by P. S. Power
“Take better care of your mother and sister will you?” Tor held up his right hand, it was a tired half wave. “I know, Petra has her own life now and all that, but seriously, that house your mom's in needs major work. It has a wall now, to keep the lizards out, and should be a little more comfortable, but the furniture all needs to be replaces due to mold damage and she should have servants other than just Georges.”
Tor kind of expected to be yelled at then, but the Count simply nodded, giving a small seated bow and Maria looked down at the table, a shame filled expression on her face.
“That's all my fault. I've never gotten along with Petra, not since, well, you know. I deserved it, being beaten for saying those things to you. I can't deny that now, but it set things in motion in a bad way, so I've been cruel to her. I should have tried harder to fix that but… No, that's wrong. I should have tried fixing it at all, I never really did. I promise I will and that we'll make sure Ellen is taken care of.” She smiled gently.
Nodding his head for a second Tor remembered something Rolph had said to him once. Someone had just attacked him at the time and he was blaming Captain Wensa of the Royal Guard. The Prince had checked with his parents in the Capital not just to make sure they hadn't tried to have him killed, but that no one had said to “take care of Tor” meaning they wanted him to get hugs and tucked in at night, only to have that misconstrued as “kill him now”.
At least the other two laughed when he told them about the whole thing, then apologized again, since Maria had already admitted that she had put Laval up to that attack on him. One of them at least.
That settled, Tor asked if they could plan to stay in their capital for the next few weeks or so, in case he needed to find them in order to take them off to trial or execution or something like that. It was morose humor, but they agreed, as long as he promised to make certain their people weren't harmed. Well. If they wanted to trick him into helping them, that was the way to his heart. Being willing to sacrifice themselves to save their friends and charges… Yeah, that touched him more than a little.
Tor took off before even false dawns light.
He hadn't eaten which burned at his gut a little, but he'd been hungry before in life and probably would be again. He'd live. Tor just wasn't going to sleep in Warden. If they were trying to set a trap, it wouldn't pay to make it too easy on them, would it?
The flight back felt like it took longer, and probably did, since he'd gone off course pretty badly, ending up flying north at least several hundred miles before daylight came and let him make corrections. As tempted as he was to simply fly straight to the palace, it was forbidden to fly in the city still. Apparently in the first weeks the flyers made their in-town debut, several young nobles had decided that racing as fast as possible through the city streets, about five feet from the ground, made for an interesting game. They had shields after all, so what could go wrong? None of them had been hurt, though several others had been.
One a child who's back had been broken. It didn't seem likely the boy would ever walk again. Tor wondered if he could help fix that with a healing device. If not, would a Not-flyer be able to help the boy get around?
Maybe. He'd have to check on that situation if he ever got the chance. The flying rigs were his invention and he'd personally made the ones that had harmed the boy, he didn't doubt. It would only be right to try and help if possible. Make sure he was either fixed or would never want for anything. Both if possible. Tor sighed. It was always something wasn't it? He was tired and desperately wanted to just curl up and sleep, but knew he couldn't. This was too important to put off, just for his own comfort. What if the attack were already set and his nap made him too late to stop it? No, he had to keep going. No matter what.
The main city gates were open, but guarded when he got there, the morning guard saw him and just waved. Small guy with floating luggage, that pretty much had to be him, right? That or the guard didn't care as long as he wasn't committing a crime. Either way worked for him. At least he hadn't been banned from the city yet. Probably. It could be that the guy on duty just couldn't be bothered to stop him or hadn't looked at the papers that told him not to let any builders in if they were too short or something.
The trip through the city was always a trick. It was early still, most shops were just opening, some of them smelling very good, but again, stopping wasn't in the picture, as hungry as he was. If he messed this up and people died, it would be on him. And the Wards.
Mostly them, but right now was his part, not theirs. It took nearly an hour to get to the palace gate, and from the bell clock in town he could tell it was nine in the morning. It may have been too early to visit. Then again, he wouldn't know unless he tried, would he? He looked a mess still, covered in dried blood, teeth needing to be brushed and hair desperately wanting both a washing and brushing. The only positive was that, since growing a beard he never looked like he had two days growth going on any more.
For once he didn't even get to the gate guard house before the main gate opened. Standing in the center of it was Richard Cordes himself. The King. Tor raised an eyebrow as the man took several steps forward. He tried at least. Both eyebrows going up at the same time, probably looking shocked instead of skeptical.
“Well at least this time you came to tell me to buzz off yourself. This isn't a social call. I have documents for you and Connie to look at. I mean the Queen. Prince Alphonse Cordes too, if he's around, I'd guess, and any counts, advisors or intelligent stable boys you have in this place that want to listen in.” Tor waited as the King stiffened slightly and looked like he'd just been punched in the balls. The idea very nearly made Tor smile, since he could literally do that with an uppercut on the giant. If he could get close enough. For some reason the King didn't say anything, just led him into the palace with a simple hand gesture and a stilted turn. It made Tor wonder if commandos were about to pop from the walls again. True, last time it had been Smythe of Westend behind that, but the man was still walking free. After all, trying to kill Tor didn't count as far as the law went. Literally, he realized, at least at the level these people played. No law said they couldn't kill him.
