The Builder (The Young Ancients) by P.S. Power Page A

not really understanding what they did at first.
    Feet moved on the black and gray paving stones, a soft shuffle that spoke of people that knew how to fight and came prepared in shoes designed for the purpose. One of the figures was huge, the night was too dark to make out who it was really, only a black silhouette of the man, clearly a male, could be seen, back lit by the much lighter sky above. The person fighting with him was smaller. Faster. Still a lot bigger than Tor.
    No one yelled or screamed, but the smaller figure held something that glinted in the early morning light. Not a knife… Tor didn't think so at least. It was too matte colored and kept being held wrong, pointed at the large figure, sending him staggering back just a tiny bit. The closer Tor moved towards them, the more desperate the movements of the smaller person seemed. They staggered back and forth, barely able to keep to their feet, even though they didn't let the big one close enough to hit them yet.
    Unless they'd taken a few blows already. It didn't take a lot to leave you feeling loopy and seeing stars. He felt that way himself in fact, and he wasn't even within thirty feet of them yet. Tor felt tempted to run the other way. After all, that big guy was... huge. Bigger than Rolph, which was saying something. The smaller one cried out just as he started to turn away. It was a high pitched voice. A woman's voice.
    Worse, it was a woman's voice he'd heard recently.
    Trice.
    Damn.
    That meant that he had to go and probably get killed trying to help her, didn't it? Something like that at least. If nothing else she was Rolph's friend and the buddy of his new business partner, which in a sideways fashion meant he was her friend too, and responsible for her. All he could think as he staggered towards them was that she better have a good reason for being out fighting this late. Especially if she wanted to pick fights with giants.
    Who did that anyway? If you were going to pick a fight it only made sense to go after someone smaller than you were, right? That's why Tor held to a fast policy of only getting in fights with people under ten years old himself, if he could help it. If she was just out having too much to drink and getting in trouble he'd...
    Exactly what he'd do didn't come to him as the large figure threw a single punch that took the girl to the ground, her weapon not being effective anymore for some reason. Sparks jumped in front of Tor's eyes, seeming to fly all around the man in front of him as he closed on the downed woman.
    Taking a deep breath Tor ran towards the giant in front of him and swung the cloth sack he had in his hand. The copper inside gave it enough weight to make a decent weapon, at least until the cloth gave way, Tor figured. The edges of the metal were a little bit sharp and might cut through with repeated use. The first hit landed on the big man's shoulder. He kept moving towards the still form on the ground, so Tor hit him again. And then again.
    After five or six hits, all solid blows, the huge form slowly turned towards him. The first thing Tor noticed was that the feeling of not being in control of his body got a lot stronger when the man focused on him directly.
    The second thing was that it was Count Thomson that stood before him.
    A half second later the Count stopped just standing and looking at him, and attacked.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter three
     
     
    “Run away!” Tor chanted to himself, his feet sluggish, almost as if stuck to the ground beneath him for some reason. “Run away!”
    Not bothering to turn all the way, he just started stumbling off at about a sixty-degree angle like he'd been taught to do if someone much bigger and faster decided to attack. Or smaller and faster. Or if they were something that could easily take him in a fight, like a small dog or a kitten.
    Run away.
    He could hear Kolb the weapons instructor chanting with him in his head. Of course Tor wasn't even halfway fast enough. The Count