A cold flash broke through his body as he stepped into the room, a warm fire was going, which contrasted sharply with the freezing he felt. His body shivered from it and not just the fear now, making him wonder at the strength of the protections on this place. You didn't normally eat up ambient energy like this just for fun and giggles.
The older man gestured towards the fire. “Huddle close while we get things ready alright? The temperature in here drops like a rock when we activate all the protections. Has to be done though...”
The other people in the room came into focus then. Kind of. Tor wondered if at first he was just in shock. Chased to his death, nearly at least, by a giant with blood in his eyes that had just tried to kill a girl, then captured and brought here to be killed by yet other people.
Yeah, that would probably do it. Whatever the reason, he had to focus, real focus, like trying to hold a pattern for a build, in order to make out who was there. They kind of slipped to and fro in his mind, like the whole room had on the other side of the door. More magic then?
Taking a few deep breaths he let himself sink deeper into the well of his mind. Everything took on a glassy, slick feel to it, but he could make out who sat waiting for him.
Trice held something, an ice pack or cool brick most likely, to the side of her face. She looked at him and nodded. Damn, they'd gotten her already. He'd have to figure out what she'd told them before he spoke. If he could. Next to her, the old man that had asked him in to the room had settled. Tor didn't recognize him at all, but he looked friendly enough.
Probably the executioner then.
The idea left a sour and cold feeling in his stomach. No need to use gallows humor just yet, he reminded himself. There'd be time for that on the actual platform itself within a day or two.
Next to the old man sat one of Rolph's accounting instructors for some reason Tor couldn't figure out, a hard looking middle aged woman with steel gray hair and a ramrod straight spine. She frowned at him when she saw him looking and jerked her head around to stare at the man next to Trice.
“How is he looking at us? Did you give him an amulet key to this room already?” Her voice had an edge to it, brittle and cold like a north wind, Tor thought. A pissed off, surly, north wind.
The man smiled kindly and nodded his head in Tor's direction.
“Not at all dear. Mr. Baker is simply that focused of mind. One of the top students in magical construction and novel building, third year and already working his own projects I hear. He even appears to have defeated the outer room's protections. Amazing really, we don't have anyone on staff here that can do it without an amulet, except Master Fines.” The older man winked and patted the seat on the other side of himself, across from Trice.
“Have a seat, it's going to take a bit for everyone to get here, I think.”
Over the next few minutes no one spoke, the accounting instructor kept glaring at him, which he probably deserved, and Trice sighed every minute or so, loudly as if trying to point out how wronged she'd been. Tor badly wanted to pull her aside and get the stories straight, but didn't know how. Would she have even trusted him if he tried? For that matter, should she? He could lie right now and claim it was all her and not him at all...
Tor sighed to himself. Better for him to die than her. She probably had a lot more going for her and besides, fashionable or not, a man simply didn't let a woman take the fall for something like this. Not even the son of a humble village baker would do that.
Finally Kolb came in, followed by Count Thomson himself. It looked like a wall of flesh and muscle had come into the room. Or a mountain of death. Tor couldn't help it; he hugged himself as he shivered a little. It was probably just the cold, not his impending death. That made sense right? Of course it did. It really was freezing in the room. It wasn't that he was a coward at all. Nope that wasn't it.
It surprised him when the Count went down in front of Trice's chair, his knees on the thick hand woven carpet of blue and black on the floor. He took her hands in his own, looking a lot like a large grown man tending to a child and spoke softly.
“Are you hurt? Did I...”
Trice stuck out her tongue and made a rude noise. “Right, like you could hurt me? Perish the thought. You did do a bit of a number on the side of my head though. Luckily Tor came along and distracted you. It got a little closer than I'd call comfortable.” She rubbed at her head and grinned. The right side of her face was swollen and huge, bruises having blossomed spectacularly already.
The giant man surprised the hell out of Tor when he turned, not even getting off of his knees. He bowed from the waist deeply, a pretty darned humble position for a Count. It made everyone else go quiet. Probably embarrassed for the man.
“Forgive me please...”
Tor wondered for a second what he was supposed to forgive the man for. Then it hit him. Right... For killing him later. Tor shrugged. If it made the man feel better why not? Kind of polite of the man really. Dead may be dead, but his family had to live on. It seemed the Count was giving him a chance to see to their protection? He didn't want to bring this royal down on them or anything, so he nodded and gave a small, weak smile, trying to look pleasant about it.
Probably failing.
“Um, no problem, after all, what are friends for, right?” Tor felt relieved when the sarcasm he felt didn't come out in his words. It didn't really matter much, but at least he wasn't causing problems for his family and friends. Rolph... He was still locked in the room.
God. Were they going to blame Rolph too?
Trice snorted.
“Just thank everything holy that we've got friends like this Tovey. If you killed me I'd have totally haunted you.” Her hands went up in the air, the right still holding something wrapped in a soft looking light blue cloth. “Toooveyyy.... Don't be a Jeeerk.”
The whole thing would have been funny, for a half dozen reasons, if they weren't in so much trouble. As it was Tor almost smiled anyway. After all, if the Count was willing to listen to this girl making fun of him without anger, maybe he wouldn't insist on going after everyone else over the insult to his person after all? If Tor could just keep this between him and the Count...
