by P. S. Power
Really he was paying slightly more attention to the kid next to him than Tor himself. At first it didn't make sense, until Tor saw that the boy had casually been pointing the force lance at the Count the whole time, ready to put him through the wall if the man attacked. Heh. Well, Tor had named him as a bodyguard, hadn't he? It probably also explained why the guy wasn't talking directly to him or making much eye contact. He didn't want to seem hostile…
That seemed like a good plan actually, given everything. Apparently the Count picked up on the fact that the boy hadn't backed down even when he didn't have a weapon or shield. Now that he did, the kid was probably nearly the man’s equal in a fight, even if he was untrained. There was a real reason everyone wanted shields for their combat troops. It could make a single man worth about ten in a fight. More if it was a very high end shield. What the boy next to him wore was that. In fact it was better than what the elite military had right now. The weapon in his hand was too.
Rolph nodded gently, “I see. Well, on the surface that sounds reasonable, but there are limited work hours in a day, and expenses to be met. Plus Sir Torrence has prior obligations to meet. If he were to stress himself on your behalf, and it is a real stress by the way, not to be taken lightly, enough so, that at the current rate a royal edict has already been proposed to prevent him from working any harder and requiring a vacation — not a joke by the way Tor, mom's about ready to storm the room and take you out by force you know — what can you offer for his time and efforts?”
Count Morris may have been overbearing, entitled and grumpy, but he'd come to deal, even if it meant doing so with a common looking little man sitting barefoot on a bed. The man offered going rate for all devices provided, and a small section of land that he assured was a good fertile farm in a valley bottom, that could be tenanted with Tor's people. Conveniently enough it was a strip that directly bordered County Ward. All goods raised there would go to him untaxed for twenty years and the man suggested openly that he had a daughter and some young nieces that Tor could sleep with if he wished. Or nephews if he'd rather.
That part was said with a smarmy eye and a smirk towards the boy, who was most likely underage for such things. It wasn't judging, just calculating and creepy the way it was said. Tor was going to hit the man for even making the suggestion, an irrational and stupid impulse since hitting a Count would not go over well, but the man flew backwards out of his chair first, which was helpful of him. It save Tor from having to do it. The boy next to him looked down at his hand, shocked.
Rolph laughed.
“I think that answers the question about your nephews or young nieces rather succinctly. Tor, what say you as to the rest?”
As the Count fought his way to his feet, looking angry and like he was going to try and attack someone, Tor grinned and spoke quickly.
“Well… I can offer two thousand units next month, or… given the delicate nature of the location, I may be able to sacrifice some sleep and get things done faster, but I can't promise anything right now. I have a trip to Afrak coming soon as one of my obligations… It predates the war, but is an important project to them. So important that I've been named the Ambassador even. That won't stop me from working totally, but will slow things down. Is that all right?”
The man stopped, fists clenched, glaring at the boy in brown who still aimed the force lance his way, looking more than a little scared. Tor got that. A sitting Count could have a commoner put to death for an attack like that, even if it was hilarious. Actually, the most likely occurrence for such a thing would be death. Counts could be touchy like that. It helped right now that everyone else was pretending that it didn't matter though. That it wasn’t a matter of honor or pride as much as happenstance. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the older man snorted a sound that wasn't amused but didn't seem overly angry either.
“I apologize if my offer gave offense sir, none was intended.” He bowed to the boy, just a bit, and smiled tightly, then turned to Tor slightly. “Of course sooner is better, but since no one in the world could be expected to deliver such devices in four times that, I guess I can't complain too much, can I? Thank you. Again, forgive me for any… disruption to your day. I've been a little stressed as you might imagine. The Wards aren't exactly friends of mine right now. It's a shame really, we've always gotten along well enough in the past. I really don't know what Marvin is thinking. Declaring war… Preposterous.”
Tor stood and almost put out his hand to shake, but caught himself. In the Capital it was all about bowing. Right. He made a low bow, as appropriate to his old station, forgetting for a moment that he was a Knight now, A Countier too. Not just a student from the country. Everyone else stood and there were bows all around, with the kid making an effort to get lower than Tor was. Oops. Well, at least his new guard or whatever knew the correct protocol. Tor still had to think about it himself, but then he hadn't grown up with it.
The Prince smiled politely, even though the bowing had obviously hurt and walked the older man to the door, which the boy shut quickly behind him, turning around with wide eyes. Rolph pointed at him, a single finger accusing without a word, making the kid cringe again and look down.
“Ger, what are you trying to do, start a war? Get yourself killed? I admit, it was funny as all hell, but Count Morris isn't exactly known for his sense of humor. That he didn't call you out… Well, I guess he wouldn't have would he? As a commoner you'd just be put to death, he doesn't know about your family ties. Since I know Tor, that means that he'd have probably challenged him to a duel first, and won, which means the Morris heirs would probably go to war with him and really, we don't need that right now, it would just be a mess all around, so please, in the future, for the good of the kingdom and the war effort I must ask you to hold off on attacking anyone unless you really have to, all right?” The tone was half scolding, half fairly high humor, but the boy nodded as if given a reprieve from death.
