That one he knew for sure at least.
“Yeah. That doesn't hurt at all. Even on long trips. I flew in this morning from Two Bends, um, my home village, which is about five hundred miles from here, give or take. No discomfort or anything. Kind of relaxing really, because it takes all the stress off my legs for a while. I recommend it if you ever get injured like this.”
“Oh! Heh…” The girl looked down a bit bashfully. “I was just asking if you knew how. I take it that's a yes then? So, flying work too?”
Kolb nodded.
“Right, so for the next month I'd like you to work with Tor on that, all of it. Karen's in charge of you for that time. These other two, Petra and Forne, will be your training partners if we can't find anyone closer to your size that can do it without killing you.”
“Alright. Sounds good, um, Kolb?” The man had started to walk away, back to the open exercise area. He turned and looked at Tor as if he hadn't realized that he'd been still trying to speak.
Tor waived the envelope in the air his voice going slightly exasperated.
“Sir Martin Kolbrin, I bring orders from King Richard of Noram. Would you receive them now?” That was all Tor had to actually say, it wasn't some huge or complex thing, but he had to work to hold the envelope out and not just cross his arms and tap his toes like an impatient farm wife waiting for the fresh loaves in the bakery. He managed it, mainly because he knew that being impatient didn't make the bread bake any faster and wouldn't make Kolb move either.
At least his eyes widened in slight shock, which was a little rewarding.
“Oh? Well why didn't you say so?” His voice was playful, indicating that he got that Tor had been cut off about a million times in the conversation at least, which probably meant they'd done it to him on purpose for some reason. To keep him from quitting? Like he had that option? A large hand took the delicate envelope and the seal, the King's own falcon on it in red wax impressed the man enough that he stood straighter.
Cracking the seal slowly he pulled the paper out gently, looking at everyone else warily. The combat students all held their breaths a little while the big man read. That was understandable, as it could be orders for anything, and the King probably didn't send party invitations like this.
“Oh-ho!” He called out suddenly, then kept reading, nodding after a bit. After about two minutes he placed the paper back in the envelope and set it down on the practice weapons table, holding it in place with a large lance or cutter. Tor could tell what it was if he picked it up, of course, even if he didn't recognize the sigil immediately. Anyone could learn to feel magical fields if they paid attention after all. Most people never bothered, just like they didn't bother to learn how to make their own. Then again, the same could be said about playing music, and Tor couldn't do that at all himself. He couldn't even sing, mostly.
To his surprise, instead of setting Tor instantly to work, or yelling at him to get out of the practice area, a huge hand slapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him a little.
“Tor here managed to get himself named a Knight Esquire! Skipped a whole rank, and only his age decided the matter. The King doesn’t want him to get a big head, even though he has his three marks of valor already. All since the last break too. Someone’s been busy.”
Kolb looked proud of him and for some reason so did the other students, even though he wasn't really one of them. They all took turns pounding him on the back, Petra taking pains to do it for the longest time he noticed, her dark skin shining with sweat. Karen, his new trainer for the next month, actually hugged him. It was a warrior’s hug, which nearly broke things in his chest, and was followed by a pounding on the back that seemed happy, but may have been a subtle assassination attempt. The girl picked him up into a second hug and turned to Kolb gleefully holding him off the ground the whole time.
“So, Squire… that pretty much means slave, right? And Knight Esquire, that means we can both boss him around and expect him to do it without complaint?”
Kolb grinned. “Pretty much.”
“And I get him for the whole next month?”
“Yep.”
The girl, a woman really, set him down and started doing a little dance that looked entirely too happy to Tor. Everyone laughed, so Tor wondered if it was all a joke or if, just possibly, Rolph and Count Thomson just didn't know what being a Squire actually entailed. He knew that neither one of them had ever held the position. He softly reminded them that he still had to get his school work done and had some projects to work on, and that on occasion, if possible, he would like to have at least a little sleep. If possible. Please. It must have looked pitiful, because they all laughed harder.
Kolb clapped him on the back.
“Don't worry Tor; we're just having you on. Congratulations by the way. Report here to Karen tomorrow afternoon, your normal time. She'll assign you tasks and what not as she sees fit. I know I don't have to give more instruction to you than that, so I won't.” Kolb smiled and for what was very nearly the first time Tor could remember it didn't leave him feeling like death was the natural next likely outcome after seeing such a thing.
With that he got sent back to his room, feeling well enough about the situation. At least Karen seemed nice so far. Sure, she'd probably beat him black and blue in the days to come, but that was only to be expected. She probably wouldn't be able to help it, not if she was going to make him work on sword fighting against her friends, which seemed to be the plan. Oh well. As long as they didn't cripple him permanently, he'd deal. Actually, he realized, he'd deal with it even if they did. It wasn't like he had a choice.
Rolph went with him to dinner, where they found, of all things, Dorgal Sorvee, Tor's favorite bully, his friend Marco, and the same guy with the creepy all black eyes that Tor had set Wensa on nearly two months before all sitting in the dining room. Across the room from them sat Wensa, her face blank and her eyes taking in Tor closely when he walked in.
They went to the food receiving window with their trays. The food was a simple roast foul, with potatoes and carrots on the side. Rolph tried to avoid the carrots, but Tor took some. After all, it was free food, right? There were no sweets served at the school, not even honey for bread in the morning, but Tor didn't mind overly. The food at the palace had been so rich that some good plain food seemed like a nice change.
Dorgal and Marco stared directly at Wensa, as if trying to intimidate her. Because, yeah, that would work. Cutting off her hands wouldn't intimidate the woman. Literally, he'd heard. She'd just accept the loss and move on, if the stories were correct. Royal Guards were trained to be like that from childhood and this one was tasked with the protection of the Heir. That probably meant she was even harder than the others, didn't it? Wensa stared at him and so did the other man, the older one with the all black eyes, who sat at the table next to Dorgal.
Tor pointed all this out to Rolph, who raised his shoulders slightly, a subtle movement that Tor almost missed. “Keep your eyes open then, and be ready to move if you have to. You have a shield?” He said this casually, taking a small bite of the chicken, using a knife and fork, like they did at the palace. Tor picked his up country fashion and took a bite, nodding a little himself.
Nothing happened after that, until the meal had almost ended, then Captain Wensa got up, still staring at Tor and made her way over. She actually ignored Rolph, except to tell him that she expected him in class early the next day for extra assignments. Before she left, her look going cold, she leaned over to Tor and whispered softly from about six inches away from his ear.
“I see you still haven't learned to protect yourself against poisons yet? You may want to rectify that. Soon.” Then the woman, lean and hard as he remembered her, steal gray hair pulled into a bun that looked uncomfortable to him, walked out without looking back.
Looking down at his mainly clean plate Tor blanched. Right. He'd kind of forgotten how much she hated him. Poison in the food then? Nice of her to warn him, but what could he do for that? He'd try to think of how to avoid it, but there were just too many different poisons to learn them all. He'd be better off trying to build a field that could recognize food, and tell him if anything thing else was there.
Which made sense.
How many different things did he eat on average? A hundred different things a week? If he broke it down into ingredients it was probably four times that. Compared to the ten thousand or more things that could kill him in food, it seemed easy to manage. He could make a limited feedback field; it was just a complicated version of the temperature control field. Those were rare, but easy enough now that he had the basic concept down. It would take a lot of work to build the whole thing right, but…
Yeah, that part would do what he wanted.
