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"You might as well hand over that satchel and save yourself further embarras-" Saure held up a finger to quiet him, closing her eyes.
"You were the servant who stole this dress. Only you did not steal it from any princess. You… were having an affair… with the Duchess of… what is it? Drim? Dren? Drell! The Duchess of Drell, and when she asked you to run away with her, you said yes… but you stole some of her dresses and a few pieces of her fine silver and fled in the night. Oh… dear me, and her perfume as well? I suppose that explains why you fled alone… oh, my, you did look pretty wearing this, didn't you?" she giggled as he snatched the dress from her and stuffed it unceremoniously into a thin waxparchment sack.
"The fireweaver kit, you said?"
"Aye. That comes with the boots, doesn't it Michen?"
"… I do not go by that name anymore." He tugged the chestpiece and greaves from their hooks and stuffed them into a leather satchel, rooting around beneath a table for the bracers, gloves and boots afterward.
The saddlebags were heavy with all Saure's new possessions, and both travelers were content. They strolled down the streets together, taking in the sights as the sun touched the far wall. Saure had taken a moment to change into her beautiful new dress, and had placed the gold wired tiara set with garnets on her fiery magenta locks. She looked like a noble. She felt like one, as well, if not for the considerably lightened coinpurse around her neck.
As the lamplighters started their rounds, Saure noticed a few folken gathering in Main Juxt square. This was the great courtyard at the center of Nora, where the great roads crossed. Three thin young men in black were setting out some sort of display on the cobbles near a small circular garden. They laid down large leather hides, and were oiling thin chains with odd black lumps at the ends. They dipped these strange lumps into a fat black vase with a wide mouth.
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When they pulled them out, they dripped with what appeared to be some black oily viscous fluid.
Saure noticed, as the lamps were lit around them in the dimming twilight, that the young men were firebloods. One had bright orange and gold hair, one had bright red and black hair, and the last had dark dried-blood-colored hair. All three had one chain device in each hand, and Saure noticed that the chains ended in a sort of double ring, into which the young men had slipped their index and middle fingers. They stepped far from the black vase, onto the leather mat, and stood in a circle with their backs to one another, heads down. A fourth young man with bright purple locks sat before a large drum on a grassy knoll in the garden, a bit of a distance from the firebloods. He waited, hand poised above the drum, head bent and eyes closed.
On some unheard cue, the young man's hand came down and the black lumps on the ends of the three firebloods' chains burst into bright flame. Saure gasped with the crowd in surprise. Then the show began.
The young men began swinging the chains in front of themselves, weaving them in and out of the orbits of each other's swing. The enchanted flame burned in three colors, a different color for each man. The orange-headed lad's burned green, the red-headed lad's burned white, and the dark-haired lad's burned a brilliant red. The fire left long trails of light behind them, allowing one to see the intricate patterns they were making with their precision strokes. The drum player sped up the tempo slowly, and the performers stepped away from their tight synchronization… and began to dance. Their movement was fluid, graceful, and mesmerizing. Saure sat against Fred's side- as he had lain down to enjoy the show- and pulled out a piece of blue and black speckled fruit to nibble on. The rest of the crowd seemed to settle down as well.
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