He went and got a snack, then sat in meditation for hours, practicing what he'd do the next day mentally. He didn't practice the dying parts, figuring that would take care of itself. Right? Instead he found what he needed to let go of in himself for everything to work and hoped it would be enough, when the time came. He made himself stretch and walk for a while, saying hi to everyone that he met, waving and smiling the whole time. A lot more people greeted him this time than at previous celebrations for some reason.
OK, it made sense; he’d invited most of them. That would probably do it. Also the Warden people were being a good influence, saying hello to everyone they met, everyone else was starting to follow suit as well. They were really good that way from what he’d seen.
Then, after night fell, Tor went to bed, actually laying in the dark alone for a while. Finally a form came and laid next to him, a soft voice in his ear.
“Don't die husband.” She whispered to him. So softly it was clear that Ali thought he was asleep. “I love you.”
Tor didn't reply, because he didn't want to lie to her. Not about the love part, but promising he wouldn't die may not be something he could back up. Instead he drove himself into a very deep state and tried for extra field strength. Shut off all fear and pain. Let go of his humanity and anything that might slow him down. He held his mind quiet then, waiting. Ready to do whatever it took to live.
He'd need it all.
The next morning he rose and shaved carefully, bathed and dressed in real clothing, a pair of fighting leathers in black, like what Kolb and his people wore. That way he could go “unencumbered” into the fight without being naked. It was slightly chilly for that. He didn't bother to eat anything, seeking the deepest state of mind he could instead. He had notes to hand out, so he wouldn't have to speak. Collette got one and handled the rest.
“See to these please?” He said darkly, with no expression at all. He thought the woman gasped, but couldn't pay attention to that yet. He had something to do first, didn't he? First he had to let go of his outer self. Become the true Tor. The one that waited. The bottom of the universe.
At eight he walked out in front of his own house and down the street to the left, a dirt path of packed earth between large magical dwellings, there were twelve of them in all. At the end of the row there was a stone square. It wasn't real he knew, not even focus stone. His mind found the pattern without stress or trying, feeling the magic behind it.
Ah.
This was Sam's. It was a good idea, an artificial stone space for events. The pattern was a little simple, but the illusion was solid. Tor just stood and waited at the appointed place. Not moving at all. A few people came after a minute. Though Tor didn't know who they were. Rather, He probably did, but he couldn't tell at the moment. At least he wasn't nervous.
Then why would he be? He was weakened. That was still true, but he could see it now, not perfectly, but there, inside him, was everything he needed to win. It would start with the Baron’s own fear. Tor forced a calm smile to his face, knowing it would look out of place and happy. Otherwise he didn’t even move.
Finally two men walked to the center of the space, one in red, the other all green. The red one turned and looked away from the center, to where a line of men with weapons, three deep, stood along one side. The Baron’s military forces? His guard? They all wore blue. The man himself walked out of their midst, looking huge even from across the square. Over seven foot tall and decently broad across the shoulders.
It would work against him, Tor knew.
There were people all around. More than Tor could be bothered to guess at. The man in green waved him forward gently when the man in red and the Baron walked to the center, before even calling anything out. The last time he'd seen that kind of thing, there had been more yelling.
When he stepped up to the center, ready to fight, ready to dive into his own mind, to truly lose himself to the deep, there was speaking. Tor could barely understand most of it at first, the Baron leaning over to hiss at him finally. The voice was deep and low, hidden from everyone, except perhaps the brightly clad people next to them. The man in red stiffened when he heard what was said.
“See that little boy over there? The black haired one that looks a bit like you? When I'm done killing you, I'm going to have my way with him. You think you're so smart? You and Smythe didn't even ask about boys, did you?” There was laughter then.
Tor glanced at the boy, who stood by two women, both of whom looked horribly drawn and tense. One he recognized a bit. She wasn't blue this time, but Lady Priscilla was the one on the left. She had a black eye, covered by a lot of make-up, but visible even from a hundred feet away. Tor waved, which got her to raise her hand tentatively.
It wasn't a greeting though. A few seconds later a large man in black velvet ran out into the square, a large casket following him, float plate on it, a true cargo plate, done in copper. He moved into place in from of the woman opened the lid, which got a gasp from the audience on that side.
Tor looked at the man in green next to him and gave a single nod.
“Note two please.” Tor spoke, his voice devoid of life. He said the words, but barely knew he spoke. It was the right call though, he could tell already. The fields around him were lining up.
The man nodded and took out the paper quickly.
“Sir Torrance Baker, Knight of the realm, the Wizard Tor, Counselor of magics, Troll of Galasia, offers this gold and funerary gear to the Lady Priscilla along with his condolences on the death of her husband.” The words from the man wearing green were powerfully loud, resonating enough that it would have been scary if Tor wasn't moving even deeper into his own mind, slowing everything around him.
The man backpedaled fast then and waved the fellow in red back too.
“Clear the field!” The man screamed. It sounded slightly scared for some reason. After a few seconds, running, the man in red yelled the same thing.
Then Tor attacked.
Or rather tried too. The giant Baron who'd just been taunting him, saying he was going to rape a little child that looked like Tor and liked to do that to young boys, actually ran backwards then, scrambling a hand under his nice black velvet clothing. He pulled a knife, which got a hiss from the crowd. People were calling something out, but it didn't matter. Tor watched the man move in slow motion.
It wasn't scary at all.
Tor was, he thought, running towards the man, who was at least trying to lunge at him, eighteen inch blade, thin and sharp looking, moving towards his head. Taking half a moment, Tor smiled. He felt like he was moving under water or something, his movements, heavy against the air, it pulled at him, slowing him greatly, but Rochester moved slower still.
This wouldn't, Tor knew, last long. He needed to end this fast or the man would simply kill him as promised. He rolled on the ground and focused all his attention on the other mans front leg, foot lashing out hard, snapping against the side of it, forcing it back faster than the man could adapt. It made a very deep popping sound.
Tor wasn't really sure, but he thought the other guy may have screamed about then. Well, what had he expected? Even if Tor had originally come for a happy little fist fight, the second the Baron pulled a weapon the game changed, didn't it? Tor scooted forward, very low to the ground, and kicked at the other knee. It wasn't as cool looking as what he'd done the time they met before, but it worked, making another snapping sound on the third kick, the blows not strong, but dead on target.
“Fuck you bastard!” The giant roared, trying to stab him again as he fell.
Tor just rolled to the left side, getting out of the way of the falling man. He was on the ground, but still fought, trying to sweep his long right arm out and slash Tor to ribbons. It was a good plan, except that Tor just rolled away and stood, gasping for breath. Walking carefully in a circle around the man, who tried to scramble in a circle and made the mistake of standing himself, Tor grinned.
“No, thank you.” The answer sounded flat to his own ears, soft and relaxed.
Tor jumped in and kicked, a high stomp for him, hitting the man in the tailbone, knocking him back to the ground. Sending the knife flying. He walked to the blade and looked around. Behind him stood the royal family, and a cohort of Royal Guards.
“Wensa, get this off the field will you?” He used a foot to slide the blade towards the woman in her purple and black uniform. Nodding, not even stepping on the stone of the court, she picked it up.
The rest of the fight was harder.
