by P. S. Power
The Young Ancients: Timon Book Two
Lord of the Sky
P.S. Power
Chapter one
Timon stood alone, with his hands empty except for two small rocks, his bare feet unmoving on the slightly sandy and uneven boulder. From behind him there was a loud and constant crashing as the waves closed with him. He'd picked this place for a reason after all. It was distracting, and potentially dangerous. That was, in the end, the real point of the exercise that he'd set himself. He was trying to make a copy of a rather simple magical device, a Not-Flyer. Something to put on the two stones he had in his hands that would allow him to move away over the waves safely, before they rolled in and drowned him.
The ocean salt stung his eyes, but he had to leave them open, or he'd lose his balance and fall into the water that surrounded him. A lot of people could make a single copy of something. From a template designed to make that kind of thing easy. Some could do it without that kind of crutch, locked in a safe and comfortable room, knowing they had all the time in the world. Very few could do what he was trying. Surrounded by encroaching death, the cold salt water ready to end them in fifteen minutes. Most took hours to make a single duplicate after all.
Only the very best could do what he was trying.
He wasn't one of them. Not really.
Tim knew that, but wasn't planning to accept it, even as the wind sapped his heat, taking what strength he had along with it. He wasn't very large, and had dressed for what he was doing, which meant not at all, except a pair of shorts, in case anyone found his body later. After all, he didn't want to embarrass his family in Two Bends. If he was found naked, people would talk.
It was harder than he'd expected, focusing on what was desired, the world closing in as he tried to school his thoughts into the needed pattern. He had the basic ability, but that was, he found, a lot different than doing something in the real world. There was no choice, so he buckled down and ignored what was coming for him, using the concentration he'd developed while being tortured a few months before.
That lasted right until a large wave caught him from the back, pushing him forward into the gray rock in front of him. For just an instant he felt a thin line of panic run through his young body. Then he let the device activate, using a pulse of mental energy to turn the whole thing on, the control element being the rock in his right hand. That would let him guide himself. The other hand held the actual field that did the work.
It caused him to rise, moving above the water at first, then lowering him gently when the water ran back out. It wasn't high tide yet after all. This went on for a time, while he strengthened the field he was using, holding the concept that made it real even while it kept him above it all. A short fifteen minutes later, the water as high as his waist would have been if he were on the rock still, his toes four inches higher than what was actually under him, Timon floated away. It was kind of fun, since he didn't really know if the field would hold for any length of time or not. For the moment it felt strong, and he moved faster than he thought he would, nearly as fast as he could run, which was better than most could do by a good amount. He had to head around the rocky cliff base, back to the sand beach that held his Fast Craft and all his amulets, but it only took a minute. Compared to the half hour it had taken him to get into place originally it was practically instant.
Things had changed, while he was out of sight. There was a second craft on the beach now, not just the gleaming mirrored cube that he'd come in. Next to it was a rather plain gray and slightly rounded vehicle that was clearly a Fast Craft as well, but not fashioned to look like any of the ones he was familiar with. It could be anyone of course, since the things could change shape, but the shining bald head, and scarred face under it gave the identity of the person that had come away.
Baron Martin Kolbrin was sitting on the beach, legs crossed. Watching him with a more peaceful gaze than Tim was used to seeing from the man. Then, it wasn't like they were friends really. They barely knew each other. The only thing they had in common really was the fact that they were both immortal.
At least in theory. Timon was only twelve after all. Kolb was over three thousand. Odds were the other man was better at staying alive than he was.
As he floated onto the beach Tim made himself smile, looking at the man for clues as to what was really going on. There was no reason for the Ancient to have been there after all. He was a fighting Instructor for a school, not a guardsman or someone that would particularly want to bother with him as far as Timon could tell. Before he dropped to the sand the man stood, a smile warping the scar on the broad right cheek.
As soon as his bare right foot hit the cold sand, Timon spun and threw the rocks into the foaming water behind him. It wasn't like he needed the magic after all. He had a better Not-Flyer in his things, and could make more good ones, if he took his time and did it right. The field had done what was needed and keeping it as a trophy was stupid and overly sentimental. This was just an extra bit of work to help him get ready, in case he was ever captured again. Or being tortured.
"Hello." There was a bit of stiffness to the decently tall man, his magical clothing device making it seem like he was wearing a full set of winter gear. It wasn't real, but the soft and thick looking black material looked about right. It was the middle of winter and pretty cold out.
Timon didn't respond for a bit, going to his own craft and putting all his amulets on first. He had his own clothing, but the shield went into place first. After all, he might be under attack. Probably not by Baron Kolbrin, since the man wouldn't have waited for him to land before taking him down, if that was his plan, but there had to be a reason why he'd come.
"Baron. Out sightseeing?" It was a good enough question to get most people to react, which was what Tim wanted at the moment. A set of subtle clues coming from body language, or a misused turn of phrase that would give away the secret and true reason for the man to be on an isolated beach that no one else would have even noticed. It was the kind of thing that he did to people all the time. Most didn't notice, because it sounded like he was simply making conversation.
