The bell rang again, either the third or fourth of the day, a deep chime from the main tower. Torrence thought that was the case at least as he ran from the isolation chamber towards the empty commons. Maybe the fifth or sixth if he'd gotten lost in the working trance again. What was he saying? Of course he'd gotten lost. It was just what happened when you drove yourself like he was.
He'd done it though. Finished his first novel build. He'd made real magic.
Well, he'd done that before of course, making copies for class, but this time the magic was all his. It made a difference. A lot of people could make copies, only a few did new pieces. The difference between a copier and a full builder was huge. Most people didn't even attempt it.
Now if it just worked he'd be able to justify having missed classes to get it done. If it didn't work…
Well, it had better work. That was all. Otherwise he'd have to resign from school in shame, or at least pout and moan about it for a while. It would work. He could feel it. That or he was really hungry. It was hard to tell at the moment, the deep working trance could mess up basic perceptions for a while after you were done sometimes. He grinned and kept moving as quickly as his stiff legs could manage, so not very, all things considered. It was what stopped him from doing a little happy dance. That and the fact he simply had no talent for it. It was tempting to try anyway.
The sigil piece in his hand, a circle ringed with letters and symbols on a square of unfinished wood, all basically nonsense to anyone except him, had been drawn in black paint, the thick and cheap kind from the student store that took a while to dry. Most of the time at least. This time it had turned solid before he'd even finished the complex field structure, a very good sign considering the nature of the field he'd tried to create.
He hoped it was anyway. It was just possible he was imagining it, because the whole thing was such a big deal. To Tor. No one else would probably care at all. That was fine though. It hadn't been done for them. Really the idea was to prove he could build to get away from endless copy work. That wasn't hard, but it lacked… spark.
The build was fairly simple, if anything that got things to happen without physical effort could be called that. Most wouldn't think so probably. The field on the piece of wood in his hand simply told water to leave cloth, and other fibrous materials, within a certain area in space. It should, if the field was strong enough, mean that after washing clothes a person could have dry things ready to wear within moments, instead of waiting for hours, or even longer on rainy or moist days. It was a labor and time saving device.
The wood the focusing design had been painted on would dry out too, being fibrous material itself, just like cloth, but that shouldn't hurt anything really, as long as it didn't just turn to dust. That shouldn't happen, if Tor had gotten the whole thing right. Most people didn't on their first go, or so he'd been told in class, even professional builders sometimes had to try something dozens of times to get new things right, but he had high hopes.
Not to mention slight desperation. Now that everything occurred to him properly at least.
The school probably wouldn't kick him out for just missing a day's worth of classes for something like this, which was school related, but he'd need to show that he hadn't just been off in town playing the whole time, and then slapped some paint on wood as an excuse. Tor wouldn't ever do that of course, he liked school, and learning, too much to try and fake his way through. But did the instructors really know that? If he could think of it as a potential excuse, they probably would too. They'd been at all this a lot longer than he had after all. Age and wisdom were to be respected for a reason.
Tor kept running, passing other students as he went. Excitement fairly boiled from him, making him smile the whole time, a rare thing for him. A few waved, mostly boys of course, kids from his classes. Oddly enough, one who called to him was a tall, good looking girl with dusky skin and a brilliant white smile. He recognized her as one of the combat giants that regularly beat him in class, so he half waved back as he moved. No one tried to stop and talk to him of course.
They wouldn't.
His reputation as a very serious student stopped that from happening, especially if he looked like he was in a hurry or distracted. Or thinking. No one wanted to hear him go on for hours about his latest project, whatever that happened to be. While it fascinated him, the interplay of fields of information that could be made to reorder the fabric of the world, to most people it was just meaningless babble. Tor might as well sit around spouting complete nonsense at them. Actually, he knew that for a fact, because he'd done it a few times just to see what would happen. The responses were identical.
Almost no one could be bothered to really listen.
Rolph, the boy that he'd roomed with for the last two years never seemed to mind paying attention to what Tor said and he really tried to pay attention. But other than him and a few instructors, people just tried to leave their conversations at hello and see you later. That worked well enough for Tor, to tell the truth. Most people, other students especially, were a little boring, only caring about the latest song craze, or what clothing to wear on break. As if a student's brown trousers and tunic weren't good enough? What, were they the Prince and Princesses of the realm that they needed to do more than study for their futures? Rolph didn't do that at least. Not too much. For which Tor was eternally grateful. He didn't know what he'd do if his roomie had been one of that type. Go crazy probably and shove pencils in his ears to try and get away from the useless yammering.
Tor kept to a good jog, which would have made the weapons master, Kolb, happy. The older man seemed convinced that anyone that couldn't run the length of the kingdom and back inside a month was incurably lazy. That no one had ever managed such a feat didn't stop the man from hinting it was the highest sign of worth for a non-combat oriented student like Tor Baker. Too little to fight properly most of the time, short and slender, the head instructor liked to pick on him a little. Running beat having the military students beat the snot out of him daily so Tor did it without complaint.
