P. Power - Knight of the Realm

Except Rolph who thought he should go and Connie who definitely didn't want her daughter or injured niece going near someone so obviously unbalanced.

In the end they both relented.

That was good, because Tor fell asleep curled up on the sofa he'd been sitting on all day. When he woke up, it was the middle of the night. Someone had come in and dropped off pre-marked copper sections for amulets, enough for full batches at a time, which he took as a hint. Batches of a hundred each, not ten. A bit of extra work, but he had to start rebuilding since Holly had taken all that stuff… A bit frustrating, but that was life, sometimes you just had to pick back up and go, even if it was a pain in the rear.

Tor just worked until he'd nearly finished the fifth, and obviously last, batch when the people came in. It was just some lights on small copper disks that could be tied anywhere, they were only the size of a silver coin, but the light they produced came out in a nimbus around them nearly a foot in diameter. The light was red this time, because some of the military men felt that red light didn't hurt their night vision as much. It probably didn't, since you couldn't see half as well by it, but if that's what they wanted, he'd make it for them. They had the combat field experience, not him.

It took nearly three hours after that for them all to be ready to travel, since Tor was bathed, shaved and dressed by a team of servants he'd never seen before who were both efficient and good at their jobs. Then they had to wait for the King to write Holly a letter, which he assured them all wasn't inflammatory.

They could only hope, since it was sealed with wax and no one wanted to risk trying to melt it free in case they damaged it. That would be embarrassing after all. Tor had a vision of them handing over a letter from the King covered in half melted wax. The stuff running down his shirt in a red mess. It was a hilarious thought, but also a crime. You didn't mess with a royal seal. People had died for that in the past. Not even that long in the past either.

The flight took about seven hours, but mainly because everyone wanted to stop and eat three times. Tor understood, everyone else was a giant, even if a small one. They just ate more when they could. Tor ate once, at about lunch time and then mainly because Petra grabbed him and threatened to force feed him if he didn't have some fruit and cheese. The fruit was dried, quick dried, which left it airy and light, it practically melted on the tongue and wasn't shriveled like regular dried food was. It was crispy instead of chewy and good in its own way. Like candy almost. Pears, peaches and apples were offered.

No one mentioned the new process, because they'd all seen it before, except Petra, and she got almost instantly that Tor had created the device that made it without being told. The woman just kind of expected that if new magic was involved, Tor was to blame.

Out of everyone, it was funny who expected what to happen. Tor didn't say much, because really, he didn't know at all. Kolb figured that they'd likely have a fight on their hands, possibly with Holly herself. After all, he trained her for years to do just that. Tor he'd taught to run away, Holly he drilled on leading forces to battle. Oops.

Trice had a small box with her that she assured everyone would fix everything, but she said it with that playful air she often used, which was good to hear, as much as the situation sucked. She wore black, except the light tan of her bandages on the stump of her left arm. The flight rigs that had been made that morning all used a right hand control, but other than that were as fast as the new military ones. It was what he was using too, since he didn't have time to make a regular batch, not yet. That was fine, he wasn't going to fight anyway, just talk. Every few minutes Trice gave him strange looks, flying alongside him and mugging openly.

She seemed to either be adjusting fast to her missing arm, or, and this was more likely Tor guessed, she was faking it for everyone else's benefit. She was good at faking things after all, Tor thought, only slightly peeved by the idea. Finally after ten strange looks from her or so, Tor stuck his tongue out briefly. It got a laugh from her, he couldn't hear it, but that's what it looked like from a distance.

Petra looked uneasy.

Tor wanted her there, because Holly Printer was an old friend of hers from school. But even though she wasn't close to her sister in-law, she was still a Ward. It would have been harder to deal with, except that the tall dark skinned girl really didn't like the Countess Ward much at all and had told people that for years. Kolb didn't think it was a stupid idea at least. Not that he'd said.

When they landed in the Printer capital, oddly enough just called “Printer” instead of Printoria, Printerland, or something even dumber sounding than that, and, efficiently enough, they were met almost instantly by the city guard. Here they wore dark green and white uniforms that weren't half as silly looking as the bright red and white used by the guard in the kingdoms capital. Actually it looked kind of sharp. Menacing, but very professional. The wore tall black boots that gleamed a little they were so polished.

It was a group of four men, and they didn't fly over, simply walking, their hard soled leather boots, about half as high as what prostitutes normally wore, marched over in step, making decently loud clomping sounds. They had clubs on their waists, but didn't draw them.

“Identify yourselves please, gentles.” The young man who was in the front left position spoke first. He had hair that was either blond or brown, one of those things that was too close to call. Other than that, all the men looked similar. Short military haircuts, trim. Very young.

It was Kolb that stepped forward, his smile looking kinder than Tor was used to seeing it, which probably meant fake. The scar on his right cheek, running from an inch under the eyebrow to an inch above the chin, a silver line on the lean face, crinkled a little bit with the effort. Even the eyes wrinkled as if trying to make him look very happy to be there.

“Well met!” He said in a phony sounding voice. Well, it sounded fake to Tor at least. Honestly it was happy sounding, the kind of voice you used with the guard when you knew you weren't about to be arrested for something and just didn't want trouble. “I'm Baron Martin Kolbrin, this young lady is Princess Veronica Cordes.” He gestured at Varley, the men all bowed as one and held it.

“Your majesty.” The lead man said. She waved them back up.

“Hello!” She said, her own voice sounding bright and chipper. Tor got the idea. Be happy, like coming to visit a friend? He could do that.

Kolb continued.

“Next we have Countier David Derring…” The tall young man, still only fifteen, if nearly seven foot tall and lean as well as hard, grinned. It was charming.

“Hey.” He said, sounding like a goofy kid.

“And Ducherina Patricia Morgan.”

Trice giggled and batted her eyelashes at one of the guards that hadn't spoken, causing the man to grin and blush. The guy was good looking, Tor had to admit. He looked down at her left arm worriedly, but didn't let it show on his face as revulsion at least. Trice was pretty, one armed or not. It did make her look a bit lopsided though.

“Oh and these two…” Kolb gestured first to Petra and then him, a bit lazily. “Petra and Tor. You know… the wizard? Hard to believe I know, but it's true.”

Petra murmured something but Tor stepped forward and wrinkled his nose at Kolb.

“Oh, come on! Everybody has to look like something, don't they? Just because I'm not so over tall as all you doesn't mean I look funny. Seriously… most people aren't giants you know.” Tor grinned at the guardsmen to show he was just playing. “Do I look odd to you?”