For a second he wondered if that was what Trice was trying to do too. Keep the Count focused on her to protect him? He shook his head softly. After all, why would the girl do that? There was no social rule that said good looking women had to try and protect skinny little students from royalty. No one would expect that. He wouldn't at least.
No, it must be something else.
The unpleasant looking accounting instructor sneered at him; at least he assumed it was directed at him, that or the back of the Count's head, which would just be stupid. Even someone as important to the school as an instructor had to be careful here.
“I think that we've all forgotten that the boy, Baker here, assaulted a sitting member of the peerage. That's considered treason you know. At the very least we need to investigate... Too many royals have been going into combat rage lately for it all to be happenstance...”
The Count, still kneeling, swung on the woman, his giant bulk turning in place so that he could stare. The look was calm though, almost peaceful.
“I don't recall being attacked. I just remember going into a combat rage and attacking my cousin and this man coming to her aid as required, as I would have requested of him personally had I been able to, as I would have begged him to do, and as most people simply wouldn't have... Trice, do you remember any so called assault?” The gaze shifted to the girl who laughed.
“What? Him? Of course not. He just ran up and tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention and then ran away when you turned on him. OK, true, I was kind of baffled by the effects of your battle aura, but that's all I remember seeing...”
The big man stood and returned to his seat, smiling. Hands the size of Tor's whole head spread out in a slow gesture that took in the whole room. “See, two witnesses that there was no assault at all. Except when I hit him... But he's already proclaimed himself my friend, so I take it that he won't be pressing it at court...” The deep voice suddenly went uncertain and he looked at Tor more closely. “Unless... I didn't hurt you did I?”
Tor shook his head, hardly able to believe what he'd just heard. They were both lying to protect him? Him? After what he'd done? And on top of that this royal was asking him if he was injured? Maybe they were playing a game. Every few years someone was put to death for something a lot less dangerous than hitting a Count with a bag of copper field plates.
“No. I mean, I'm fine. Tumbled a little when you brushed me, but not hurt or anything. Kolb has done worse in practice. For that matter Trice did worse the one time I had to work with her, could barely walk right for days. I... didn't know you two were related...”
Trice chuckled, a slightly pained sound, muffled by the object she held to her face. “Yep, first cousins even. Close enough that I don't have to worry about marrying the lout at least. You didn't know that? So... why did you help me?” The girl moved the cloth bundle away from her face and stared at him closely.
Tor shrugged. For all that he claimed that the Count had just brushed him, the move hurt. Fighting giants was not something he wanted to take up as a profession. He subtly tried to work his shoulder around and focus on the girl's face, the magics of the room sent his mind skittering for a few seconds before he forced himself to focus deeply enough.
“Eh?” He said, feeling brilliant when he realized that everyone was watching him. “Well, at first I was just going to leave you, because I didn't know who it was fighting and all I could see was that one of the people was huge. But then I heard you, so I kind of had to help. After all, we're friends and...” For some reason Tor yawned. Damn! That would make him look good, wouldn't it? Sitting around with his mouth open like a moron. He continued as soon as he could. “Sorry. I didn't sleep last night; I managed to get the first fifty of the clothes dryers done at least. Anyway, since we're kind of loosely in business and all, I had to at least try and do something, right?”
It wasn't a very good answer, but it was pretty close to the truth. It just sounded moronic when he said the words out loud. For some reason the girl smiled at him, which made her wince, but she kept doing it anyway. The eye contact from her was direct enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable.
“You didn't know I was a noble at all? So you jumped some unknown giant in a combat rage just to protect me? I mean, me-me, not some royal bitch who might get you a reward or something? That's...” Tears came to her eyes, but she kept smiling. “That's so sweet!”
Count Thomson stopped suddenly and stared at him.
“Fifty? In one night?”
Everyone except the accounting woman seemed slightly distracted by one thing or another. She kept glaring, looking daggers at Tor.
“Still we can't allow this boy to run around unchecked. Something triggered that combat condition. It could have been this one here. It would be a dereliction of duty to not assess this fully or at least remove him from the school. We can't allow threats and attacks to go unpunished.” The woman's lips went white in rage and she rose halfway out of her chair. For a second it felt like the woman was going to strike out at him, a small metal object that looked a lot like a cutter appeared in her hand. Tor hadn't noticed it there before at least.
“As a member of the Royal Guard, it's my duty to protect from such potential threats. Now, I'm taking this boy to the holding cell until minds clear and you people start listening to reason... Come with me... now boy.” This last came out as a growl, menacing and darker than Tor had thought a woman would be capable of. Any woman. Instead of an older academic, he realized that he was facing some kind of hidden guard.
The Royal Guards were not known for their restraint and brooked no insolence at all. Tor shuddered and stood slowly, trying to make certain that he didn't provoke her in any way. His hands went out, palms slightly down, about shoulder high without thinking about it. It was something Kolb had taught him to do. It would look like he was surrendering, but leave him able to fight if he had to. For all the good it would do him if he tried. No one could beat a cutter or lance like that, even people that were good enough to take a sword. Honestly given everything he probably couldn't beat the woman with any weapon or even if she was empty handed.