The Builder (The Young Ancients) (45 page)

“When dad was a kid, he and his brother were sent off for special tutoring with Count Lairdgren, where our school is now actually. I mentioned the other day how dad virtually knelt before the man when they met? Unusual to say the least, because the guy's only a Count right? But it turns out he's not just a Count... He's an ancient.”

Patricia gasped and stiffened under Tor's hand.

“Seriously? They're real?” She looked baffled, searching Rolph's face for a hint that he was joking.

“I know! That's what I said too and I'm sure that the look I gave him was at least as disbelieving. I mean ancients? That's a tale for children right? But no, Lairdgren is one, the Green man, which is why his coming to sign mere Squire papers for Tor is big. Huge really. Like if dad went to Two Bends to witness a random wedding or something. I mean, we all know that Tor's a big deal, but...” This last was for Tor; at least if the significant look Rolph was giving him was any indication.

“Back then they had their own little school. Dad, mom, Uncle Kedrin, Aunt Mercy, Uncle Eric, some guy named Glost Serge, who's now some high muckity in Austra of all things and Lairdgren's daughter. Apparently at one time or another they all fell in love with each pairing in some kind of comedy of errors, and dad and mom just ended up being together when time came to marry. Grandfather was going to enforce the original marriage plans, but Lairdgren wouldn't let him. Apparently said that trying to force things never worked out well or something so Granddad relented, because who would argue with an ancient? Not much of a tale, except the whole ancient thing...”

Tor looked at Sara, who shrugged at him. He got the whole marriage thing now, the two kids had fallen in love and arranged marriage or not, they went ahead with the love match. He'd heard of that at least, it was in some of the stories his sisters liked to hear at bedtime for instance. Really, wasn't it what he and Trice were pretending at right now? But ancients? Like old people or something? Tor nearly asked, but Sara did instead, clearly just as perplexed as he was.

Trice answered. “Right, I didn't know that you wouldn't have them in your kid's stories too, but basically the ancients are people from the time of great change, thousands of years ago. Supposedly, or so the story goes, there were six to nine people, the number varies, that were there as the world started to fall apart. Some old society had nearly destroyed the world or something. Normal stuff... they made bad choices, got greedy and used things up instead of controlling themselves. Really I always figured those as instructional stories, you know, don't set your own house on fire if you're locked inside, waste not want not, prudence before greed, that kind of thing?

“Anyway, these people all set out and started their own societies, based on different principles and technologies. Noram based on magic, Afrak on the manipulation of family lines, Austra on the old machines and science, Soam on harmony and love. But supposedly, for some reason the original six or so people are still alive. Some lost trick or something. We call them the ancients. Each has a color associated with them, White, Gray, Black, Brown, Red and Green.”

That, apparently, was the heart of it. Tor almost laughed. Obviously these were just children's tales and the King was simply having one on with his son. Still, if the King wanted them to believe that the Count of Tor's county was some ancient fellow from a kiddy book, who was he to gainsay the man? It didn't matter one way or the other, so he could go along with it. Why not? It was certainly more entertaining than the world just being what he'd always been told it was.

Once they finally got up in the air, hours later, Tor found that the new flying rigs, which he hadn't gotten to test himself before, were more sensitive in the controls, but flew wonderfully once he got used to it. What had taken them all nearly seven hours to cover before they managed in less than four now. He had to pull into the front by a good ways and start slowing down waving his right hand to signal everyone to stop when he started recognizing landmarks on the ground.

It was embarrassing, but he had to have them fly back about ten miles, because he'd overshot the tiny village without noticing it at all. It was in the forest, under a canopy of pine trees for the most part, except the outlying farms. They worked their way towards it much more slowly and landed in the center of the main street gently, dodging trees on the way down, luggage settling along the road, a beaten dirt path, but dry this time of year, since they all had to be spread out to keep from hitting each other.

Count Thomson hadn't even landed all the way when Tom, the mayor of the village, ran out of his blacksmith shop and started greeting everyone.

“Lairds! Swel'com ter Stewbens! Swel'com!” He gestured around the street at the few tiny buildings that lined it. “Ple'sure sars, 'an we halp you?”

Everyone looked at Tor, baffled. Ah! They couldn't understand? He'd forgotten how thick the local accent could sound, almost like a foreign language unless you listened hard. It wasn't though, not really. Mainly at least. For one thing it was far more irregular than a language would have been, people making up their own variations of words on the fly. It was fast and changed from conversation to conversation. The root of the words were there all the time, you just had to learn to listen for them.

Tor smiled and translated for them.

“He said; Lords, welcome to Two Bends, the pleasure of having you is ours. Can we help you?”

Tom stared at him for a second, his eyes going huge.

“Lil' Storence Baky? Wha'cher fly boutfer? Yer werk'en on fer great lairds now? Baky fer'm?”

Torrence laughed and explained.

“This is the village mayor, Tom, he wants to know why I'm flying about and if I'm working for you as a baker now.” He stepped closer to Tom, trying to figure out how to explain everything quickly in a way the man could understand.

“Na'Tom, n'baky fer'm. Dis'be Laird Duke Morgan, h'wif an gel. Ehm... Goldy gel be high merchie kid an der redyboy's me frien an ower school. Gian'be Count Thomson. Dis'n here t'meet ma's fer to marry me!”

Then he had to explain that he just introduced them all and told the man that they were here to see his mother. Everyone looked amazed as if speaking like this was special. If they wanted special they should realize how hard it was to speak like they did all the time. Enunciating every word carefully and hitting all the hard consonants took practice. Plus you always had to use each word exactly right to be understood.

