher.

“You.”

They all turned to look at him in wonder. “Us?” “What did you say?” “Huh?”