True, most of them didn't really try to hurt him on purpose when he was forced, again by Kolb, to take them on in practice, but they somehow always managed it anyway. Generally because most of them were freakishly large. Like the tall girl he'd just passed, what was her name… Petra? She always managed to hand him a piece of his backside when they worked together, which was more than a little humiliating. Worse, Tor kind of suspected that the girl went out of her way to be gentle with him compared to the others, pulling her punches and sword blows. He'd seen her easily drive men over seven feet tall and three hundred pounds to their knees more than once. That Tor was still alive probably meant that she was coddling him like a baby. He decided not to worry about it and grinned instead.
He was a builder, not a warrior. Maybe a real one now. Unless the build didn't work. Then he was just screwed.
Keeping his pace steady he made his way up the three flights of gray stone steps to the outside walkway that led to his room. It was decent sized, the room, nearly as big as the bedroom he'd shared with his four brothers before he left home. Had it really only been two and a half, nearly three, years? Rolph complained about the tiny space occasionally, but then his family was rich, some kind of merchant empire thing that involved a lot of famous and wealthy people. At least from what little his roomie had hinted at when he got tired, or had grabbed a little extra wine with dinner.
The door had a real metal handle, a nice brass lever, and while it didn't have an “official” lock, Tor had made one that recognized him and Rolph when a hand was put on the design near the door. It also recognized anyone that belonged to the school, which was probably why they hadn't forced him to take it down yet. All it did was keep people that weren't supposed to be there out.
Not that he had anything anyone would want to steal, but Rolph did. Fine silk clothes, and books that Tor envied more than a little, as well as more gold than he'd had ever seen in one place before. To his surprise Rolph offered to let him read the books whenever he had spare time, not even worried that he might damage them or leave them smudged. It was nice to just kick back and peruse a history text every now and again, instead of spending all his time working on meditation or field work for building devices. Of course now that he could do his own fields instead of just copying other people's, building was looking to be even more interesting. A lot more actually. The simple fields they'd let him copy so far had been bland to work on.
Slapping the lock design, a simple hand print in worn paint, got the door to open easily, sliding open as if held in place by some unseen force. It looked pretty magical, but it was really just a clever swivel lock, a wooden privacy bar about the size of his forearm. It was counterbalanced so that the amount of energy it took to swing it in and out of place was virtually nil. The small effort of touching the plate did it, passed the energy of intent along to bump the bar in and out of the way. It was magic strictly speaking, but only the tiniest amount. He'd borrowed the field design from the lock on a chest that Rolph owned, a clever contraption that probably cost half of what Tor's entire family made in a year.
Rolph stood and just played with the door lock every now and then, sighing and asking him how it worked. Tor had to smile when that happened, since, as an accounting student, Rolph lacked a lot of the needed background to understand what he said. The guy tried to keep up and was bright enough, so Tor kept explaining. That willingness to try was one of the reasons he got along so well with the giant redhead. Even if his family was rich.
As it stood Tor kind of thought that the other boy was less baffled by the device itself, since he already owned basically the same thing on the chest, than just amazed that someone like him, only a third year student after all, could manage something that interesting. It made Tor happy to hear, and a bit proud, since he'd actually done it the year before. In second year.
Once in the room he looked around for the wash basket, the large wicker one that Rolph let him share, and picked it up without really looking inside. It felt heavy, but then both he and Rolph had gotten the weapons studies chief instructor for two years straight for some reason. None of the other accounting or field students had Kolb, or even any of the man's first tier trainers. Most of them didn't even have weapons or fighting classes at all. A few that were nobles did, sons and daughters of Counts and Barons that might have to fight to protect themselves someday, even if they were better at math or history.
Almost no one went into building, it was considered the hardest course of study a person could take at Lairdgren school, so those students normally didn't have more than some light exercise classes, dance or stretching normally. How they'd both “lucked” into the extra combat courses he didn't know. Rolph just shrugged it off the one time Tor had mentioned it, and suggested that maybe their parents had something to do with it.
Maybe his roommate's parents did, being wealthy people that could pull strings and get special privileges for their child. Tor's parents were wonderful people, hardworking and industrious in all things, including having children, but wealthy and influential they were not. Maybe it had been a paperwork error? That made a lot more sense really. Of course, when he'd mentioned that to Kolb the giant man had just laughed at him and patted him on the back, then told him that if it was, it didn't matter now, since too much time had been spent on him to give up over something as trivial as mis-signed documents.
Tor had pointed out more than once to Rolph that without the King's scholarship he'd be busily learning to be a baker in his parents' shop like his older brother, or possibly sneaking off to the docks to look for work as a fisherman's apprentice, not learning to build high powered spells and fighting from some of the best teachers in the land. While he could do without the bruises from training like a warrior, he didn't complain about it to anyone but his friend.
After all, he already knew how to bake well enough to open his own shop, he'd grown up doing it. That taught him enough about work to doubt that learning to fight was really any harder than, say, fishing on the ocean. Both fighters and fishermen had that hard look about them that spoke of something in particular.
Hard physical labor.
If he had to pick one to do, he'd take the one that also let him learn magic too. If he had to take beatings to be allowed to learn that, he'd do it with a smile, any day of the week. Well, not really with a smile, more like a lot of wincing and trying not to rub the sore spots, but he'd still do it, which had to count for something.
