Knight Esquire ya-2

by P. S. Power

  “Right. I have no doubt that any of you could escape from here within moments. If you do, if any of you do, I'll be forced to protect myself. That means detonating Wensa first. It's true, the rest of you could run away and I can't do much to you. But I still suggest that you wait for this situation to be resolved first.”

  Then he walked out. Everyone but Rolph followed. Staying to talk for some reason. He caught up to them in the commons a few minutes later, looking… vexed. Tor shook badly, pure fear reaction, but Trice held him anyway, even if he did shake like a tiny dog in her arms. No one said much for a long time. It was the Dean that spoke first.

  “Well, that seems settled for now. I don't think anyone will risk going anywhere for now. They should know that you can't have built a field strong enough to last the night in her head in that time, but then again, you've done a half dozen other things they probably knew couldn't be done already, so they may not want to risk it.”

  Rolph shrugged, looking at Tor directly.

  “Wensa swears that she didn't attack you on the stairs Tor. She said that she only went after the weapon in our room because she saw an opening. It is how their trained, I can vouch for that. You pointed a weapon at her, so she responded as best she could. It also explains why the others came after you like they did. They didn't see you protecting yourself from an attack, just subduing one of their own. I ordered them to all stay in holding for now, just so you wouldn't have to try and fight them. We wouldn't want you to get hurt or anything, right?” Rolph gave him a smile as if he was placating Tor, which was appreciated greatly. Much better than the chewing out he probably deserved for letting all this happen, even if he didn't know how it could have been avoided.

  Tor nodded and took a very deep breath, trying to regain his composure a little. Those people might have lost temporarily, but the same trick wouldn't work twice. Wensa had nearly gotten him on the stairs, even though he walked around wearing a shield almost all the time. He'd never even thought about someone just kicking him down some stairs! What else had he missed? If that had been a knife or a cutter instead of a foot he'd be dead right now. Did he have to live his whole life with a shield on?

  Tor pointed this out to everyone, how clever the attack had been. Kolb shrugged and told him that it wasn't Wensa. Him saying that took Tor off guard.

  “But… mask aside, it fits, about six-four or so, lean and strong, gray skirt… I know that Royal Guards have all those oaths, but if she's gone crazy or something those wouldn't hold, besides, she doesn't even know that I'm a Countier right? So she just thinks that killing me is a game or something maybe? Let's face it, to royals and their guards, killing a commoner doesn't mean very much at all. About the same as a goat or pig really. So if I'm just some regular guy to her…”

  Rolph got a thoughtful look. “Well, I haven't told anyone at least. But she really does have an alibi and I don't think she forced anyone to say she was there. They didn't seem stressed about it when asked at least. Of course if it wasn't her, it does leave the question of why anyone would attack Tor. And dressed like that, it would have to be a setup. So something near professional level at least. I'd guess that some of the special school students might be able to think something like that up, right?”

  His tall friend looked at the Dean, who nodded.

  “Yes, but… well, Mr. Baker is rather popular over there just now. With the entire school I'd imagine. Those poison detectors he gave everyone… Well, if anyone needed funds badly enough to kill, they could just sell theirs and get two or three thousand gold for it right now. More than killing a schoolboy would earn them, by far… Even a noble one.”

  That brought up the whole Countier thing, which oddly enough, past the story itself no one seemed to care much about. Given everything, why would they? Everyone was someone here, right? Even him, it turned out. His title as Squire actually meant as much or more in all real world terms. For that matter giving out flight fields and poison detectors meant more than either of those things to most people, according to Kolb and the Dean.

  Kolb gave him a tired looking smile.

  “A lot of people here have titles. Not many of them keep the soup from killing a body though. That kind of thing has an impact on people.”

  Before going to sleep Tor made up a complete set of weapons, an explosive and one of the air thingies. It got him to bed really late, but he just didn't know what Wensa and her group would come up with next. Then, reluctantly, Tor got up when Rolph shook him awake. He packed up everything and tucked the weapons into the little inner pocket of his brown trousers. It wasn't good for quick retrieval, but he could, possibly, buy time by already having his shield on. He activated it on the way out the door. Rolph gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything about it overly.

  The big redhead shrugged.

  “The dueling ground is on the outskirt of town, we can fly out after breakfast. I heard that a few nobles have come to see it, so maybe we'll see some familiar faces?” Rolph obviously knew something about who was coming, but didn't want to give away the surprise. Tor didn't care, as long as David lived. He just hoped that whatever this Count was bringing to the party the boy had enough to make it a fair fight.

  Tor could barely eat, as worried for Davie as he was. Rolph ate well enough, but then he seemed to think everything would be all right for some reason. Tor could only hope that was the case.

  The dueling field, like the weapons range, was a bit of a disappointment. It was just an empty field of short cut grass. Or it would have been empty if there hadn't been about a hundred and fifty people standing around the center, most of them tall and well dressed. Two camps had formed already, one around David and one around a huge man that must have been about eight foot tall and who wore very nice looking armor, shiny silver, polished to a mirrors gleam and obviously heavy. He swung a huge sword, one that must have been about five foot long and had to weigh forty or fifty pounds, at least if it was made of steel, which it looked like from a distance to Tor.

