Kasper

Legate Midway, BlueMarco on the tablet, or Marco in person, really was slightly blue. He had some elf blood in his ancestry, hence the skin tone, but that was the only trait he inherited. His ears were normal, he was a tad short, and broad in the shoulders. His was the tallest horse in the group of twenty deputies he brought with him.

Taller horse, more important person. That could explain Jane's love of tall horses, like Tristan.

"I like your outfit tonight, Bilius! A great look for a little dark … "

"Please don't say it!" Taylor offered his hand palm up, and Marco did the same. Then they shook, grinning at each other, though nobody could see Taylor's face. Marco appreciated having a strong neighbor, and Taylor liked the bounties he earned, but they had met in person only once before.

"You brought deputies, but no soldiers. Is the army staying out of this?"

"Township trouble, township solution. But these are all former soldiers. My regular irregulars, if you get my meaning. Funny thing, I thought I told you to wait for us."

"You told me to stay here, so I did. Someone," he glared at Colin, "didn't tell me the enemy stole a tablet."

"He didn't ask! And, I was upset! I was worried about Patrick, see? He was nearly dead. He's still so pale! Are you sure that blood drink is working?"

"Anyway, take a look at their leader. I think I recognize him from the wanteds."

Under magic lights, Marco examined the bandit leader's face. "Huh. This one is supposed to be way out in Lampshire. I think his name is Hallam. Good bounty. Though I was half-expecting an Augberg."

"Me too. But they could have hired him. He knew my name, Marco. He said he thought he'd have to wait days to see me."

"It sounds like you were the real target, and the caravan goods were a bonus. If it is the Augbergs behind this, why would they think you'd come out personally? It's just a regular shipment."

"It's not. I have years' worth of tax revenue tied up in this one. New machinery, animals, seed stock, a bunch of other stuff. And I have personal money tied up in it, too. I'm renovating."

Marco seemed amused by something. "Making ourselves at home, are we? An imposing tower, iron fences topped with spear points, skeleton-themed furniture, and maybe a grand organ for the ominous music?"

"I'm going to have a party, and you're going to come, just to see that I purchased none of those things. I'll admit the organ does sound attractive, but I can't play."

"Purchases of big machinery are hard to hide. If Keeva Augberg has been keeping track of Mourne, we can assume she knew what this meant to you. You take a break. I'll send scouts to find the caravan."

Taylor kept his distance after that, not wanting to trigger his curse on anyone. He knew that, in a group, he had nine minutes before he started getting dirty looks, and he'd used most of it talking to Marco. His people were all armed. If any of them felt a sudden surge of hate for him, it could turn deadly.

They found the bandits' horses a hundred yards from the draw, and the convoy of three wagons two miles away. The merchants, drovers, and guards were all locked in an iron cage, crammed together like livestock. That's what Hallam was known for: abducting people, transporting them across provincial borders, and selling them as slaves. They were mostly elves and beastkin and would fetch a good price. Elves because they were beautiful, and beastkin because they lived for a very long time.

Slavery wasn't legal in Estfold. In all the empire, only Gordia and Blaxland practiced slavery, while the other provinces forbade it. Arcs and Beastkin hated slavery at a fundamental level, while Dwarves and Elves feared it because they were more likely to become slaves than to own them. Exactly how Hallam planned to get his captives across multiple provincial borders was anyone's guess.

The few bandits left behind to guard the goods gave up quickly in the face of superior numbers. Taylor let Legate Midway deal with the prisoners. After seeing what they had planned for the merchant and his people, he didn't much care what happened to them. But he cared very much when Marco's people put a tiny wolfkin boy in handcuffs.

That skinny boy, with his clipped claws, pointed ears, and wolfish tail, reminded Taylor of the too-thin Calique children in his first dreadful summer in the Kravikas desert, when several kinds of disasters loomed over everyone. First, Darkmaw ravaged multiple oases, throwing thousands onto the limited hospitality of their desert neighbors. Then came the Kashmari armies to finish the job, and an ocean of blood. They were all thin that year. Young boys got the worst of it. When they had to, Calique would starve them to feed the girls.