Building spells took work too, obviously, or everyone would be doing it, but it didn't do much for the body. At least this way he wasn't turning fat, or into a no muscle stick man like some of the other students had in the last years. That he'd paid for it in sweat and more than a little blood was inconsequential. At least Kolb always said so just before he assigned him some nearly impossible task. Generally things that hurt.
A lot.
There was only one other student, a first year by the looks of the boy, about as tall as Tor already and heavier set with muscle, doing his laundry at the outdoor washtubs when he got there. The poor kid didn't seem to be having an easy time of it, apparently not having any wash powder with him. Instead he tried to make do with elbow grease, scrubbing hard at the student browns in his hands. Having had to do that a few times himself in the past, Tor could sympathize. Setting up his own basket next to one of the wooden wash barrels he grabbed a corrugated metal board that didn't seem too dirty, glad that there weren't a lot of people out today. Some of the boards had rust on them, which didn't hurt the brown clothes too much, but could ruin the nice silks and velvets that some of the rich kids had.
The washing, something that he'd been tasked with since childhood, went quickly with only two people's clothes to get clean. At home it had always been an all-day project, one that he'd done at least once a week. They all took turns at it, since his parents were fanatical about them always wearing clean clothing. Fanatical for Two Bends. Here, he found, that level of cleanliness was actually normal. At least it didn't take him unaware like some of the other scholarship kids. The idea of only wearing clothing for one day at a time had been the regular thing for him and he hadn't had to bear ridicule for weeks before he'd figured it out.
He worked with a will, wanting to get to the drying as soon as possible, that was the point after all. The water made suds and nearly boiled as he worked the brown canvas on the board, excitement making the task more interesting, if only a tiny bit. The water was cold, of course, but the weather was warm enough so that his hands didn't freeze. It was early in the spring half, only a week into the new term, which meant first the nice, and then the way too hot, weather would be on them in the months to come.
Perfect baking weather. Or at least it would be in a week or so. Right now was just a bit too cool for dough to rise quickly without heating the room it was in or using a proofing box. Tor got a laugh from the fact that his mind had turned to baking of all things. He didn't hate the family business, actually he kind of enjoyed baking truth be told, but the shop really didn't need five or six bakers. Not in Two Bends, which only had about three hundred people.
Just as he finished he noticed that the younger boy, who stood a ways off, looked to be nearly in tears for some reason. His browns, the ones the kid held, looked new, and still had that stiff quality about them that normally didn't fade for the first year or so, the heavy material not softening until the fiftieth washing or thereabouts. Tor didn't really want to waste time talking, but knew it wouldn't do to leave the boy in tears either. If it was his kid brother having trouble he'd want someone to help him out, wouldn't he?
“Alright there?” He asked, half hoping that the boy would just say yes, so that he could get back to his real work and test the new field build sitting next to him. He smiled, trying to be kind about it though.
He could spare a few minutes he reminded himself. He'd been the new kid once too and no one had been overly helpful back then at all. It had made everything so much harder. Change had to start with you, or it usually didn't happen. His mother said that all the time. It sounded pretty close to right, at least in a situation like this.
The boy shook his head, letting it drop, his limp brown hair falling into the blue eyes below, round cheeks looking flushed and embarrassed.
“I…”
The kid started as Tor waited patiently, then just didn't speak for nearly half a minute. All that meditation, he realized, had been good for something other than field building after all. He could wait without difficulty now. Great. Well, one thing he could be certain of, life would make him wait for things. It was a handy skill to have, if a little boring.
“I've never washed my own clothes before… At home we have servants that do it. I never even gave it a second thought, I mean, you put clothes in water and rubbed them on a board, how hard could it be? But no matter how hard I rub, I can't get the clothes clean and…” Pointing as if blaming the water or the tub he grimaced. “I can't make it frothy! What am I doing wrong?”
The words were so plaintive that Tor had to fight back a smile. It wouldn't do to make the kid feel bad, especially if his family had been the kind that could afford servants. Magical creatures those, that he hadn't even believed really existed until he'd come to school here. The closest thing Tor's family had to servants had been… him and his older sister Terlee. So instead of mocking the poor kid, he decided to actually take a few seconds to be helpful.
“Well, you're not doing it wrong really, but some wash powder would help a lot. You can buy it at the school store, just ask at the counter and the man there will make sure you get the right kind. It looks like you're doing browns and underthings today? So, you can just borrow some of mine until you get your own. You need a special kind if you're going to wash silk, velvet or nice materials like that. Again, you get it at the store, unless you don't have any money, and then you very politely beg it from your friends that do.” Tor smiled at the thought. He could afford to be a little generous with this particular washing powder, since Rolph had paid for it. He didn't feel too bad about doing it either, first because his roomie would have done the same thing without hesitation, and second because Tor had just washed half a week's clothes for him. It seemed a fair enough trade.
The kid looked down, as if expecting a reprimand for being stupid, which either said something about his expectations in regards to schooling here, or his upbringing. A lot of the rich kids had situations like that. Everything had been done for them all their lives, but they were treated harshly almost at random and not knowing how to do something basic could be punished pretty severely or so he'd heard. That they wouldn't, possibly even weren't allowed, to have a clue about some things, like cooking or washing clothing, didn't seem to matter. When the time came for them to know, they'd better. Or else.