Rich asked Tor to sit in the meeting room, it was one that had a large table, an extremely ugly oval one that probably cost more than some entire families made in a year. Focus stone would have been both cheaper and more durable, as well as nicer looking. Except that he hadn't created the process to make it when this table had been made. From the sense of its field he wondered if his mother had even been born then. Tor sat at the far end of the table, not the head of it, he didn't think, the opposite position. The guest chair, so to speak.
If they'd fed him, he'd have to look out for poison for sure.
It took a long time for anyone to come and then they all showed up at once, a long stream of stiff looking people. Probably all pissed at him for being rude and beating up those men just because he got mad. The King and Queen led them, followed by Rolph, the Princesses, Ursala and Holly, Tovey and Smythe of Westend. Tor didn't get up. He was too tired and a little too pissed at most of these people for one reason or another. Not Holly, and possibly not Tovey. That was it. When they sat down Tor flicked the first letter down the table, a sliding toss, it didn't even get half way there, but Ursala grabbed it, looking at him as if he was trying to steal the palace silver and passed it down the table, until it got to Richard, who broke the red wax seal on it and opened it very slowly, taking a deep breath.
It was clear he read it more than once.
It got passed around the top of the table, which was a tradition, he thought, having seen it before, but then the King took it back and stood.
“Well. That's rather different than what I expected I must say. Tor's been to Warden and both the Wards have agreed to declare the war over and admit it as a grave mistake on their part, and give full apologies for their error, then they include why this happened, what led to their mistake, claim that they were not behind the attack two weeks ago and f
urther that they were not behind the mass poisoning that killed so many. Some names are listed…” Richard looked at the paper again.
“Tor I notice that your name isn't listed on here?”
“They admitted that they caused my poisoning to happen. They claim it wasn't what they intended, but they also said that they had me attacked the first time, the guy dressed like Wensa? Maria said she meant that one.” Tor didn't say anything else, because Ursala and Holly both started shouting.
It was hard to understand, but it came down to how they couldn't let things rest there. The language was a good bit harsher than that and had some name calling, but that's about what they were getting at, Tor thought.
The King nodded.
“Nor apparently do the Wards think it should. They both say that their willing to surrender themselves into Tor's personal custody and in fact already have, to stand fair trial. Their only concern is that it be a truly fair hearing, if I read between the lines correctly, not just a show to excuse killing them. Tor it says here that you witnessed them write this with their own hands and sign it without duress? Then you had them initial that as well? Very thorough.”
That was the case, so he nodded. Prince Alphonse Cordes rolled his eyes a little and started listing off all the ways that Tor, innocent that he was, could have been fooled or taken advantage of. Especially in the state he was currently in. Tor threw the second letter at him, which also didn't get halfway down the table. It got passed to Rolph, since Tor pointed at him rudely, who opened, read it several times and started laughing out loud. Instead of passing this one around he just started reading it to everyone.
“Ahem. To whom it may concern: Of course they're probably lying about this, but everyone deserves a fair trial don't you think? Maria keeps over-acting and trying to use her tears to influence me, as if that could matter at all. But if Count Ward is acting, he's the best I've ever seen, and we should get him to tour with a group of maskers or players, instead of doing this silly ruling thing he has going on. Still, they claim they didn't do most of what they're accused of. If that's the case, we need to know it before a bunch of innocent people get killed. Then he signed it “Tor, who's not as gullible as you think, which you should know by now, Rolph.” and had both the Wards put a witness statement at the bottom. Which he initialed. Heh. Funny, but kind of cold Tor, making them sign it like that.”
So, Tor told them, after he got a place to stay and cleaned up, he'd come back and they could work out the particulars of the trial itself.
“We'll have your room made up in the guest house…” The Queen said, lifting her right hand.
Tor shook his head, “No, thank you. I'll find someplace on my own if it's all the same. Given everything I have no doubt that Smythe at least is going to try and have me killed again. Who knows what the rest of you are going to do. The only thing I know is that it won't likely be to my benefit. It hardly ever is where you royals are concerned.”
Yeah, it was surly, dark and probably slightly unfair to some of them, but he could hardly think still, too tired and without rest the reaction to the combat rage lingered still, worse Smythe sat alternating between glaring and looking smug.
It was annoying.
Smythe's right hand came up from under the table suddenly and pointed at Tor, a roaring blast of pain washed over him, along with a blinding light. He didn't move, but a small scream escaped his lips. There was yelling then, but Tor couldn't understand it. Finally it occurred to him to try and hide under the table. The room had gone black, but from the pain in his eyes Tor was pretty sure he was just blind. Darn. It wasn't a partial blindness either, the room was gone totally. His eyes burned and felt funny, wet and sticky, as he forced himself to crawl along under the table. He couldn't really run, could he? What could he do?
He tried to feel the fields in the room and located where Smythe was. Kind of a desperation move really. He was working his way down the room towards him, wearing a shield that was one of Tor's own.