Smiling Tovey pointed at Tor, gesturing with his whole hand really, the polite way of addressing an equal, or even a near equal, so really nice of the guy all things considered, and told him that they'd actually come to see that he got his daily exercise, which was to be weapons practice in the salle with Countess Printer and several others. Whatever a salle was. Nodding Tor went to find his socks and shoes. Ger shifted uneasily.
Right, what to do with him?
“Ger is it? What's your full name, if that's not it I mean…” Tor didn't want the kid to be uneasy if that was all the name he had. Not everyone used last names even in the Capital. Ger was a fine name. Certainly as good as Tor. Better probably, since more people had it, or something similar.
“Gerald Negev Cannor, Master Tor sir.” The boy sounded humble and could be barely heard suddenly.
“Tor. Not Master Tor. Especially if we're going to be working together. Were too close in age for anything like that. Do you have exercise clothes around? I guess for the time being you should just go to my practices with me, unless you have some of your own to go to? I don't know… what kind of training have you had?”
As a palace serving boy, grandson of Laura the head cook that had died in the attack at the Queen’s birthday it turned out, and otherwise an orphan, he knew how to read and write and do sums, as well as cook and bake a little as well as palace protocol. No one had ever taught the boy to fight, even though he clearly had the reflexes for it. An oversight for sure. So really, about where Tor had been at the same age. Only bigger, stronger, and made of sterner stuff all around. Nodding he suggested that Ger go and do all the exercises with them that day, until proper training could be set up. Tovey agreed with him at least, though Rolph wrinkled his nose.
“Even the little kids can do more than I can right now, it's embarrassing.” It was clear that the Prince was kidding, at least mainly, but Ger ducked his head again, as if ashamed that his abilities might outstrip the wounded royal.
It took half an hour for everyone to show up in the salle, which turned out just to be a large open ro
om with vaulted ceilings, sanded wooden floors that were well worn instead of polished, and high windows to let in natural light. Tor wondered if they'd been constructed that high on purpose so that when his practice weapons flew out of his hand they wouldn't shatter as easily, being hard to hit way up there. It made sense, though how the builders had anticipated his coming Tor didn't know.
To his surprise half the people in the room were the royal family. All of them. Even the King had turned out, wearing a set of worn black canvas exercise clothes. Next to him the Queen wore a white outfit of similar material. They both looked good, Tor realized, fit. Already working with Holly was Karina, the middle child and second in line to the throne, both with shining saber and dagger combinations, fighting as if their lives depended on it.
The sword work was nearly as good as Tor had ever seen.
Countess Printer was what he'd always referred to as a “combat giant” back in school. Mainly royal kids that were trained particularly for war. Strong fighters that were groomed for handling their families’ petty squabbles, or on very rare occasions, attacks from other lands on Noram. Holly had been more muscular in school, but then she'd recently been poisoned nearly to death, which he knew from personal experience could cause muscles to waste away and weight to be lost fast. That she came at the exercise with such skill and ferocity only made sense. Indeed, now that he thought about it, he could recall the woman having beaten him around the exercise yard at school a few times before she graduated. It had been a popular sport at school, his small size and tendency to scurry away rapidly being considered a bit of a challenge.
What surprised him was that Karina, who he'd always thought of as a little vain and shallow, a little too concerned with what other people thought of her and a little prissy, was giving at least as good as she was getting, even though Holly was nearly six inches taller than she was. It was impressive to say the least. If Tor had been faced with the woman, he would have run away himself. Either woman, he realized.
“Ger, watch them. Try to pick up what you can until I call you over for exercises all right?” He pointed at the two women broadly, the motion catching the Queen’s attention, though she didn't move, going back to watching the action herself.
That made sense, because when they ended a few minutes later she moved out to work against Holly and Karina herself, taking on both of them at once. If either of the younger women was holding back, it wasn't readily apparent at all. In fact, if anything it looked like they were both trying even harder, hacking and slashing from both sides, their four blades moving to attack and being pushed aside over and again. Eventually the Queen lost, but it took nearly ten minutes and was close. As she “killed” her daughter, Holly moved in and got her in the back, tapping her lightly.
When that was done Tor loosened up, swinging around in the familiar exercises, Ger joining him, trying to copy what he did watching with careful side long glances. The King started working with Tovey as they limbered and stretched. It was a lot more even a match-up than he'd have thought, the King being huge, over eight foot tall, nearly a foot larger than Tovey, but the Count having just a little more actual skill with a blade. The shining silver swords shone and gleamed as they danced, singing out a familiar tune. If the women had been impressive, this display was a little awe inspiring. Intellectually Tor knew he'd seen better fighting. Kolb fairly regularly handed Tovey his behind pretty easily for instance. Then again, Sir Martin Kolbrin, Kolb to his friends and students, had been the weapons instructor at the Lairdgren School for a reason. But in this moment, these giants, feet tapping a staccato rhythm on the gray stone of the floor, looked almost untouchable.
When they finished Rolph pointed at the King and Tovey, both a little out of breath. The King raised his eyebrows.