  Jerk. Bringing giant swords to kill a boy. Probably trying to make up for his small manhood.

  David on the other hand had, almost comically, had dressed down to a pair of plain student browns, real canvas ones, not silk, and held nothing in his hands at all. He had his flight gear on and a little leather bag on his left hip, just about big enough for all the weapons and possibly a couple of sandwiches to spare. He didn't look overly worried. Either the boy felt truly confident or was hiding the fear really well.

  Either way it was incredibly brave.

  Tor held back and waited for whatever else the Count would pull out. The armor was pretty, but in a fight to the death, or in his case to a horrible beating that could at least lead to death, it wasn't enough. He probably had a shield on under it and wore it only for effect. Same with the sword. It looked cool, sure, but as a Count he'd probably have military grade weapons on his person at all times anyway just as a matter of course. Rolph did, and wore a shield around too, even if he didn't turn it on most of the time. So the other stuff was just to throw David off?

  Or maybe make him look good while he tried to kill a fourteen year old boy just to spite a third party? That… made some sense. After all, what kind of an ass set up a little kid for murder like this?

  A royal one, obviously.

  After half an hour a man checked a pocket watch openly, using large and obvious gestures that got everyone's attention easily. This gentleman wore red from head to foot, except for the gold buttons on his jacket. Even the leather shoes were a bright and matching color. He yelled loudly, his voice carrying over the whole field.

  “The Count William Cordes Smythe Rodriguez gives greeting to all present, and states that the folly of offense given him is too great to let lay. He asks that all present know that this boy, Countier third, David Edmund Derring, has offended the Counts sensibilities… by daring to exist.” The man cleared his throat and looked embarrassed to be there suddenly. Tor didn't blame him. Calling a boy out to his deat
h because you decided he shouldn't exist? It was about the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Rolph winced.

  “He's compounding the insult so that Davie can't pull out without being dishonored. It's a setup, obviously. What kind of a monster kills a kid because he's mad over some vote that the father made?”

  Tor reeled physically, actually taking three full steps back before he caught himself and stopped. This was over a vote? He'd thought that the Count was at least angry over something somewhat reasonable, a border skirmish or maybe sleeping with someone’s wife, or daughter maybe. Tor had kicked a Duke in the groin and the guy hadn't challenged him to a freaking duel. A flash of anger took Tor then, acid started eating at his stomach and Rolph's eyes went wide and he hit his shield.

  “Um, Tor? I… just remember your shield this time…” His large friend whispered. Tor shook and ground his teeth a little.

  This was… ridiculous didn't cover it. He was of half a mind to go and give the guy a piece of his mind right here and now. Before he could, a man dressed in all green except for the silver buttons on his coat stepped forward and addressed everyone present.

  “The Countier third, David Derring gives greetings to all and offers full apology without reservation for his trespass of “existing”.” The crowed actually chuckled. “Further, out of great kindness and compassion, he offers the Count his life. Do you yield sir?”

  Laughing the man started to wave this away. Before he got his hand half raised Davie shot up in the air to about a hundred feet pointed one of the weapons at the ground a good ways away and triggered a full minute of explosions. Then he landed and bowed towards the Count.

  The man in green nodded to the boy once, and turned, yelling again.

  “Again, the Count is offered his life. Do you wish to yield sir?” Yelling or not the man was a pro and kept the tone bored and bland.

  Tor felt like wetting himself from all the noise personally, but thankfully didn't really have to go.

  Instead of yielding, like a sane person, the Count demanded that the boy be stripped of all weapons and shields, so that they may meet on a “fair” footing. After all, borrowed or stolen weapons didn't count, only those owned by the combatant outright. Rolph patted him on the shoulder.

  “You're up Tor.”

  Right. He walked to the center of the field, near but behind David.

  “These weapons, shields and flying gear belong to Countier David Derring, given by me personally, without reservation or outstanding debt of any kind, which I believe makes it legal for him to have?” He looked around to find that most of the crowd was nodding. Good.

  “Further, if you want to demand a fair fight, how about you don't pick on a boy you've never even met? What the heck is with that anyway? Are you just a bully or are you actually insane? If you want a fair fight maybe you should kneel down so that you're at least close to the same height you over grown moron! What, are you afraid that if you faced someone not still in their first year of school it would be too much for you? Even making this challenge marks you as a coward, doesn't it? How about you withdraw now and save everyone here a lot of grief and heartache later instead of trying to act like this is anything but you having an ego issue and taking it out on an innocent person? Are you really so vain and… and evil that you'd attack a little boy because your angry at his da? If you want to fight so bad, why don't you try me instead? At least I'm old enough to need to shave each morning. No, wait, that would be too much for you wouldn't it? I'm sure we can scrounge up some six year olds for you to choose from if you don't mind waiting a minute. Perhaps my little sister, since you seem to like making sure the fight can't possibly be fair at all.” Tor shook a little in rage. Not combat rage, just the real kind for once.