“Sire, he must be stopped for the good of the kingdom. I told you all how dangerous he was, but no one would listen to me!” The man yelled as he walked along, the device he held ready to be activated.
Tor could almost draw the picture in his mind. Of course nothing he had would go through the man's shield, not without killing them all. Now if he had the Counselor’s weapon… Tor laughed, a deep, low chuckle, which made Smythe stop moving for a second. The field Tor wanted to make was basically just a cutter, only formed across the man’s right wrist, inside the shield space. It would take a minute or two though, of course. Even if he managed to do better than he ever had before. While already blind, scared and in pain? Simple, no doubt.
So he needed to buy time.
“Westend?” Tor said while crawling. Keeping his focus solid he turned and crawled in the other direction. Everyone else scattered of course, but then what could they do? They wouldn't have anything that Tor didn't. “Seriously? I mean, what did I ever do to you? Oh, wait, I get it. Of course…”
The older man tried to suddenly attack, but Tor felt it coming and moved before the blast could catch him, rolling over his left shoulder in a somersault. It worked well enough for this kind of fight at least, but he'd hate to try and fly this way. If the blindness was permanent he could cope and still even work, but it wouldn't be fun. It made him glad he'd taken time to appreciate the sunset the day before. Freaking insane Westend hadn't even warned him first.
“You attacked me even after I gave you the super-explosive before, and now you attack after I bring news that the civil war might be ended without bloodshed. Why would anyone do that? I can only think of the one reason… It's because you're an Austran agent, isn't it?” Tor had to roll again then, the new pain weapon catching him in the leg as he moved, he needed a bit more time, somehow…
“Right, of course that's it, your Austran masters have been planning this for a long time, haven't they? Years at least, to get you into place. Smythe of Westend? What kind of name is that supposed to be anyway? Tellerand? Yeah, they probably got you as an orphan or at least a young child, probably bought you from a whorehouse or something, then trained you to blend in here… That make sense. The only problem being that they forgot one crucial thing…” Tor held the focus and felt the whole thing began to gain the needed power.
“In Noram… we use magic.” It came out as a growl.
The field sunk home and there was a sudden clunking sound of a hand holding a silver weapon hitting the floor. Tor focused on the field as tightly as he could manage. He crawled to it as Smythe started to whimper. Not that it would hurt, but his hand was gone, which had emotional impact.
Tor found it and pried the metal piece from the grasping fingers, the whole thing slightly slick from the action of his brushing the bloody part by mistake. Sensing fields was fuzzier than seeing after all. Standing Tor walked carefully over to the military leader. Facing him the man made a keening sound.
“Yeah, I'm blind thanks to you. Don't worry, your joining me in the dark now, so I won't feel alone long.” Triggering the weapon he heard and felt Smythe scream and after a few moments fall, then begin to writhe on the floor. Tor didn't stop and decided not to until the field cut out. The air around him had grown cold, icy even, the weapon taking energy directly from the environment itself. And from him.
Westend still lived, but wasn't doing much, probably trying to stop the bleeding of his stump. He could have felt bad for the man, but decided not to. Instead he focused as hard as he could, found the amulet around the man’s neck and triggered it, turning it off.
That, of course, was the problem of attacking him while wearing work Tor had created. He owned it, in a very real sense. It was always his, no matter who copied the field or who wore it. The design was a part of him, made from his own field. If he could focus enough, he could turn it off. Then he could do… anything.
In this case the order of the day was stomping. It wasn't very precise, but then that wasn't his fault, he was b
lind. Shoe leather struck flesh over and over again, but the guy kept breathing. Tor pointed the weapon in his hand again. A short blast came out of the end.
Then Tor woke up somewhere else. It was still black.
Wonderful.
Under him the bed was soft, the blankets too, so not the floor of the room, and he lived, which hadn't been guaranteed. Still blind though… that was kind of annoying. Dropping into a work state, Tor tried to rebuild his eyes. It took a long time, and he felt himself fed occasionally, and thought he fell asleep several times, the field always getting weaker when he did, which is how he knew it happened at all. Finally, days later, he opened his eyes, and saw something. It was dark, but he could see a slightly brighter patch coming from around the door in front of him. After a while he got up and opened it, the world flooded with light, bright light, too bright to see really.
He adjusted, if throwing an arm over his eyes while trying not to see counted as that, and noticed the guard standing outside the door. Clear, but a little blurry. Probably just his eyes not being used to the light yet. On the other side, to the left, there was another. Crap. He hadn't even considered that Smythe might have been acting on orders. Tor was defenseless, weak from the attack and the work he'd done. Plus these were Royal Guards. He probably couldn't have taken one in a fight on the best day of his life, even if he got the drop on them. Not without weapons. As it was they both turned around when he stepped into the hall.
“Right, so, am I prisoner or not?” He asked, just waiting for an answer.
If he was, well, he'd fight of course, even if he was going to lose. Then again, if he went back to the room, he could make a cutter and get himself free. Or possibly a shield, if he found something to attach it too. If he could do both, he might be able to get away. He'd lose all his stuff, but without life, did things matter? The guards told him to go back in to his room. Rather gruffly.
