The Builder (The Young Ancients) (5 page)

Tor set the idea aside.

After all, Dorgal might not be the only one, there were young children to consider too. Three year olds for instance. It probably wasn't fair, but lumping the nasty young man into that childish category made him feel better for some reason. Tor knew he'd have to work on that, since there would be mean people everywhere, his entire life. Letting them rule his mind wouldn't help at all.

Weapons could be designed later, he decided. The military preferred instant kill magics anyway, rather than something as messy as stripping water from a person. Cutters, explosives and hemorrhages were all popular right now with that type. Shields too, if they could get them. Especially those. It meant that battles were smaller now than they used to be, since well shielded combatants were almost untouchable by anyone, except through specific and high level means, but those same shields that made everyone else superfluous cost a lot to have made. The school only had three for the sake of letting people practice with them for instance and that was for this place, which housed a lot of rich kids, and even royalty. Most of the military didn't even have shields at all, he'd heard from Kolb.

Tor had never even gotten to see one being used. Rolph had, and said they were interesting, but whatever rotation the instructors used hadn't hit him yet. Torrence shrugged it off. It may never be his turn, he knew. The odds of him going to war were slim to none and really, if he wanted a shield like that he'd have to learn to make it anyway. Maybe he should? Shield makers made a lot of gold, he knew, and in case he didn't come up with anything new that people really wanted, it would be a good fallback.

Between something like that and baking, he should be alright.

First things first, he had to get over to his advisor's office, and show off the new field. Hopefully it would be enough to get him partially off the hook with his field study instructors. It took a lot of work, doing a novel build, but most of them would probably be willing to accept it as being of value. Even if it hadn't worked perfectly most of them would have cut him some slack. It took enough focus that the meditation instructor should accept it as practice, for instance.

As quickly as possible Tor jogged over to Frank's office, hoping to beat him there. Nothing like someone waiting on you to show how dedicated they were, right? Especially this early in the day. His plan worked, at least to the level that Instructor Gear wasn't in his office when Tor got there. He waited outside, small cloth satchel in hand, hoping that it wouldn't take too long, since the morning air was just a little chilly to feel nice. In fact he shivered a little as he waited outside the plain wooden door. There was no door lock, but it might be considered rude to just go in and wait there.

Tor really didn't want to be rude. Not today. Instead he gripped the sack tightly, hoping that the instructor would get there sooner rather than later. After all, if he could explain the device, turn it over and spend the morning begging for forgiveness from his other instructors, then the afternoon being beaten by Kolb for failing to show up the day before, he could get to work on the new food drying system that evening. Maybe. If he didn't have too much work to catch up on, and if he could move well enough to get back to the room. That wasn't actually assured.

Frank Gear walked around the corner of the building quickly, his face unshaved and his eyes bloodshot. Tor could make this out even from a distance of thirty feet. Given that the man didn't drink, few builders of note did, it probably meant that he'd spent the last day or longer awake and working. A single hand came up lazily in greeting as the man stomped by. Then the same hand reached out suddenly and gave a small tug to Tor's sleeve as the man moved into the tiny office, causing the much smaller student to stumble after him. Tor had to catch at the wooden door frame to prevent falling and nearly lost a finger when Frank slammed the door. Luckily he pulled away just in time. It was one of his favorites, being all attached to it like he was.

“Alright Torrence Green Baker,” The man sounding a bit too much like his mother when she got frustrated with him for comfort. “What have you been up to? Missed everything yesterday... At least tell me you were with a girl or doing something interesting and not out getting drunk or playing in town. I expect better from you than that, you aren't some first year anymore and need to set a good example for the younger...”

The slightly seedy looking man, flat, almost drab hair falling around his shoulders, two days beard growth and a slightly sour body odor coming off of his dark brown instructor's jacket stopped when Tor held up the wooden piece, smiling. Staring, the advisor's eyes went wide. They'd talked about the project a few times in the weeks before, and it wasn't like Tor would have any other big makes on schedule. Well, not that Frank knew about at least.

“The drying field for clothing?” The man said. He didn't sound overly impressed.

“The working dryer, yes.” It was hard to keep his voice humble; a little smugness crept in at the edges which got raised eyebrows from the older man. No gray in the beard yet, and one of the younger advisors, probably given Tor as a punishment.

For some reason people thought of him as distracted. Or at least non-attentive. It wasn't really true; he just focused on the job at hand, like he'd been taught. It wasn't his fault that life kept trying to interfere with the more important things, like work, was it?

Without saying anything at all the man reached out and pulled Tor by the arm into the courtyard, a small groan coming from the instructor as they walked, the early morning chill having yet to pass from the day. When they got to the courtyard Frank took the template piece from Tor gently, filled a wash tub with water from the hand pump, doing all the work himself, then quickly picked up Tor and set him inside, clothes and all, pushing him down until he sat in it.

“Gah!” Near frozen water hit his head as the larger man pumped it over him, again and again.

