P. Power - Knight Esquire

“Closer to eighty thousand… Some of them are off supporting the actual war effort, thank god, so anything that happens will be smaller, but they have military gear that’s decent. Not current standard, but solid stuff. Luckily they only have about five hundred outfitted that way and again, half are on the front.”

That earned a nod. So the ground forces were big, but the “elite” shielded and magically armed forces were a few hundred? The only thing that didn’t really answer was if the Wards had managed to get anything going in secret. Tor was doing all right making things, and had even become kind of popular for it, he knew. Mainly because people could get his stuff. There were a lot of other builders that made really effective devices too, just slower. He’d learned that the hard way himself, with those pain gloves that Smythe had. He still didn’t know how those worked at all, but they were obviously high quality. It was just possible that Ward managed to buy up something that no one else knew existed yet. Tor had to try and get ready for that, which was, by definition, almost impossible. Who knew what could be brought to the party?

Almost anything. So he’d have to do whatever he could to protect his friend, that was all.

They managed to load Stamos and then everyone else in the little group that had come, most of whom turned out to be standing at the door outside, up with everything he had. They all hung around looking pleased and more than a little awkward for a while, but then agreed to act as delivery men to the military for the fields. It would, at least, let Tor clear out most of the fields from inside the hut, leaving room for more. Besides, he pointed out, it would make their disguise look legitimate. No one would send the heir, or a sitting Count, to deliver military supplies, would they? If anyone watched and wondered, this should throw them off a lot.

“Only you would, Tor. But I doubt the Austrans know that yet.” Rolph winked at him as he grabbed a trunk and took it outside.

Count Thomson got him alone and asked when he thought he’d be recovered enough for the next attempt on his life. Oddly enough, the very tall man didn’t seem to be joking, or pleased about the idea. He seemed grim in fact. For a bit Tor was afraid he was going to tell Tor that he wouldn’t back the plan. It was his right of course, but it didn’t make sense. Didn’t he want the Wards caught, if it was really them at least? Tor had gotten into the habit of thinking it was them, but that didn’t make it so, did it? He’d thought it was both Wensa and Trice already too, and that was wrong. Obviously it couldn’t have been them, unless everyone was just in it together. If that were the case, he really would have been dead by now. He probably wouldn’t have lasted through the first bath or shower, when he took all his amulets off. Another reason to get friendly with Petra? She could watch his back while he bathed. Wash it too.

And then he could watch hers, so it would work out all the way around. Tee-hee. Tor felt a little ashamed for having even thought about it, but it was kind of a good point, having a guard in the shower and bath at least.

Count Thomson assured him both that he’d back his plan, and that if Tor died, he’d kill him. The logic of it was a little short, but Tor nodded anyway. After all, if he was going to be staying in Tovey’s house, he had to follow his rules, right? So no dying. Check. Really, Tor could both agree and endorse that rule fully. Maybe he should have a similar policy for his place?

They set the date for everyone that was going to arrive at the Thomson Capital house in a month and thirteen days, which would put Tor going into town just in time for the Queen’s birthday. Two days before really. That shook him a little. He remembered Rolph sending clothes dryers to her for the last birthday and it was nearly back around again? Then he realized something else. Somewhere in there his own birthday had already come and gone. He’d been eighteen for months already.

Plans set, Tor hunkered down and got to work. It was incredibly boring at first but he forced himself to hold to the best pace he could manage while still recovering. At nearly a thousand copies a day, the military had stopped complaining, and after a few weeks of work even stopped asking for new flying rigs. They wanted a lot more shields, and oddly, the faster Not-flyers; since those were so easy to use they almost didn’t require training. That reminded him to send a few hundred of those to the Capital too, for the palace servants and guests that wanted to give them a try. Some would disappear, he knew, but that wasn’t a big deal to him and really shouldn’t be to anyone else either. If some street kid ended up with a Not-flyer…

Why not? It would only serve to confuse things even more, right? Tor loaded an extra four hundred in to just be given out on the street, those were the old fashioned kind that went a lot slower, to cut down on accidents and injury, since shields weren’t being given out with them. No one else should have to ride in a carriage either and most of the people that got free ones probably wouldn’t have anyway. That took gold.

So no one got hurt by it, not even carriage drivers. After all, it was just some stuff he’d made, right?

In the end he had enough stored in his hut to outfit a small army. Actually an army that wasn’t all that small to tell the truth, locked up in six trunks that just sat in the back along the wall, waiting. The tops were marked with orange and black stripes, marking them in Thorgood colors. No one else seemed to notice it at all, not even Sara, who spent a lot of time watching what he did and trying to be helpful when she was around. He hadn’t told anyone, not Rolph, not even Ursala, what was in there either. The big Countess, no longer big, just tall and nearly lean from all her work outs with the combat giants out back, had become quieter as the days moved closer to them going and she started looking at Tor more and more strangely.

Finally he had to stare back at her for a while. It was that or move out.

“Alright Ursala, what? Did you start a new rumor that I was a troll? I swear, I’m going to have to start walking around with a club all the time at this rate.” He shook his head in mock sadness, then smiled at her and, feeling daring for once, walked around the dark focus stone table, feet scuffing a little on the plush hand-woven red and blue rug at his feet and tapped his shield off, getting her to follow suit. Then he kissed her warmly. It led to a very nice afternoon in which he didn’t get a lot of work done, but they did manage to laugh a little. It was nice, even if the Countess was distracted the whole time. When they’d finished and moved back to sit at the table Ursala sighed.

“Tor… could I buy some gear off you do you think? I mean military stuff, shields, and flying rigs, maybe other things? I’ll pay going rate for whatever you can spare. I’d offer to marry you too, so you could have a title, but Count Tor doesn’t sound any better than Prince Tor really…” She didn’t smile when she said it, sounding oddly serious for some reason.

“Um, on top of your birthday present?” He asked, trying to keep his voice smooth. Really he didn’t have a clue when her birthday was, but he surely missed the last one, right?

She blinked at him, baffled.

“That’s not until the beginning of true summer…”

Tor shrugged.

“Well, I’ll give you part of it now, if you promise to remember it later. OK?”

Taking her hand he led her to the trunks along the back wall and freed up the ones with orange and black strips painted on the top. They weren’t huge things, just a few lines about the size of his index finger in thickness, but it was enough. There were six of them in all.