“Do you think this much activity would be wise just yet? Your wounds…”
“No, not me, that would be silly, I'd end up bleeding all over the floor and it looks freshly cleaned. The boy that washes them would be most put out, and rightly so, probably come and take his own turn thrashing me too. No, you two against my champion. Tor, if you'd be so good as to dispatch these ruffians?” Everyone laughed, including Tor, but he went out onto the floor clutching his borrowed practice blades gamely enough. They were short compared to what everyone else had of course, and he wondered for a second if he'd picked up Varley's old set, since the youngest royal had only started to shoot up in the last six months, having been closer to his own height before that.
Since they were playing the part of ruffians, the King and the Count didn't bother saluting or letting him actually get out onto the floor. Torrance had to suppress the urge to simply run away, that being what he'd really been trained to do at school and dove for the floor instead, rolling with blades held out carefully, directly towards the King. With his right hand blade, the longer saber, only about two and a half feet, he “sliced” the counts leg off at just below the knee and then stabbed him several times in the stomach as fast as he could, then came to his feet running fast before the King could use the giant blade in his hand.
Laughing, Tor ducked and spun in place just past Tovey, hitting first the back of his left leg then making a “X” pattern over his lower back and placing a slightly awkward sword point into his heart from behind. Sabers didn't stab well he knew, so he repeated the motion several times, trying to keep the large Count between the even larger King and him. Then Tor jumped to the side and threw his practice dagger at the King, since he was the only opponent left, Tovey having been “killed” at least twice in that last exchange. The hilt of the dagger hit the King’s leg, of course. If the point had hit Tor would have passed out, most likely. His ability to throw a knife was virtually non-existent after all. That didn't matter. King Richard and his reactions were what counted. He danced back first, a natural reflex to a knife being thrown at you, even a practice one, and then tried to capitalize on it having missed by plunging forward fast. As expected.
Tor threw himself flat to the floor and cut the giant monarchs left foot off as he stepped onto it. At least it would have done that if he had a real sword and a strong enough arm. On the backstroke he rose up and stabbed the King in the groin, indicating it without contact, then the stomach twice before having to roll out of the way of the massive blade that tried to bi-sect him.
Dancing to his feet, Tor ran around the giant monarch, making a point of staying out of range the whole time. At the end of the first one and a quarter circles, just as the large man tried to shift his feet again, Tor moved in and hit him in the legs twice more. If they had armor on it wouldn't have counted most likely, so Tor reset, ran away some more for a while and tried again. Then again. The King was so freaking tall that he had to finally jump through the air to score a solid blow to the side of the neck with the longer blade he had left. Hardly fair really, but nature was what it was.
No one said anything for a few moments.
Finally Rolph cleared his throat, “My champion two, noble ner'do-wells, zero.” His voice was slightly smug, considering the two giants had obviously just let Tor win. It had to be that, didn't it? After all, they were so huge and very good. Well, Tor decided it was kind of them not to humble him overly. They'd have to work harder with him though, so that he didn't get all soft.
That led to him having to work against everyone else in turn, with the Queen and Princess Veronica being the hardest for him. The Queen because she was so good. Wickedly so, and faster than she'd shown working against her daughter and the Countess, apparently not feeling a need to hold back against the likes of him. Tor won, but just barely. Again he wondered if she'd let him win, taking mercy on him? She was always very kind to him, and may have just not wanted to hurt his feelings, not that Tor would be bothered by something like that. A lot of girls had beaten him up in combat practice. He was kind of used to it by now.
Varley was hard because he couldn't bring himself to hit her. She was… Well, bad would have been unkind to say, but certainly the youngest Princess
could use some more practice. She did manage to beat him though, by pretending to cry, kissing him when he came to make sure she wasn't hurt. Then stabbing him with a dagger she had hidden in the folds of her green canvas exercise outfit.
“Argh! Taken in by a pretty face and guile, our hero and champion goes down…” Rolph roared with good humor. Tor chuckled too. It was a fair move, so it counted as a clean kill. No one said you had to use only physical skill in a fight. If that were the case he'd have lost almost all of them he'd ever been in, instead of simply… managing them, like he had.
Ger sat, his eyes wide the whole time. Finally the King and Queen came over and, smiling, asked if the boy was his new Squire. The tone was serious even, so Tor shook his head first, then gave them a half nod as if the idea wasn't too farfetched. It wasn’t really, was it?
“Nope. First he needs some training and practice, and then, if no one objects, I think he should go to Lairdgren if possible. The school there's still open right?” The King nodded, his face suddenly pensive. Tor glanced at the boy and nodded.
“He has a sister too, so we need to make arrangements for her as well. I'll cover that and any training they need until then, school and lessons and all that…” Tor winced hard and blushed, looking at Ger, realizing what he'd just done. He'd just let the words pop out without considering them.
“Sorry Ger! I don't even know if you or your sister have other plans or anything and I was talking about you like you weren't right here. I apologize. Um, do you have any other plans?” It occurred to Tor that he was not just being pushy, but didn't even know the sisters name. What kind of person did that? He blushed at his own heavy handedness.