Kolb let out a single soft breath in response. It wasn't exactly a laugh, but it had that basic tone to it.
"No. I followed you from Two Bends to see what you were getting up to. Your sister mentioned that she was worried about you. I can see why now. That performance was..." There was a pause and the man smiled, letting his face turn slightly mean. "Slow. I take it that you're trying to push yourself under stress conditions as far as magic goes? Learning to build things in case you get taken again?"
Tim forced a smile onto his face. It wasn't fun to hear someone say that his efforts were less than perfect, but it was the truth, wasn't it? If he'd had even ten minutes less time he would have been trying to swim back to shore. Yes, he probably would have made it, but that wasn't the point. Still, a slightly annoyed feeling rose within him, which he didn't bother to push down all the way.
"I know. So, I'm not trying to kill myself. Does that answer things well enough, or did you want something else from me?" He sounded surly and dark, which wasn't particularly fair to the man in front of him. After all, they were, as it turned out, sort of related. That meant he should be kind, or at least polite with the Ancient. He didn't feel much like it, but that had nothing to do with Kolb, did it?
There was a pause and the man ran his right hand along his waist. It was probably an old habit, from a time when weapons would have been carried there. That showed he was more than a little nervous about something that wasn't present. After all, there was no sane reason for an Ancient to feel that way about him yet, was there? He might be a pain in th
e ass, but he wasn't dangerous. Not to someone like a distant family member that had just been checking in on him. That was actually almost nice. Annoying, that went without saying, but kind and even proper really.
The large warrior let his hand fall from his waist and looked out at the waves, lost in thought it seemed. It took a while and Timon just scanned the man, searching for a clue as to what he really wanted.
When the words finally came it was a bit of a surprise.
"There's a chance for someone to infiltrate Countess Montblanc's household. The plague has taken out about half of her household staff. She managed to stop that, getting her hands on a black market healing amulet, but she has openings. The problem there is that anyone we could normally send along would be pretty easily spotted. A fit man that's seven and a half feet tall isn't what most servants look like. Normally I wouldn't ask, but this is pretty pressing. She'll need people for Noram Day, and if you could work your way into position and do a good job, you might well be able to hold a spot there for a while." The man just stopped there, and didn't make eye contact with Timon at all. He also didn't add anything else.
It wasn't what he'd expected really. It sounded like a good idea, on the surface, but Tim didn't really feel like going into a pit of traitorous vipers, if he had a choice in the matter. Not personally. On the good side he didn't care if the warrior next to him thought he was a coward or not. Sure, there was a war on, but he was still only twelve. The Army didn't even take people until they were sixteen, when they were considered old enough to know what they wanted out of life.
Then, Kolb wasn't part of the Army, was he? Not the official one. No, he ran the King's secret military force. They were there to pretty much do anything, and if that meant sacrificing little boys to get at information, well, that was just the job, wasn't it? It was insane of course. Not that he wasn't a bit that way himself at the moment.
Tim shook his head almost immediately, but saw that the large fellow wasn't looking. As if that would change anything?
"I have a business to run. Admittedly, things have slowed down a bit, given the plague and all that, but..." It almost wasn't a real argument, so Tim dropped it before the man could answer. Business had all but died in the last weeks. It was the holiday season, but no one needed his services except the King, and the man had been oddly protective of him for some reason as of late. He scuffed his right foot on the sand, and noticed that he hadn't changed his clothing yet. It was a brown workman's boot that he saw, not something finer, even the amulet he wore for that could look like anything. This was the default, because his brother, while a brilliant wizard, had the fashion sense of a plowboy.
It worked well enough for the moment, didn't it?
The truth was that he felt scared. Going in and playing spy wasn't something he was trained for at all, and even if he was, he really didn't particularly want to challenge giant Countesses in their own homes. The last one that had gotten her evil talons on him had tortured him nearly to death. It had an impact. She was dead now, by his own hand, but even seeing a woman that was too tall still made him want to run away and hide.
The thing there was that Kolb probably knew that. It was why he wasn't making eye contact at all. The man was normally pretty direct that way.
After a few more seconds, he just shrugged.
"Honestly, I just don't want to do it. You have twenty kids that could pull it off at the school, don't you? Probably better than I could. Ones with actual training, that know how to fight and all that."
That got the man to grin at him, as if he'd said something funny.
"Not really. All our students are obviously too tall and noble for that kind of thing in the main. You have the right look still. Plus, you're young, too young to be hired on like this normally, which will make you seem safe to her. Now, we could send in one of the Lairdgren Group, Sam or Guide at least, but you actually have a better chance of doing this without being caught." He hesitated for a half minute, the pause drawing out into a strange and weighty silence. "After all, they're both basically good kids. Excellent builders for their age, and brave. They'd also break the second things got too rough. Someone would push them a bit and they'd fold, telling everything they knew. At least in that situation. It's part of their genetic profile, and not a personal flaw on either of their parts. Not yours however."