Tor showed the boy how to use the light brown powder, scrubbing the material together to get at bad stains and how to use the friction on the board to do the rest. After a few minutes the boy was doing a decent job on his own, so Tor moved to the drying lines and draped the wet material over without using the wringer first. Avoiding wringing was half the point after all. It always seemed to take longer than the washing itself, and was his least favorite part of the whole process. It wasn't hard, it just bugged him for some reason, and always had.
It took him about ten minutes to hang up everything on the line and to bring one of the low folding tables, slightly green colored faded pine wood, to set the sigil on. After Tor took pains to make sure it wasn't under any of the wet stuff, he hit the top of the paint, and stepped back. For the first ten seconds nothing much happened, there was dripping, but there already had been some of that, it was sopping wet, so of course it dripped. He held his breath and felt his heart start to pound. Had he screwed it up somehow? Even a tiny mistake could potentially make all the work he'd done be wasted time. Nearly thirty hours in deep focus carefully building the energy pattern for this. Not good if it didn't work…
Then, all at once, water suddenly ripped out of the cloth, making a huge splash on the hard packed bare earth below. Nothing splashed back up at least, so he wouldn't have to rewash any of it. Yay. He moved forward and tapped the black lines again to turn the field off and then moved to feel the clothing. It was, obviously, dry. He knew that. What he didn't know was if he'd managed to strip it so bare of water that it would turn to dust when touched. Poking a pair of brown pants carefully he tested to see if he had to buy a bunch of new clothes. Or more to the point, leave school in shame, because he only had five coppers to his name right now. Nowhere near enough for new clothes.
It was perfect. Totally dry in an instant, leaving the clothing soft and pliable, not even as stiff as it would be from sun drying.
A bubbling feeling of joy rose inside him. Yes! True, drying clothes faster wouldn't win a war or even get him a girlfriend or something impossible like that, but it would get him a good grade in his novel building class. He knew that it would take more than just one solid build for him to do that, being the youngest person in the class by several years, but this was a good start. A very good one.
His glee turned to dread when he turned to find Dorgal Sorvee picking up the wooden plate with the sigil on it. The black haired boy had swarthy skin and hadn't ever worn a student's browns, opting for tan colored silks instead. His father was a wealthy manufacturer, and something like the local mayor where he'd come from. That was fine really, a lot of the rich kids didn't wear regular browns, they weren't that comfortable and apparently if you could afford silk, none of the teachers wanted to risk alienating you by telling you to go put on heavy canvas instead. Who could blame them? You don't poke a bear with a stick, and you don't challenge the rich and powerful. Everyone knew that.
Dorgal however wasn't just a rich merchant kid, having branched out on his own into personal areas of endeavor. He was also an accomplished bully. His parents would be so proud of him, no doubt.
Being rich there wasn't much someone like Tor could do about it either. Sure, he could offer to fight the boy, or call him names… and find himself out of the school the next morning, if not going off to jail. From the way the dickhead held the drying sigil it was obvious to Tor that he wouldn't be getting it back easily.
He sighed.
Life had been easier at home. Sure there had been a couple of bullies at the village school, but being the baker's kid meant that he had five brothers to help him out in a fight if it came to it, more than anyone else's family by far and a certain amount of prestige. His family wasn't wealthy, but they did alright, always having enough food to eat and a good roof over their heads. Some of the villagers didn't always have that. The bullies had largely left him alone even if they did think he was a little strange.
Here, people like Dorgal could get away with murder, practically at least, so they did whenever they felt like it. The boy's face held a snotty and malicious grin as he got ready to tap the sigil and activate it.
“What have we here? Some kind of present for me?” The boy, nearly a man in truth, meaning he should know better than to activate an unknown bit of magic, started to do just that. Moron. For a second Tor almost hoped it would backfire and strip the guy of all his body's water. It wouldn't of course, he'd built in safeguards against that. Still, Tor reflected, he could dream.
A low rumbling chuckle came from behind Tor, making him spin, ready to fight if he had too. He didn't want to be kicked out, but he didn't want to die for some wealthy person's amusement either. When he turned he had to look up to see who stood there. And up. Standing over seven feet tall, a wall of blond muscle hulked a little closer to him. A light colored head on top of a deep red silk shirt. After a few seconds Tor figured out who it was.
Count Thomson.
Freaking hell. The guy wasn't just a giant, but one of Kolb's best fighters. If he decided to beat Tor to death, not only could he get away with it — legally even since he was a Count — but there was nothing the much smaller Tor could do to even slow him down, much less stop him. Even running away could be against the law if the man claimed he was under arrest for something.
Instead of grabbing him, or opening with a devastating backhand blow, the large noble carefully stepped around him and moved gracefully to the low table.
“Hmmm,” he said softly, his voice rumbling. “What do we have here? I saw the splashing a bit ago, so decided to come see for myself. Some kind of water removal system? Fascinating.”
The giant actually seemed interested and took the wooden square from the very surprised bully gently, then turned to speak to Tor directly as if Dorgal wasn't even there.
“Wood and paint? So, is this something you made yourself?”
“Yeah, it's for my novel build class, this is the first test, but so far it looks like it's working. I need to test it again, but…” He pointed to the dry clothes on the rack with a shrug. “That will probably have to wait a few days. Everything I own is clean.”
