Still, for all of these hopes, the next moment all she could think of was that Everett might be hurt or killed. How had he managed to get himself a place in the tournament? In two of the contests she watched, one of the knights had been knocked unconscious. Jugglers and musicians roamed the lists, entertaining the villagers between jousts. Sometimes a lady stood by to hand a knight his helmet. Holly kept count as each contest commenced. At last a squire announced the seventh joust, between Sir Jordain and Sir Osgood the Seafarer.
“Everett’s next,” Holly whispered. She slid off the bench and walked around the berfrois. Jade followed. Once out of sight, they slipped underneath the banner.
She untied the white horse and led her around the fairgoers to a hill at the northern end of the meadow. She sat tall in the saddle, feeling a tickle as Áedán poked out his head to see. Holly put on her glasses. Too bad she hadn’t any binoculars. She could make out the jousters but couldn’t tell who was who, especially with helmets on.
Another roar went up from the gallery; Osgood had unseated his challenger.
“Everett’s turn,” she whispered. “Oh, Jade, I hope this works.”
The knight Grandor was introduced first. Holly’s stomach turned over. How would Everett ever survive him? His squire was a tall, thickset boy of about fifteen, with squinting eyes and a crooked nose that had probably been broken in a fight. He cried loud to the gallery, extolling Grandor’s virtues. The knight’s scarlet cloak billowed in the breeze. He drew his sword and saluted the royal box. The crowd roared in response. Grandor cantered his horse to the southern end of the tilt, facing Holly. Then a small figure scurried onto the lists and hollered up at the crowd.
“Jade, look! It’s Ben!”
She could just make out his squeaky voice. “Hear ye, hear ye! Announcing His Majesty’s newest knight, straight from”—a pause—“straight from parts unknown! Other places! Better places! A knight with powers beyond belief! With skills . . . er . . . well, they’re wicked awesome! I give you the Mage, Sir Everett of the Wand!” He scampered back and grabbed the reins of a short, yellowish horse who trotted along with Everett on her back.
He sat straight in the saddle, and although his armor was odd looking, it gleamed impressively in the afternoon sun. He didn’t have a fancy cloak like Grandor, but he lifted his chin and waved to the crowd as if he wasn’t worried about a thing. He was almost . . . arrogant. Some of the crowd snickered until Everett’s horse reared. He kept his seat, waving and smiling, and a few cheers went up. He rode out to the end of the tilt nearest Holly.
The fairgoers hushed and settled on the hillside to watch. Holly had a clear view of Everett as he trotted in her direction. He gave no sign of having seen her, but she supposed that was best. He wheeled the horse to face his opponent.
Ben stood next to Everett’s horse and glanced back toward her. She raised a hand. She thought he nodded back, but it was hard to tell.
But wait—Ben had forgotten something. Grandor’s squire handed the knight’s lance and shield to him. Where were Everett’s? Ben didn’t seem to notice his mistake. Everett bowed to his opponent, then held out his hand.
Ben presented something small and thin to Everett. An excited murmur spread through the gallery.
What could they be up to? Was Everett just that stupid? He was facing a trained knight, he could hardly—
Everett lifted his right hand over his head. Holly squinted to see what he held, and then the sun hit it just right, and it gleamed.
A wand?
—
Everett took a deep breath. “I can do this, I can do this,” he muttered to himself. Hold off Grandor long enough to get to Holly. Then do something about Sol. Maybe he could throw away the lady’s favor just as he rode off toward Holly. Sweat trickled down his face inside the helmet. He pulled the red silk scarf from his sleeve and wrapped it around his palm, gripping it so tight that the fabric strained against his knuckles. The wand looked small and weak in his hand.
Grandor’s visor went down. He spurred his horse.
Everett did the same.
The crowd held its collective breath.
Grandor came at him much faster than had Loverian in training. The point of his lance glinted in the sun. Everett took a deep breath. He had to survive this charge in order to wheel around and face Holly waiting at the northern end. He hadn’t chanced a look backward; he only prayed she was there.