“Now, if this works and is fully safe, you'll be dry in a few minutes, yes? If it doesn't, then you deserve this for ditching classes... Be glad I got to you first, the weapons instructors were all talking about how to best beat you when you got in today. Maybe they'll take pity on you when they hear about this? Then again, probably not. For the teacher's pet you seriously vex the head instructor of that department, you know that? Now, out!” The words were accompanied by hitting, mock slaps to the shoulders really. It was meant to “shame” him if anyone else was watching, so he ducked his head and pretended to cry a little. No one would take it seriously if they saw it. It was just an odd convention of the school. An act to show humility and respect to the instructors if you messed up. Since they were within their rights to really beat him for something like this, the game was appreciated.

Looking at the plate the larger man shrugged and noticed the paint on the surface and that it was the cheap kind. Instead of berating Tor for being poor he just wiped at his right hand, more than a little damp from Tor flogging duty, on his trouser leg. Then he tapped the top and waited, a skeptical look on his face.

It went away after about ten seconds when the water nearly exploded out of the younger man's clothing, half of the water catching the older man in the legs. Ten seconds after that there was another, much smaller burst of water from what had hit him, as it came out of his own clothes. Tor jumped back so that he wouldn't get wet again. That water was cold.

Maybe he could come up with a water heater that didn't cost a hundred golds? Not that it would have done him any good right then, even if he had such a wonder, but it would be nice when bath time came. Only the wealthy could afford the bath house in town and even that was heated with burning wood, if he had the story right from Rolph. Tor had to wash up with cold water most days. He did it, so he wouldn't stink, but it wasn't easy to make himself do in the winter.

When the field was turned off the advisor grinned.

“On your first try too! Let me borrow this for testing? If it plays out I should have it back to you within a few days. Consider your punishment completed. For now...” He waved his hands at the water spigot. “I'll leave you to deal with Kolb. I doubt that dry clothes will impress him overly. Now, get with your other instructors and have them come see me after lessons. They'll want to see this.”

For all that he sounded a little rough about it, the other man, bleary as he was, seemed fairly pleased, a bit happier at least. Good. Tor didn't need a week of extra lessons in the evenings or worse, daily duckings like this. He still shivered a little, even dry as he was.

He ran to his first class of the day hoping the activity would warm him. Naturally it was meditations, so Tor passed the message from Frank along quietly and in a somber tone, almost expressionless really. Dorris, the elderly instructor for that class just smiled a little at him and had him take a seat on the floor with a gentle wave of her hand.

Meditation was easy enough, all he had to do for the lessons was clear his mind for the first section, then focus on a different object each day for the hour after that. That part was always something novel, a rock or a piece of wood, sometimes a single, if large, stick of incense. Today she'd put out a cup of water near the front of the room. It felt funny to focus on, the field of information from it was odd, but he didn't let his mind turn, even as it slipped away from the water, his attention feeling like it moved through and around it too easily to gain purchase. Interesting.

His mind found the focus after a while and he locked on, holding it for the rest of the time pretty well. Not perfectly yet, but that's why you practiced, to get better at things. It was a good session, since that kind of focus was at the heart of building magical systems it had direct value to him too. Dorris raised her eyebrows as he left, never having said a word to him. Come to think of it, she hadn't spoken more than a hundred words in his presence since they'd met two years before. He gave her a half bow before leaving, hoping she didn't feel too put out by his having missed her lesson the day before. He'd definitely been applying what she taught at least.

The next session, novel building, went very well, the instructor an older gentleman that Tor only knew as Instructor Fines slapped him on the back and told him that it sounded like he'd done superbly. Frank had already talked to him apparently, which made sense. Who else would you get to judge a new field than the resident expert in such things?

In fact all the instructors seemed happy enough, until lunch time. Then everything changed without warning.

As he sat at the table with Rolph, a giant shadow came over the room blocking the light from the window and the little bit of warmth that came with it. Tor froze, hoping that it wasn't Count Thomson coming to demand the requested clothes drying sets yet. He spun to explain... and stopped cold, words dying on his lips.

Standing in there wasn't a mere Count, or even just some bully looking to take him down a peg.

It was Kolb.

Worse, the man didn't even look unhappy or enraged.

He... smiled.

It was an evil kind of thing, his bald head and scarred face made it look feral and mean the kind of look that generally meant you weren't long for the world if you had the misfortune to see such a thing. It didn't help that the man was huge, nearly as tall as Rolph, so over six-six and holding a lean ranginess to his muscle that told anyone smart enough to notice that the man was powerful physically in a way that few people ever were. He cleared his throat softly.

“Ah, there you are! Worried you'd run off and joined the army or something... If you'd be so good as to meet me in the practice yard when you finish your meal? No hurry, I won't be ready for another ten minutes or so.”

Soft as the voice was, as friendly as it sounded, a chill ran down his spine when he heard it. Kolb didn't whisper politely. He barked. He commanded and men, if they knew what was good for them, obeyed. Things that Tor didn't know he had inside him clenched and fluttered in fear as the large man walked away.

He turned to Rolph and swallowed, letting his very real fear show.

“He's going to kill me, isn't he?”

Rolph just nodded, looking more than a little scared himself.

“You know, I think he just might... Good luck?”

Tor got up and took his pale blond wood food platter to the return counter, a hole in the wall where some first years took the trays for washing, Rolph following him.

“Thanks,” he said over his shoulder to his friend, who still sat at the roughhewn student's table. “I think I'll need it.”