Timon knew it was true, but didn't like what the weapons master was getting at. He was the right choice, because, when he was abused he wouldn't break as easily? That made it sound like a winning position, didn't it?
He nearly told the man no and left then, but after a few seconds he just shrugged.
"I can apply for the job, I guess. Just know, when I'm pushed faced down by some royal and done up the ass, I'll be thinking about what poisons to use on you later. Just so you understand what's going to happen." The sad part was that given everything, it would probably happen.
"Come on Tim, take one for the team?" The man didn't smile, at first, but finally did, his face looking happy, since he knew that he'd won. "On the good side the plague took out most of the men there for some reason. Gray probably arranged it that way. She always favored women after all. That means you probably won't have that happen. Unless the ladies there use special tools at least. I can make excuses for you with your mother. What do you want me to say? That you're working for the kingdom?"
"Have you met my mother? She'd freak. No, tell her that I'm off... I don't know, working for some Countess to earn holiday funds? It's close enough to the truth, and she has to know that business hasn't been that great lately. I'll catch merry havoc for missing Noram Day, but..." The truth was that he didn't care, overly. He'd made up with his ma, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be trapped in a house with her for three days, did it?
The man nodded.
"I'll see to that. You know how to get there? Montblanc is in the mid-north section, above Ross. I have a map..."
Timon had actually been there. More than once. His job required him to pick people up from all over the Kingdom after all, at times. He'd even met the Countess. He doubted that she'd remember him overly, having just been her pilot. It would make things riskier normally, but he had the perfect excuse to go in as seasonal help, didn't he?
It wouldn't be what Kolb meant him to do, but if he was supposed to just pick up information, there was no reason for him not to be himself really.
They talked about the kind of thing that the King was interested in knowing, which had to do with very little, to tell the truth. Just when the enemy planned to actually move to attack again. They knew who was working against them now after all. The Truth amulets showed that pretty clearly, so no one was secretly hiding out in the ranks of the King's friends even. Not that anyone knew about. If there were any, the people were doing something right, which would be surprising.
"So, what you're basically saying is that this is some kind of busy work for me? What, are you all afraid that I'll get bored and take over for myself? I really don't want the job. If I did, I would have taken Afrak already." He stared at the other man, who looked away again, not seeming happy this time.
"Not really. Or, rather, yes, it's to keep you busy, in a place that isn't all that dangerous, but we all know that you aren't currently planning anything. Really... I need you out of the way for a while. Your sister is about to go through some hard times and both you and Tor would step in for her if it came to it. She has to do this for herself. This will get you out of the way for a few weeks so that she can start."
Nodding, Timon started to load himself into his Fast Craft. After all, if there was a time schedule, then he needed to be moving along, didn't he?
"Three weeks, if I can get in at all. If not, well, I'm sure you can find something else for me to do. I promised Brown that there would be a tour of Tellerand for some of his people that have volunteered to help." He felt down for some reason as he said the words, but that was probably just because of what had happened to him with Countess Alan. It never r
eally went away, the visions of her face over his as the pain coursed through his body. The terror and all that. It wasn't fun, but he shrugged and left, not giving the bald man another chance to suggest how he should do things.
After all, he'd probably want a measured and careful approach, like a real spy would make. Tim just didn't care enough anymore for that kind of thing. Instead he simply flew across the land, his Fast Craft making the trip inside an hour and a bit. Normally he would have checked on his watch and gotten things as exactly measured as possible, but it wasn't like he was being paid for this.
It was, of course, a stupid plan that he'd come up with, wasn't it? He forced a smile, a thing that didn't touch his eyes at all, and that he barely felt. There was no reflection of his face in the shield glass in front of him, since it was still full daylight out. That didn't matter, he knew what he looked like really. Black hair, brown eyes and perfectly formed features that got more than his fair share of female attention. It would probably help, eventually, being good looking. It already had, in several ways he knew, if he were going to be perfectly honest about it all. People assumed you were better at things if you looked nice. It helped. Being as young as he was Tim had to use everything he could to make up for his lack of age, didn't he? Intelligence was fine, but only covered so much in the minds of other people. Being one of the best looking people around gave him an edge.
When he landed, setting down directly in the front yard of the Countess Montblanc's walled Palace, he altered his clothing, making them into the nice black velvet he normally wore. If he wasn't going to try and be sneaky about it all, there was no reason he shouldn't make a good impression. He did take his craft down, the mirrored square leaving his trunks floating behind him. Those followed along as he walked to the large white front door.
The steps were made of smoothed stone that had the polished look that things made with a cutter always had. The door was wood, and painted carefully, with a large brass knocker in place that looked like a bull's head with a huge metal ring through its nose. He used it, the weighted clapper at the bottom hitting the metal plate loudly.