The young Count chuckled again and looked around, finally pointing at the younger boy Tor had been helping earlier. “He has some wet clothing, perhaps he'd be willing to let you use that for your test, now that success seems likely at least?”
That, Tor had to admit, did seem like a good idea. Not something he'd have thought of himself, mainly because he didn't like to ask other people for favors, but hey, if a Count suggested it, who was he to say no? Clearing his throat he asked the boy if it would be alright. It was clear that the kid had been watching all along anyway, so it didn't take a lot of explanation.
“Sure!” He said, bringing the heaping basket of wet, not just damp, but sodden clothing over to hang up on the line. It would normally be a bad idea to skip wringing them out first, at least by hand, but it was perfect for this. After a second Tor started to help out, knowing that it would speed things up. Help almost always did. The Count shocked them both by helping to hang things over the white rope line himself a moment later. It wasn't every day that a Count helped you do your laundry after all. What would be next? The King coming over for an afternoon snack? The giant looked at the low table and moved it closer to the line, but then looked at Tor, checking to see if he'd gotten it close enough.
“That should do… Actually, let's move the table back a bit. I don't want to risk splashing water on the paint yet. It hasn't had a lot of time to set.” The Count picked up the table and moved it about four feet back. The younger boy looked a little anxious, but waited out of the way. Pointing at the younger student Tor nodded his head.
“Give the plate a single tap please…” It was actually an important factor. It was just possible, doing this, that he'd built something that would only work for him. He doubted that was the case, he'd been careful, but everything had to be tested. The boy didn't hesitate, activating the field with a single deft thump of one finger, as if he'd been doing such things all his life.
Being from a wealthy family, maybe he had? Tor had only seen a handful of field devices before coming to school, all of them tools around the village. The majority of devices were tools. Only the most wealthy had anything else in the main. Trying to copy those was what got him noticed for the scholarship in the first place. At least he thought it was that. He'd never really been sure how it had happened. A scholarship recruiter just passing through an out of the way tiny village and finding the baker's kid making a cutter? Not very likely. Maybe it was fate, or someone in the village having told someone else, and the word spreading to the right ears?
The whole process repeated itself, only with applause this time, as people had come to look at what the Count, who stood out quite a bit, being so brightly clad and huge, had been doing. Even Dorgal grudgingly applauded.
The dark haired bully couldn't resist getting a barb in though. Of course. Making fun of Tor in front of a large group of people would probably make it even better for someone like him. As he started to speak, Tor made himself relax and just listen calmly, as if he cared what the idiot had to say. He even managed an interested and polite expression. Fake, but if the bastard wanted real politeness he'd have to start with some of his own for a while.
“So, your future career as a washer woman's all set Tor! Now all we have to do is get you a gray skirt and a bandanna for your pretty hair.” The tone was biting and surly, even if the words themselves could have been construed as just being playful if they came from someone else. It was the kind of thing Dorg excelled at. A kind of genius really, being a jerk without ever really being too overtly offensive. Not where other ears than Tor's could hear at least. He didn't get the laugh expected from the gathering crowd for some reason. In fact, a few of the people walking over to examine the now dried clothes stared at him as if he'd just cussed in public. One, a pretty girl with deep brown, almost black, curly hair in ringlets kind of glared at Dorgal.
“Seriously? And you from a manufacturing family? You can't see how big a field like this could be? Are you stupid or something?” The girl, who looked about seventeen or eighteen turned to Tor and smiled winningly. She was lean, and a little hard, so probably one of the warrior or “special school” students. Assassins or something. No one really knew what they did at the special school, at least no one that would speak to him about it. People talked, but rumors were usually wrong, so Tor didn't bother following them particularly. The girl looked at the clothes and nodded to her friend.
“Sara, what do you think your mother would be willing to pay for this?”
The girl next to her wasn't as cute as the brown haired girl, but made up for it by looking happy and bright eyed. Of course Tor tended to like dark hair on women, so maybe it wasn't fair to say she wasn't as pretty, just in a blond way. A lot of people would probably think she was, he decided. She sounded smart at least. Even at school a lot of the girls affected being dumber than they were to attract boys. That these two didn't seem to bother with that already won points in his book. Not that they'd care overly about that.
Tor knew his opinion probably wouldn't matter to them any more than the guy that ran the store that sold school supplies. Less even, since pencils and ink had established value already. He noticed that both wore blacks, like his own clothes, except not brown, heavily worn and oft washed. Since they'd never been out kicking his behind on the practice field with Kolb, that lent more than a bit of credit to the idea that they were special school. Pure scholars didn't have as much wear on their clothing in the knees and elbows, most of it coming in the seat of the pants. His own had both.
Sara looked at the clothing and then him, tilting her head just a little. It was cute, which he instantly decided to hold against her. Attractive women were trouble. If you let yourself become interested at least.
“What are the design parameters? How much can each field do, how often? What's the expected time to failure for each unit?”
The questions were good ones, too good to be casual really. He knew the answers, at least in theory, and tried to present them that way, explaining that these were the very first tests.