The space between the knights closed. Grandor’s lance swept down over the horse’s shoulder.
Everett raised the wand over his head.
He swallowed. The lance was only a foot or two from his chest.
Everett didn’t bother with the lasso move. Inspired, he flicked his wrist as if wielding a whip. Purple smoke blew from the wand and enveloped the lance. Everett smiled; the lance would fall in the next moment.
But it didn’t. The smoke obscured Grandor’s vision and the lance glanced off the tilt barrier. Grandor cursed, but he kept hold of his weapon. The horses passed each other, gained the far end, and swung around.
Gasps and cheers rose from the gallery—at first a muffled cacophony and then three syllables, chanted together from the far end of the berfrois:
“Ev-er-ETT! Ev-er-ETT! Ev-er-ETT!”
His name. They knew his name.
He raised a hand to the audience. They cheered.
“Ev, get going!” Ben yelled from the sidelines.
Grandor had taken the chance to urge his horse forward. Distracted, Everett kicked Buttercup, who charged ahead. In the distance, Everett saw Holly, a brown hooded figure on a white horse. She was waiting.
He would throw Grandor, grab Ben, and keep going. And keep Sol away from Holly. Somehow.
Grandor shouldered his shield, swung the lance to his opposite hand, and at the same time pulled his sword from its scabbard. It flashed in the sun as he swung it over his head. Over the crowd, Everett heard Ben’s voice:
“Everett, look out! He’s got a sword!”
And then a soft umph from Ben’s direction.
Everett took a breath to focus on what he thought the scarf was telling him to do. He raised the wand and circled, once, twice, three times.
The lance and the sword slashed as one, Grandor squeezing the horse’s flanks with his knees.
Everett struck at the knight’s breastplate.
A threefold tongue of flame burst from the wand in red, orange, and yellow. The yellow strand leaped for Grandor’s right hand, wrapping around the sword; the red streak burst into bloom on the breastplate; and the orange flame ripped the lance from his left hand, throwing it into the air. Buttercup reared in fright; Everett only just managed to keep his seat. Grandor roared in pain as the flames enveloped his armor. Everett wheeled to watch as the black horse sped by. The fire whirled around the armored knight like a cyclone and then elongated, stretching out into a great maw with ears on either side.
“It’s a dragon,” Everett whispered.
He could see Grandor in the midst of it, slashing the sword back and forth at the beast’s head, but it engulfed him in its mouth until it finally pulled him off the horse. The dragon’s head blew skyward then, roaring in triumph, until at last it extinguished about forty feet above the knight.
But, incredibly, Grandor still stood.
He had been frightened, but not harmed, and he clutched his sword in his fist. Everett turned to look back at Holly.
The white horse was galloping toward him.
And in front of him, a tiny, fiery creature appeared before his eyes. “Now is the time, my lord,” said Sol. “The wand and the Adept, the both, as per our accord.”
Desperately, Everett watched Holly approach, willing her to turn around. Why was she riding this way? She was supposed to wait for him, and now . . .
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said to the little fairy. “I can’t do it. Holly wants to go home, and so do we.”
Sol blazed, the heart of a small fireball, and stretched out long fi
ngernails toward his face. “Dost dare to betray me, mortal?”
“No, wait! Here! You can take my wand!” He held it out in front of him. “It’s just as good as hers, honest!”
“Fool!” hissed the Elemental. “Do you think I can touch the wand, even a thief’s? It must be the Adept!” She raised a white-hot hand to his cheek and slashed across it, burning a long mark across his face. He shielded himself, tears springing to his eyes, and struck at her with the wand. The flame that leaped from it grazed her.
“If it be so, mortal, then face your fate on your own power!” cried the fairy. She flew to the wrist holding the wand, and yanked the silk scarf away. It fell free in a great scarlet flourish. Everett watched as it climbed, as if on the wind, into the sky.
“No, please! Bring it back!” he cried.
“You shall see it anon!” called the fairy. “It goes to one who is more worthy than you!”
In the next moment, Sol and the silk scarf vanished.
And standing in front of Everett, looking dazed but unhurt, clutching his sword, was Grandor.