He managed to break off from Tom, the man obviously wanting to go and get the whole town out to meet the guests, which would be annoying at the moment, and walked the group over to the bakery to protect them from that fate. They resettled the trunks in front of the building, not that anyone would steal anything, he told them, but just so that if anyone came through with a horse or wagon they wouldn't be in the way. No need to make anyone else's day more stressful, right? Seeing the luggage, most of the people in Two Bends would just wait for the obviously important people to move it, without ever asking them to or anything pushy like that.

Tor felt like he should have written ahead or something, even though there hadn't been time for it. He just hoped everyone would be alright with the sudden influx of strange people. His parents were great, but Two Bends got something like three visitors a year most of the time and as far as he knew none of them had ever been royals at all. Or flown in.

Then again Tom hadn't seemed overly shocked by the flying, just a bit like he wondered why Tor was doing it, so possibly the village had at least heard of it. He walked to the un-porched front of the drab, unpainted bakery, the wood looking weathered and poor after the gleaming white walls of the Capital. He'd warned them all, but felt uneasy and embarrassed. Well, if they were going to pull out of the arrangement, this was the time to do it. He could almost bear it right now, if he was told he just wasn't good enough for a fine lady like Trice. After all, that was just the truth. If it had gone on longer, if they'd gotten even closer, then it would probably kill him to lose her.

Tor wanted to kick himself as he thought that, because he knew, for a fact, that it would end sooner or later. He needed to grow up and adapt to the new world he was in and not let himself get too close to Trice. It was enough that she was his good friend, right? It was hard to remember with all the kissing, but that, really, was the important thing. If he could just keep that, it would all be worth it.

He didn't even have his hand on the door when it burst open and three small projectiles hit him hard, taking him all the way to the ground in a heap of tiny bodies.

“S'torence! S'torence!” The little voices squeaked at him as they climbed all over him for a few seconds, then the older two stopped, eyes going wide as they looked at the strangers. His sister Tara, who was only seven, hid behind him and pulled little Taman, the youngest, behind her protectively. His brother Terry looked at the newcomers with a tilt of the head.

“S'whos des?”

Tor explained who everyone was and asked if dad and mom were around. A few seconds later his father, wearing a buff colored heavy apron with more than a little flour on it walked out of the shop, clapping his son on the back heartily. He looked like a baker, but Tor just shrugged. If that wasn't impressive enough for his friends, then they shouldn't have come to a bakery, right?

“Dad,” Tor used his home accent naturally with his father, who wouldn't have understood him if he hadn't, most likely. “These are my friends and, well, this...” He took Trice's hand and smiled. “This is Patricia Alyson Morgan. She's agreed to marry me, if you and mom say it's alright. They're really good people, even if a trifle over tall. These are her parents... Can I, do you think?”

His father laughed and walked towards the Morgans, dwarfed by their great height but not overly intimidated for some reason. He held out his hand to Eric and shook with the man, patting his arm like they were old friends. Natural enough, he'd have done the same if Tor had come home with a girl from one village over and her parents. He also shook with Mercy who smiled at him and said hello.

In his thick dialect he explained that Tor's mother would be out in a few moments, since she had some berry pies to watch in the oven. It wouldn't do to let them burn after all. He offered them all a drink, the local hard cider or water, since they hadn't been expecting any guests and that's what they had chilled in the spring house, well that and some fruit juice for the kids. But you didn't offer juice to adults, he mentioned to Tor with a sideways glance and a small smirk. His da always teased him a little about not drinking and had for years.

Tor went with him to the small shack about a hundred yards from the back of the bakery, away from the house by twice that distance, where a natural spring burbled out of the ground.

“Tor! So... well, I guess we'll get the story of how you managed to rope the poor girl into marrying some Two Bends kid later, what is she? Merchant from the city?”

“No da, she's... actually she's what they call a “Ducherina”. That's the kid of a Duke or Duchess that won't inherit anything really. Her mom's a Baroness, but Trice won't get that title either. It's, really she shouldn't be marrying someone like me, but don't tell, alright? Obviously they know who I am and who we are, but I don't want to scare them off.” Tor grinned.

His dad grunted a little and got the jugs that were being held in the water, metal containers that while plain were tight and didn't leak into the spring at all. Tor took the hard cider, really no stronger than the wine the nobles drank day to day, so it shouldn't bother them too much and walked back towards where everyone waited, his father smiling a little.

“So, do you love the girl? Trees, you said her name was? Funny name, but it fits in here at least.”

“Trice, like Treez, yeah. That's not her full name, like I said earlier, Patricia. But to answer your question, yes. I really do, I mean enough for marrying, we're friends. I kind of have for a while now, but... that she's willing to be seen with me in public was more than I thought I should ask for, you know? That she's willing to actually do this...” He couldn't get himself to tell his dad that it was all make believe. Tor still didn't even know why Trice was willing to go along with him about it.

His dad patted him on the back.

“Well, love can make people do strange things. I got your mother after all...”

His father went inside to get some glasses, not wanting to try and crowd the giants into the tiny store front; they set up at the long outdoor table in the clearing behind the shop. It was just a bunch of split logs nailed with spikes to a sturdy frame. It had been there, with its two long benches made in a similar fashion, since before Tor had been born, he thought. It was big enough for the whole family, as long as they were cuddly about it.