“But, if all goes well, any cloth or fibrous material within a twenty foot radius will dry in approximately the time you saw here, about fifteen seconds or so. It's field driven, energy wise, so the work energy comes from the water and the ambient temperature, the heat in the air, meaning there's no particular recharge time needed. As to how well the field will hold up… That depends on the materials used, of course, metal or stone will hold a field a lot longer than wood, and who put it in place matters too. My personal fields normally last for several years when put in metal, so far at least, but that can vary from person to person. I'm kind of new to doing it, obviously. Some of the best can last decades or even longer. Average is about a year or so…” He gave a lift of the shoulders that wasn't really a shrug.
Sara, strawberry blond with slightly tan skin, considered what he said closely then looked at the humble wooden plate.
“In wood we could get five golds for it, assuming it would last a year. In metal twice that. In stone… Well, that's harder to work with, but would probably bring in twenty to thirty golds apiece. It would have to be vetted first, being new and you still being a student. Worth doing. My guess is that we could sell these on the open market faster than they could be made at those prices. Even selling the template you should be able to bring in a half gold for each one that goes out on the market. That would probably be your best bet, especially if you have any other ideas like this to work on. It would leave you free to do things other than make copies.”
The girl blushed and suddenly stepped back, making the dark haired girl laugh.
“Don't worry Sara, Tor won't bite. I have that on good authority. Speaking of which…”
Tor looked over his shoulder in the direction that the dark haired girl stared and saw Rolph, red haired and nearly as big as Count Thomson walking over with a purpose, probably expecting to have to save Tor from a beating. Nice of him really, since Tor could do without those whenever possible. As he got closer Tor looked up at him with a smile and pointed at the clothes just now being taken off the line by the brown haired boy.
“Worked.” He said, smiling. “Twice.” He held up two fingers just to make the point clear.
Rolph slapped him on the back and then looked at the others standing around with a bit of hesitation. After a few seconds he spoke, softly.
“Tovey,” he said, looking at the Count. “Everything alright here?”
There was no menace in the tone at all, but it didn't sound scared either. If Tor had remembered who'd been standing there himself he'd have been scared. The work, as it often did, had proved too distracting for that. He'd simply forgotten to be afraid, which was probably a sign that he was secretly a moron. Who forgets to be afraid?
Soon to be dead people, that's who.
The Count smiled and put his hand out to shake with Rolph, a movement that came naturally it seemed, even though a Count wouldn't do that as a rule. They went in for bowing and such. “Not at all. I just saw the first experiment and had to come see what was going on. It really is fascinating to see the water just… leave like that. We need to secure some of these for our mothers before everyone else has them first I think.”
The girl with the dark hair moved in front of Rolph and backed towards Tor protectively hands out to the side as if to prevent his friend from grabbing him to carry off… or something.
“Saw him first, so he's mine. Now, you two go away. Shew, shew!”
“Hey! I saw him way before you did. Called firsts and everything.” Petra, who'd been standing near the back of the crowd called out, laughing. She smiled and waved a little at Tor again, so, ducking his head, he waved back. It was literally true, she'd seen him since his first year, normally while chasing him around trying to beat him with a stick.
They all laughed, which baffled the hell out of Tor.
Even Sara and the boy trying to reclaim his clothes chuckled. He knew that telling a royal like the Count to “shew” wouldn't go over very well in general. Maybe the girl knew the huge man or something? It seemed likely, since they'd begun negotiations as to who got fields for their mothers first.
Tor held up his right hand, and tried to smile, hoping no one would kill him for it.
“Um, I have to get it through testing and then have the instructors go over it to make sure it's safe…” He said, his voice soft and humble. It sounded weak enough that Dorgal laughed at him, which earned another glare from the dark haired girl as a reprimand.
Rolph shook his head and winked at the girl.
“Don't start any trouble with Tor, Dorg. He's probably going to be more important than any of us one day…”
Tor wanted to hide under a rock. Saying that in front of a Count! Worse, a Count that could personally kill him by “accidentally” falling down at the wrong time. Was Rolph trying to get the room to himself? They'd definitely have to talk about this, later. When no one would be around to laugh at him.
Besides, some of the royals had strange powers, direct magics, and about a third of them could go into battle rages at any moment, striking out at anyone near with lethal intent and far greater than normal effect. Super human strength and speed, as well as some other stuff.
Tor had never seen anything like that himself, but Kolb had warned him about it early on in training, just in case trouble started at school. Even most of the royals ran away if they saw it starting to happen in someone else, supposedly. He didn't know if the Count was one of those types, but if he was, saying anything that could challenge him, or set him off by mistake, seemed like a horrible idea. Might as well poke a golden bear, Tor thought. They were about the same size as the Count. Well, twelve feet tall and about a ton for the bear, but close enough in regards to how long it would take for them to kill someone as small as him.
Instead of killing anyone, the Count nodded, and so did the girls and the boy who awkwardly folded his clothes, nearly wadding up one of his shirts instead of doing it right. It made sense, didn't it? If he couldn't wash his own clothing, folding them probably had never come up either. Tor walked over and showed him how to do it quickly, since no one would be paying attention to him anyway, he didn't think.