Chapter 42
* * *
The Vanishment
“Ben!”
Holly saw what Everett had been too busy to see: Grandor’s burly squire had pounced on Ben when he cried out his warning. Holly gasped when the older boy drew his sword, but instead of slashing at Ben, he turned it and butted him in the gut with the hilt. That was the umph that Everett had heard.
Ben fell without another sound, and through the tangle of swords and horses’ hooves, Holly saw the squire kicking Ben in the head and ribs. Her brother would never get up on Everett’s horse now. She urged her own horse forward.
“Lady Holly! We are meant to wait!” Jade cried.
“I know!”
Everett gaped at her, then wheeled around. Grandor’s sword clanged uselessly against his armor. Everett waved the wand over his head again—where had he gotten it?—and the knight skipped backward. But his time, the wand did nothing.
And then everything seemed to happen at once. Knights poured onto the lists; the crowd stampeded from the berfrois; and with a screech and roar, Holly’s allies spilled from the forest. Behind her came the thundering of centaurs’ hooves—Ranulf leading the charge—and the beating of wings as Hornbeak and his falcons screamed over her head. Bittenbender and a few other Dvergar charged forward, waving daggers and battle-axes. A small bird flew in their wake, then in a flash, popped into the form of a leopard. The changeling! Two stags galloped by, kicking dust into her face, and the knights, most of them lacking helmets, turned white. Swords and shields came forth, and Ranulf bellowed something about freedom for the Exiles. She couldn’t see Ben or Everett through the dust and chaos. The Wandwright’s white horse reared and Holly clung to its mane. The black cat yowled.
“I can’t see Ben, Jade!”
“Use the wand!”
Of course. No point in hiding her identity any longer. She pulled out the wand and it warmed in her palm. She knew no enchantments besides the unlocking spell, and she couldn’t think how that could help. But she pointed at the path in front of her, focusing on the stampeding horses. Clear the way.
It is a good deal easier to wield newfound power in practice than when dust and screaming and blood explode on every side. Still, a falcon who had flown into her wake screeched and wheeled above her, and for a moment a clear path appeared on the trampled grass. But the next moment, the knight Gervase staggered across it, dragging Bittenbender by his long beard.
“Let him go!” Holly cried, waving the wand without thinking. Gervase cursed and dropped the Dvergar, grasping his stung wrist. The knight’s eyes found hers.
“The Adept.” He turned his sword on her. “Lay down your wand, lass, and see none else harmed this day.”
“Get out of the way!” The white horse reared again and Holly started to slide off.
Gervase lunged forward and brought his sword down on the horse’s neck.
Holly screamed.
The knight vanished.
“There, my lady!”
Jade pointed at the sky. Fleetwing the leogryff had swooped down, dodging arrows, and grabbed the knight in his claws, bearing him off across the lists. Several knights noticed too and fled toward the castle. In a moment Holly’s path was clear.
Ben lay crumpled against the berfrois. Holly jumped off the horse and ran to him, ducking as one of the centaurs galloped past. She shook Ben’s shoulder. “Ben, wake up! Can you hear me?”
He slumped over. She tugged on him, but he was too heavy for her. She would never be able to hoist him onto the horse’s back. “Jade, what can I do? Where’s Everett?”
An arrow whistled past her ear and landed in the dirt. Holly glanced up at the gallery; the king’s archers were shooting at her. Holly crouched against the lower benches, shielding Ben with her body. “Everett!”
But it was Ranulf who appeared. She almost didn’t recognize him with his chain-mail shirt on. “Lady Holly, you are not safe here,” he said.
“Ranulf, help me with Ben! I don’t know where Everett is.”
An arrow pinged off the centaur’s armor as he lifted her brother with one arm and sat him on the horse. “He must be wakened afore he can ride.”
“I can hold him up.” Holly scrambled up behind Ben. “Is he all right?”
“He does not appear wounded. Here, my lady.” Ranulf took his own shield and threaded Holly’s arms through the straps so that it lay across her back. “You are too fine a target. Now make haste!” Ranulf galloped off down the length of the berfrois, shooting his own arrows into the gallery as he went.
