P. Power - Knight Esquire

Whee. Well, at least he’d have a shield. Tor wondered if he’d get to use it. That wasn’t at all certain. We’ll, he’d live. Probably.

The rest of the day was spent hooking up the water system from the new river, which he dubbed, “the secret” river. So far no note from the King or any of the rest of the royal family about it. That was kind of surprising, because, well, it was over six hundred miles long and had a huge flow, several times what the King’s river had this time of year. For no one to notice it was scary. Half of it ran right behind a military base for goodness sake. Those people flew over it all the time too…

Freaky that it hadn’t been mentioned.

If they were missing this, what else was going on that they didn’t know about?

Every hour or so he checked the kitchen and, slightly to his surprise, Petra had the sweet rolls well in hand. She needed help making the icing, but that was fair, since she hadn’t been shown how before Sorlee left for the afternoon. Really, as he watched, Tor felt impressed and a little proud of everyone.

The kitchen was running. Not smoothly, and not well, but they’d have food and for the most part no one would be ending up with food poisoning even. That was a lot more than he’d expected. Maybe they should get more professional restaurant people in, if they were all like Will. And some professional bakers. Tor blinked. Yeah. That might just work.

“Excuse me Will…”

He started. The man jumped again when he realized who was speaking to him, but smiled when he heard the pitch. It turned out the young man had a whole family that could do this kind of thing. Some of whom might even be willing to relocate.

Could he just hire people like that? Well, more to the point, if he paid for it, would the military stop him? Tor didn’t think so. He’d get into town soon and ask about it at the palace. He could sweeten the deal with some shields and flying rigs if he hurried. First though, he had to get the new pump system put in so that everyone had water to their bath houses and restrooms. It took until dark, when lights started coming on in the surrounding buildings he headed back to his own hut.

He’d gotten just passed the door cut in the tall inner wall when he saw the silhouette.

It was a person, female, and even wearing a dress or skirt. Or a man wearing a skirt, if it was something sinister, he supposed. It really felt that way. Dark and evil, to tell the truth. It caught the attention if nothing else.

Tor had his shield on already, it was just habit after all that had happened. The figure held a knife, the edge glittering gently in the light from the nearest buildings, and they waited for him to pass before jumping out and trying to stab him. It wasn’t a clumsy move, not really, but the lights of the building had back lit the form. The size was right, but Tor knew one thing for certain. It wasn’t Trice or Wensa. Either of them would have known that he had a shield on all the time by now, especially if he was outside. The mask was the same as before, Tor thought so anyway. A full leather thing that looked to fasten in the back. Kind of like the helm that Trice had worn the other day.

Tor hit the sigil on the Not-flyer he wore. It was one of the new kind too, faster than the ones allowed in town. Catching up to the running form wasn’t hard with the extra speed, but grabbing them was. Twist followed turn as they fled, making it a real enough race, even if Tor was traveling about four times faster than the assassin. He didn’t stop, doubling back over and over again, trying to catch hold or knock the person over. Finally he got them cornered.

Literally.

They’d run towards the wall, but in a direction there was no door, where the inner dividing wall met the outer and they joined, fused glass like focus stone leaving no seam or gap to wiggle through, no hand hold to allow climbing. They spun around and fought with their waistband, obviously going for a weapon of some kind. Tor slammed into them as fast as he could go, letting his shield force their body back, slamming the person into the wall hard. Dress or not, the grunt that came out was all man. Deep and oddly accented.

So were the words that followed.

“Fuck! Why don’t you just die already you half sized freak?” The man said, slightly muffled by the mask. The voice was deep enough, but not one he recognized at all.

Then a brilliant blue light came from the man’s hand, something he held, Tor guessed, as pain ripped through his body and he started to convulse over and over again. The man hung over him and tried to kick him, but the foot stopped in the air. His weapon may be able to get through the shield, and it hurt badly, but the man still couldn’t touch him. Heh. Well, another thing to be fixed on the shield then.

A minute or two later, pain coursing through him the whole time, Tor heard people coming. The man said “fuck” again, but ran off. By the time people started showing up Tor had climbed to his feet shakily. That… whatever it was, hurt. He’d never heard of a weapon that could do that. It went right through his shield, so there was no physical component. A mental effect? Most of those should be filtered out already, but it could be. That or someone had found a way around what he’d guarded against already. Could it have been the light? That made sense, he’d never seen a real need to shield against light at all. How it worked to make his muscles seize up like that, he didn’t know. Effective though.

Godfrey came running holding something that looked like a military lance, glittering a soft silver in the pale glow from the buildings, and demanded a situation report, so Tor tried to fill him in, voice still wavering and halting. It was a bit fear, a bit reaction after the fact, and a lot of response to whatever had been done. Tor kind of wondered why the man hadn’t just used that weapon first. Still, while it hurt, he wasn’t injured really. Sore and uncomfortable, but unless it did some hidden lasting damage, it just seemed to inflict pain. So, annoying but not really dangerous? Not if the user of the weapon couldn’t attack you in any other way.

He’d hate to be hit with it while flying. He’d probably accelerate straight into the ground. Then he’d really be uncomfortable.

Tor headed back to Kolb’s section at a slow walk, because the man knew more about weapons than anyone else Tor had ever met to talk to, so he was the go-to guy on that. Besides, other than looking for the person, what else could they do? As assassination attempts went it was the poorest one so far, if the most clearly lethal in intent for all that. A knife in the back coming from the dark?

Yeah that was pretty clear, no subtly, or wondering if it was really about him. Dressing like they had before, if it was the same person at all, was a good sign too. Plus asking him why he didn’t die already… That kind of showed intent. The mask looked right, but it wasn’t like he’d gotten to examine it closely last time. This time he got a good long look as he writhed in pain. Light brown leather with a slit for the mouth and eye holes. The eye color was eerie, almost black. He’d only ever seen one person like that before. But then it was dark, so maybe the eyes had just been deep brown or even a dark blue?

Tor knew one thing, he needed to talk to someone. There was one person that might be able to give him a clue at least. One… that might talk to him anyway. He just had to figure out how to set it all up.

Kolb was outside, running towards him by the time Tor staggered through the door in the dividing wall. Holding up a hand Tor filled him in as quickly as possible. Nothing he had to say was a secret, so he just kept talking when the others ran up. He stiffened a little when a person wearing a dress, one about the right height and build ran up behind him. Wrong style though. This one looked pretty, rather than merely functional.