Apparently that thought was wrong. Everyone waited for him to finish showing the boy what to do, then started asking when he thought the new magic would be ready for sale. Tor had to shrug, wincing a little when he remembered that you really shouldn't say “no” to royalty, but not knowing what else to do. He explained that it could take a while before any of the instructors even looked at, much less tested the field and he probably had to do more with it himself first, to make sure that there were no unintended effects just to get the right people to look at it.
The idea of Dorgal standing there wizened and dry made him almost happy for a second until he remembered that the giant Count stood there as well. The guy seemed OK so far, but that didn't reassure Tor totally. Then again, if the royal wanted him dead, or humiliated, nothing Tor did would stop it. So far so good. He'd stood in the mans presence for minutes and still had all his limbs attached. Now if he could just escape alive…
Rolph took the basket of clothes and walked off suddenly, not even saying goodbye to the people around them, calling out for Tor to follow with a soft chuckle in his voice. Tor did it without thinking, since the redheaded boy was much more savvy about wealthy and important people than he was, coming from the Capital and all. He also knew people at the school. A lot of them. They'd been there the same amount of time, but Rolph always had an easy way about him, laughing and joking with anyone he met, lending an ear if they needed it and generally making everyone into a friend. Even the ones like Dorgal seemed to like him on sight.
It was uncanny. Unnatural. Possibly evil mind powers were involved. Tor went along with it anyway. Maybe he could learn to be like that if he tried? Probably not, but it made sense to pay attention. Learn from those that had the skills. That was what school was all about, right?
They got up the stone steps to the room when Tor remembered the field plate had been left on the table. Duh! Without it he wouldn't be able to prove that the last day and a half hadn't been spent drinking or goofing off. He turned to run back for it, hoping it would still be there, only to find that the others had followed them, the Count holding the piece of wood up, smiling.
“Here you go. You'll need this so that you can finish that testing as soon as possible.” Leaning to one side, looking around Tor at his roommate, the giant pointed at the wooden piece. “Let us know when it's ready? I'd love to have a few for mother before her birthday… She complains that her dresses never seem to truly dry, which they probably don't, what with the twenty layers of cloth she has to wear at social functions.”
Indicating he'd see what he could do, Rolph hit the lock plate and pulled Tor inside without waiting for anyone else to speak, then he shut the door firmly in their faces.
“Don't worry about them. Just turn the device in when you're ready. They've lived this long without an instant clothing drying device, they can last a little longer.”
They folded the clothes in their room, since Tor hadn't gotten a chance before.
He didn't want to complain about Dorgal, because who whined about things like that? But the guy really seemed unpleasant. It was annoying. He mentioned this to Rolph, trying to sound noncommittal, like he'd noticed it, but it didn't bug him.
His friend nodded and took a deep breath.
“It can be hard here, being around the very rich and powerful, nobles and all that, if you're just from a regular family. Dorgal isn't like you. You've earned your spot with talent and skill, no one denies that at all. Not even Dorg. Which is probably what makes him go after you in particular. You make him feel… small. Unimportant.” Rolph waved his hands trying to explain. “His family may have some money, but he can't really compete that way here, half the kids here come from situations better than his that way. So he tries to dress well and act the bully, thinking that people will respect him for it. Sometimes it probably even works, but in the long run it's going to backfire on him. He needs to be making friends now, and a lot of the people he's going after like a bulldog are the very ones he'll need as contacts in ten or twenty years.”
Looking at him over his shoulder, clothing being folded tidily enough, if a little lazily, Rolph continued.
“Like you, or Davie there.”
“Davie?”
“Right, the boy you helped with his clothes at the end there? David Derring. Countier. Not first in line for his district as Count maybe, but he comes with powerful connections built in anyway. Any son or daughter of a Count does. The kid's smart too, which face it, not all the nobles are. Not that Dorgal would pick on him, but acting the clown in front of him with you probably won't play well, since you were helpful to him. Especially given that he'll want you to make up one of those drying things for his own mother, Trice and Tovey aren't the only ones here that are going to see the utility of this. In those circles, like Tovey's, you know, high noble ones, novel magic and currying favor with others is… huge really. Getting a new magic like this before anyone else is a major coup.”
Tor looked down and then around as if making sure no one was listening, something he'd learned to do when talking about nobles at his mother's knee. The rest of Two Bends knew to be polite, but his mom always acted as if the royals were out to get her personally or the like, even though Tor was pretty sure that he'd encountered more of that kind of person than she probably ever imagined, being at school and all. “They seem alright, but with names like that, Trice and Tovey, they could be part of my own family. Why my parents decided we all needed names that started with the letter “T” I don't know. If you ever come to visit, I highly recommend taking notes on the names!”
Rolph grinned.
“Cool. Your village is on the way to the Capital, right? Maybe on next break you could come back with me, and we could stop on the way there? My dad asked to meet you personally you know, and I'm sure that will go double once this dryer thing hits the market. Hey! Do you think you could work something up for food? Like with the clothes? To take water out quickly like that? I know that he'd like that.”