Holly glanced wildly around for Everett. One of the stags was down, with an arrow in its neck; the female centaur clashed swords with one of the castle knights; a volley of arrows rained down from above, though somehow they fell in a circle around Holly’s horse.
“Ranulf’s shield offers some protection, but ’twill not last,” Jade told her. “You must go.”
“But I can’t leave Everett! What if he’s hurt?”
She wheeled the horse in every direction. Bittenbender, free again, was dueling with the young knight Jordain, who cursed and fell as Bittenbender jabbed his dagger into the knight’s knee. Fleetwing wheeled over the king’s box and knocked several archers from their stance. Then out of the dust appeared another knight, who had regained his black horse and swung his sword above his head as he bore down on her.
Grandor.
“Sorcery is nothing against the king’s champion!” He closed the distance between them, bringing the sword down.
Holly screamed.
Then came a clash as Grandor’s sword met another’s. It was Loverian, the dark-haired knight, who had run up on foot between the horses. He aimed a thrust at Grandor’s unguarded side.
“Will you betray king and realm, Loverian?” Grandor snarled, answering with a parry.
“Are you a killer of squires and maidens?” Loverian asked.
Holly backed her horse away, then shied as another arrow flew past her. She pulled her own bow from her back and shot an arrow into the crowd of archers. She couldn’t see if she’d hit a mark.
Grandor locked swords with Loverian and pressed down on him from upon the horse, their faces only inches apart, until Grandor disengaged with a mighty shove that sent Loverian sprawling. The burly knight leaped from his horse and drew back his sword at Loverian’s neck.
“No!”
Holly galloped her horse at Grandor, knocking him down. Loverian scrambled to his feet. Grandor wasn’t badly hurt, though, and this time he charged at Holly.
She reached again for an arrow.
But before she was able to fit it to the bowstring, a wall of flame erupted around her in a great circle. Grandor cursed and fell back; Loverian gaped at her.
“ ’Tis the salamander, my lady,” Jade whispered.
“Lucky for me,” Holly breathed. Beyond the flames the two knights backed away from her, and the path to the wo
ods opened up as the centaurs and remaining stag drove the fighting toward the castle. “Enough, Áedán,” she whispered. “We’re okay now.”
The flames died at once, leaving her eyes dazzled. The villagers screamed and stampeded away from her, and even the king’s archers disappeared into the crowd. She wheeled once more and gasped. Galloping toward her on a black stallion, his embroidered cloak flying behind him, was the prince. And right on his heels—finally—was Everett.
“Everett, look out!” Holly pointed her wand at Avery. A thin spark flew from its tip and grazed his arm.
“Peace, Lady Adept!” cried the prince, and Everett came up even with him.
“Don’t, Holly! He’s helping us!”
“He’s what?” Everett must’ve gotten knocked in the head. Helping them?
“It’s all agreed, he’s all right—”
“I mean thee no harm, my lady—” the prince added.
“Oh, never mind, just come on!” Holly turned her horse again toward the Northern Wood and urged the beast forward. Whatever Everett was up to, she had to get them to the woods before it was too late.
She didn’t look back. She clutched Ben with one arm as she held the reins and her wand in the other hand. She rode hard, closing the distance to the woods. After a moment, a terrific sneeze dampened her hand.
“Ben! Are you okay?”
“Holly?”
He tried to turn around.
“Yes, it’s me. Just face forward.”
“My head really hurts—and my stomach—”
“One of the squires attacked you.”
“But where’s Everett?”
“He’s right behind me. But so’s the prince. Hold still, I told you! We’re almost there.”
By there she meant the edge of the wood. The fairgrounds were empty now, the grass trampled and the people scattered. Holly wheeled the horse and looked down into the valley.
The villagers had poured into the fray, some screaming in fright, others awed by their first glimpse of a centaur or leogryff. Fleetwing wheeled above the lists, plucking up knights where they stood. A moment later Everett and Avery joined her.
The Key & the Flame Page 28