  OK, so it was a bad plan to taunt a man in armor who was holding a sword, Count or not, but the idiot was threatening the life of one of his friends. The laughing crowd seemed to be in support of his words. At least they were for the first ten seconds until the man in red withdrew the first challenge and threw down a second.

  The Count challenged Tor.

  He laughed.

  Tor couldn't help it. Was the guy really that stupid? Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe he was just too pissed from the fight the night before to think straight, but either way he'd had about enough of this guy.

  “Alright. Let's do this then. At least this time he has a reason to feel insulted. Moron.” Tor didn't wait for any fancy calling out by nicely suited gentlemen with loud voices. Instead he turned to the man in green and spoke softly, feeling like killing someone for the first time in his life.

  “Clear the field please.” Tor growled, a low tone that most of the people around him probably couldn't hear. The loud guy near him swallowed and stepped back suddenly for some reason. Remembering not to turn his shield off this time Tor let his face pull into a grin.

  “Clear the field!” The deep voice of the man in green rumbled so loudly that Tor could feel it in his chest standing over ten feet away. Did the man practice yelling then? It was impressive.

  He couldn't take the shining giant in a fair fight, of course, and running away wasn't an option, not now. Instead Tor just walked towards the man, who dropped the sword and pulled an energy weapon of some kind, just like he figured would be the plan earlier. It didn't do anything to him, which caused the man to panic a little and scramble for his sword. Right, because the military grade weapon not working meant a sword would? Brilliant. The man should have run away right then if he couldn't bring anything more to the fight. Tor kept walking.

  At about fifteen feet away the man charged. Tor just reached into his pants, understanding it probably looked a little rude when he stopped to think about it, which made him smile for a few moments and blush. Tor pulled weapons from the pocket as the man hacked at him vigorously. And uselessly. The ground popped and even rumbled a little under his feet. Tor largely ignored the other man all together while he worked. The guy had power behind the blows it seemed, but it didn't concern him overly. That could happen when you were eight foot tall and probably weighed close to four hundred pounds, most of it muscle. Tor sorted the weapons in his hand carefully and put the explosive one away again. No need to murder the guy, even if he was a bit cheesed at him. Not yet. Tor had all day if needed.

  The force lance hurled the man back and then to the ground. Tor held him there for a while, then used the device in his left hand to make the air too hard to breath. The man gasped and choked on the ground, then flopped a little as he did. When it looked like he was about to lose consciousness Tor let him have a little air.

  “Hey, would you like to yield? No real percentage for either of us if you die here today. I can’t say that I care overly right now myself, but it’s your call.”

  “Never!” The man gasped.

  “Really? That doesn’t make a lot of sense. Here, why don’t you take a few minutes to think about it? I’ll even add a “pretty please” to sweeten the deal.” Tor knew he must look and sound insane, but really just couldn’t care.

  “Yield, pretty please?” The crowd chuckled again.

  Tor held him in place and then took his air away again. The man struggled and his mouth opened and closed like a fish on land. Really it was pitiful enough that Tor felt bad for the Count. He didn’t want Davie to get hurt, but that didn’t mean he wanted to kill this guy either. Even if he was a mentally defective a-hole with a superiority complex.

  He let the field go. The man sucked in air loudly, signaling he was alive.

  “Really? We can’t just call this here? You don’t even have to yield officially, we can just stop and all go home as friends. I’ll even apologize for making fun of you if you do the same for calling out a fourteen year old boy by… mistake. Is that fair do you think? Anyone can get angry and make an error. Not everyone is willing to simply admit it though. Only the good ones. What kind of person are you sir?”

  The man struggled to his feet, still breathing hard. Everyone just waited. After two m
inutes the man bowed his head.

  “I apologize for allowing my anger at the Countier’s father to drive me to challenging the boy. It was wrong of me and I now see the error of my ways.”

  Tor nearly passed out. He been expecting the fight to resume after the Count recovered a little, this… well only the one honorable thing to do now, he realized.

  “For my part I must express my own chagrin at finding that I have maligned a good man in error. I let my own anger foolishly get the better of me. I apologize fully and unreservedly. I was wrong. Let’s set this aside and all leave as friends?”

  The Count approached him and bowed from about three feet away. Tor bowed back; making sure his bow was a little deeper. Burks the room servant had explained all that kind of protocol to him before he left the Capital, mainly after any of it would have been useful to him. When he stood he put the weapons away in the inner pocket.

  “So, boy, who is it that I fought this day?” The man sounded far more genteel suddenly. It was probably just a trick so that he could turn around and attack him later, send assassins or something. Tor almost cracked that the man had fought his own ego and won, but decided not to push it.

  “I’m Tor.” He said instead.

  “Ah… of course you are.” The man said weakly bowing slightly again.

  Chapter three

  “Torrence Green Baker!”

  The voice ripped across the dueling field and sent a chill down his spine. Taking a deep breath he turned slowly, fighting the urge to run away. Flying away would be the better option he knew, since his leg was still a little gimpy from the break. When he finished the turn he was glad he hadn’t tried that. His mother stood next to Baroness Morgan, and both of them wore flying gear. The good kind too. He did leave the shield on, just in case.