Tor didn't speak, instead he walked over to his desk and sat down, making notes. Fruits and vegetables needed different amounts of water removed for them to last well, but if you took too much out they'd be hard to eat. At least that was the case with air drying… So the process would have to be slower, taking about ten minutes or so. That way the field could be turned on and off in time. Maybe a bottom set point could be established? That way it would never get too dry to eat and the water could be taken out in seconds. They'd have to be done evenly at the end, so the field would have to be of equal strength throughout the whole fruit or vegetable. It could be done. Now, could he use the same field for whole fruit as well as cut and processed? If so that could save a lot of time and allow for saving fruit right in the field. It wouldn't taste as good with the skin on maybe, but if it lasted through winter and didn't rot waiting to go to market, a lot of people would be willing to deal. After all, nearly half of all fruit went bad before it got to the table. Vegetables were as delicate, except the root ones, like potatoes. Those lasted longer all on their own.
After about half an hour and three pages of calculations and notes he looked up to find Rolph staring at him, a grin on his face.
“So…?”
“Oh! Sorry, yes, we can do it. I think I have most of the steps lined out here already. I guess I need to remember to talk. Sorry… It's a good idea. Really great actually. Spoilage in the field and during delivery is devastating. This could cut out a lot of that, maybe even most, if it's done correctly. It will take a lot of copies.”
Tor felt himself being absorbed by the project again and started working. It wasn't his school work, but since he'd missed all his classes that day to work on the dryer, he didn't technically have any. Hopefully if he kept up with his reading and asked what he'd missed the next day he'd be fine in most subjects. The only one that wouldn't take a novel field project that worked as a good excuse would be combat practice.
Then when would he really need that anyway? Sure, someone might try to rob him sometime, or he could get into a fight in a bar… except that he didn't drink, because that muddled the mind too much for anyone that wanted to build fields for a living. So all he had to really do was be careful about being robbed and maybe bullies like Dorgal. But even there, he'd probably be better off not knowing how to fight at all, because if he hit the guy, he'd be in a lot more trouble than if he just took a beating.
Kolb wouldn't let him off easily of course. He'd be lucky to just get some extra running or combat practice as a punishment. Whee. What fun, running even farther than he normally did. Could be worse. Once Kolb had made him practice against all of the instructors one after another without a break. It wasn't even a punishment, just regular practice. He could hardly move for a week after that. One of the instructors, a woman in her forties that he'd only met that once, had kept hitting him on the back of the right arm, no matter what he did. Almost exactly the same place each time too. Just thinking about it now, months later, made his arm ache again. It had been a narrow strip of a bruise that had gone all the way to the bone. She hadn't even hit him that hard either, but it had nearly crippled Tor for a while it hurt so bad.
It had probably just been some kind of test or joke. If a test, he had no doubt that he failed horribly. He'd lived at least. After they'd all finished no one had spoken to him about it and his training got a lot harder than before, with even more running, probably because that, running away, was his personal best form of defense, and he'd proved it to all the other instructors by sucking so hard. Kolb had told him that repeatedly. At least several times a week. That he should run away if attacked. The man was actually decently kind to Tor about not being all that good.
He shook himself after a while and looked at the time piece on the wall, the hands said it neared bed time, so he got himself ready, changing into the loose clothing he wore for sleeping, sturdy stuff in a light tan that his mother had made for him the year before and sent with a merchant headed towards the school in hopes it would reach him. It still fit perfectly, because at seventeen he'd pretty much finished growing. Five-four was going to be about it. She may not make elegant clothing, but it lasted and was warm in the winter.
Climbing into bed he looked at Rolph who still read, and wondered if he should say something. Sometimes the guy liked to stay up late reading. It didn't really bother Tor all that much, used to people moving around when he slept, with all his brothers in the same room all the time. Still, the light made it harder to fall asleep for him. Extra light had cost money growing up, since the Baker family used candles and lamps for it. Magical lights were too costly for home use. They didn't even have them at school for the most part. When he learned to make them himself he was going to send several big batches back to his village, enough for everyone if he could. Fewer candles needed meant more time and money to spend on food for a lot of people there.
Rolph didn't make him wait too long, getting into his own bed and saying good night about ten minutes later. For his part Tor drifted off some time after that, still working on a sigil and field for drying food. Like often happened, he dreamed about the new idea and came up with a few corrections in his sleep. He made sure he wrote it all down when he got up, not waiting at all, not even getting out of bed to do it. There was a pad and pencil next to where he slept just in case. If he did ever get up first, he'd probably forget something, which would waste time, thinking it up again later.
Tor got cleaned up and bathed before breakfast, just grabbing an apple and eating it while he worked on the food drying build idea. It shouldn't be that hard. Not now that he'd done his first build successfully. That one was always the hardest, the instructors had told him so repeatedly. Right now he couldn't see the big deal. It had been a little bit hard and took a long time, sure, but that was building. Of course it took a while. If it was easy, everyone would do their own, right? He could build a template now, probably about twenty or thirty hours of work, then use that to make copies. Provided it worked of course. He could make copies from the clothes drying field he'd made already, as long as everyone signed off on it.
It had to be proven safe first which was only sensible, and should be done on all his builds until he gained enough skill to show that his stuff wasn't so flawed it would just kill people outright. It seemed to be, but better to go over it and prove it first. He'd hate to, say, put out a field that drove all the water from a person's body instantly or something, by mistake. Now if it were on purpose, that could make a decent weapon… If only for Dorgal Sorvee, since he'd likely be the only person in the world stupid enough to hit a sigil not knowing what it would do.
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, 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.”