though.
Finally a young guard came around with a dipper full of water and a bucket. Everyone wanted more, but was given only one dipper per person. Almost as if to tease them with it. Everyone was so far beyond parched the situation was nearly unbearable.
When it came to Tor he tested it with his mind first. That was automatic now, if it went into his body, it got tested somehow. He'd learned that one the hard way.
“Poison!” The sound rasped from his throat, dark and gravely, a bit dry for real volume. It was too late for everyone else, unless he could get to the healing amulets, which were nowhere to be seen, or…
A fist cracked against his jaw. Then he was hit again as he reeled. Tor blocked the third, the thirty-something bully in front of him barely noticing, his mustache curled back in a sneer. It was the same man that had started the whole “beating up Tor” game earlier.
Heh.
Time to fight then, if they were going to kill him anyway… Kill them. That seemed fair, didn't it?
As planned Tor turned off all their shields as he reeled and fell to the ground from a blow that came in from a younger guard that jumped in from behind. Then tapping his waistband, a comic gesture he was certain, Tor brought up his own gear. It wasn't perfect and the effects weren't even or pretty, but it would serve. Pointing his right hand at the arrayed guards they fell like stick-men in a yard war. With his left, a slight nimbus of energy around it, glowing red, he sent out a blast of vertigo. Where it touched, men fell, weapons dangling loose in their hands. After a minute they started to vomit, and couldn't stop. After two they went to the ground and stayed there, heaving hard.
Hey, Tor thought, it worked. It was just something he'd though up on the fly, a mental weapon, and these hadn't been the best working conditions, so in all he was pretty proud of it.
No one on his side had moved to help, which was wise, since they'd get sick too. But when he glanced over they were all laying down already, the poison taking them. Crap. Hurrying he found which red and white clad person on the ground was Curtis and moved the field carefully to let him catch his breath, then crossing his right hand under his left he pinned the man to the ground with the force lance. Or at least a kind of field that was like it. He'd tried for strong, but the man really looked uncomfortable, almost as if the life were being crushed from him.
Too freaking bad, stupid guard Captain should have resisted picking a fight with a Builder, shouldn’t he? Tor started asking questions without preamble. If the guy couldn't get it fast enough he'd try someone else.
“What did you give them? What's the poison?”
“What?” The guard Captain gasped, and waved his hands weakly, as if it would help him breathe. “Not poison, sleep draft, just to keep prisoners from getting restless at night. They'll just sleep for about six hours, that's all.” He gasped and wasn't too loud, but Tor could make out what he said.
He even felt like he was being honest, so all these people weren't going to die. Good. Tor went on without waiting.
“Who told you to abuse us? Why? What's the purpose behind this?” Tor heard words that came from the man, but they were all lies, talk of standard procedure and a shortage of men. It got the other man pined to the ground. Harder. That was one of the neat features of his new weapon. He could increase or decrease the force applied.
With a thought. He increased the organization until Captain Curtis groaned pitifully.
“Give me truth. Who and why. Now.”
Now was a bit optimistic, it took a bit, but the order had come down the chain of command, it was said from the King. It said nothing about abuse or harsh treatment, not specifically for him at least, Tor guessed trying to read the man closely, but it had mentioned that they were suspects and witnesses regarding an attack of Austran Larval assassins they had with them and should be treated with caution. And not gently. Especially the enemy Count. Ward. The Captain didn't know why everything was taking so long, but suspected some kind of meeting. Nobles loved meetings he said.
That was true. They could take a good ten minute chat about what to do next and milk it for days if you gave them a chance.
“OK, and the harassment?”
“They'd heard about the Austrans and the men are no lovers of that kind or those that would help them. It wasn't personal; they were just letting off some steam.”
The man believed it well enough, but Tor wasn't about to let him up. Standing back he did remove the force lance field thing for a minute… and stomped the man in the face. It didn't bleed until he'd done it four more times, heel firmly to the center of it, a satisfying crackle finally coming from under Tor's foot. Then he stomped his groin for good measure, causing the Captain to curl into a ball, trying to protect himself.
“Don't worry, I heard you led a troop of abusive assholes, so, you know, I'm just letting off a little steam about that. You understand and endorse this kind of thing though, right? No misunderstanding here? You think it's OK to abuse the people in your care who are the witnesses to a crime? The people that stopped the attack? So you won't mind this, no hard feelings, right?” No answer came for some reason. Tor kicked him in the groin again.
He couldn't just leave them, being too dangerous. For a second he wondered if cutting of their arms and legs would be in order, but decided that was a bit of an over-reaction. Instead he ordered them to strip and take off their clothing and amulets. They didn't do it, feeling too ill to move, that or too important for such treatment. Probably that second one. They looked snooty at least.
Tor hit them with the other field too, adding to their distress. A few tried to hold out and not do as he said, so he moved over to them carefully, repeated the orders and stomped their noses until they bleed too. His nose hurt in shared pain, but it served them right. His own shoulders hurt so much they burned, deep into the flesh from the blows, like the skin, already sun burnt and crisp, had torn in places, he could barely move his arms already.
It took a while to manage it all, but he finally locked them in the houses intended for prisoners, the little magic ones, and turned the heat up on high, with no water connected inside. Then he made the doors turn into solid walls. It took an hour, but it worked. These were his houses after all. What kind of moron tries to put a builder in a prison of their own making?
All the people he'd come with slept on the ground, except the larval assassins, who'd been given much gentler care, and taken away by wagon after the rest were marched around the Capital wall. Poking around he found his things and dressed again, putting his amulets on and healing himself, Which merely stung and ached more intensely for a moment, compared to the searing and severe pain of the last healing.
Then he went around and did the other people to see if it would clear the drugs from their systems. It worked, people got up after about twenty seconds, as if they'd just been napping. Thank god. He'd really felt all alone there for a while, even with people right there next to him. The first thing everyone did was get amulets back on, and agree to fight rather than surrender them again. Even the military counselor was with them on that, which told Tor a whole lot about the situation.
Smythe was normally a “follow the rules” kind of guy. For him to be that angry was… telling. The second was to use the communications device and get in touch with the King. Smythe wanted to speak first. Being the oldest and his boss, Tor agreed. Tor screaming at Richard from the start wouldn't help anything at all, would it? It probably wouldn't even make him feel better, Tor knew. Acting the bully always made him feel worse about himself in the end. No matter how good the reason seemed at the time. Honestly, though he didn't let it show, he already felt bad about having hurt the guards like he had. They'd been out of line and kind of evil to him, but most of them were probably all right people most of the time. It made it really hard though, being still angry like he was. What could he do about it? Yell and complain? Like that would help?
He let the military commander do it instead. Smythe even did a good job. Oh, he was polite, in a cold and wintry way. He never called names or suggested that the King himself order this for some reason, but he did tell him all about what happened, including how Tor had been treated and how he'd subdued the guards, unarmed and wearing only a pair of cotton undergarments. Then he suggested that the city guard had started a bit of a rebellion and if the King wasn't trying to do it on purpose, he'd better get out and explain that to them in person. Then he turned and bowed slightly to Tor.
“Anything to add?”
He had a bit, about his personal humiliation at the hands of the guards, the harassment and finally how they were currently locked in magical houses meant to imprison them, with the amulets put on the doors and the doors made into part of the wall. That and the fact that Tor had left the heat in each turned up on high.