"Why are you arresting this one?"

The watchman leading the wolfkin shrugged. "He wasn't in the cage, which means he's with the bandits."

"But they didn't feed him. They didn't consider him part of the team."

"What's this?" asked Marco, staring suspiciously at the wolfkin.

"Your guy is arresting a child."

"He's a bandit, sir. It's for the legate to decide what happens, not him."

"Bilius is also a legate, and we crossed into unincorporated territory a mile back. You can give that one over. In return," Marco fixed Taylor with a stare, "I expect he won't be a problem for Midway, and I'll get a copy of whatever story you pull out of him. If I need his testimony, you will produce him."

"We have a deal."

The boy's name was Kasper, he only spoke Arcaic, and he was ravenous. Taylor fed him in small servings so he didn't eat too fast and waste it all by throwing up.

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Legate-X: Bandits were keeping a slave, a wolfkin boy about six years old. Who can take him?

Curator-J: Probably no one. Wolfkin are peculiar. They need to be with their own kind, but there aren't many around Estfold. It'll take a while to find someone. Doesn't he have family somewhere?

Legate-X: He says they're all dead. Bandits killed them when they stole him. That was months ago, in Lampshire.

Curator-J: Finders keepers. He's yours until we find someplace better. You have the room and staff for it. You even have a fenced-in yard.

Legate-X: Very funny. My house is no place for a child. There are no children for him to play with, and nobody who will love him.

There was a stinger of rebuke in his words, and Jane didn't respond for a long time. Until the day he put on a mask to dull his curse, Taylor had been neglected, including by Jane herself. Since then, he'd turned the d'Mourne mansion into a fine playground for the solitary, cursed son of the family. But any normal child would be lonely there.

Curator-J: There are no wolfkin in Mourne, and no orphanage. If you want to help this child, take him home with you. Feed him and keep him safe. You can oversee his healing properly and get his story. Or do you think he'd be better off with the bandits? Or in a jail, waiting for trial?

Another person, living in his house, near him, all the time. A wolfkin of six. This was emotional, and he couldn't trust his Bilius heart to make those kinds of decisions on its own. Jane was sensible and trustworthy, but this idea made him uncomfortable.

Legate-X: Until we find something better.

Curator-J: I'll get you a copy of What To Know About Your Wolfkin Pup.

Legate-X: I'm going to assume that's not a thing until I have one in hand.

Kasper ate the preserved food because he was hungry, but when Taylor handed over his still-warm dinner, the child's eyes lit up. He ate it slowly, savoring each bite.

"Do you like it?"

Kasper nodded vigorously. "It's so good! Where did you get it?"

"My cook made that. Instead of going to jail, you're coming home with me for a while. We'll try to find a wolfkin family for you to join. Until then, as long as you don't run away, you'll get to eat food like that every day."

"What's that?" He pointed at the braid of hair tied around his scabbard, with small, mana-bearing beads weighting the ends.

"It's from the tail of my first pony. His name was Ted."

"What happened to him?"

"Wyverns flew down and got him. It made me sad, so I kept some hair to remember him by."

"Then what?"

"Then I killed the wyverns. See this scabbard? It's made from one of their bones. This writing is Spellscript. It keeps the blade clean and sharp, and it blocks magical attacks."

"What's that?" He pointed at the bandolier.

"Material for one of my attack spells."

"Why do you wear a mask?"

"Because I have a curse. When people see my face, they hate me. The mask slows it down, so I can talk to people. If you start to hate me or get very mad at me, just stand away, and it'll pass. Understand?"

"Why are you cursed?"

"I just am, ever since I was born. That's enough questions for now. We're getting ready to move."

Thirty minutes into their journey, Kasper disappeared. He wanted to walk instead of ride with Taylor or in a wagon, so he jumped to the ground and promptly vanished.

"See?" said the watchman who tried to arrest Kasper. "He's been around bandits too long. You can't trust 'em, even when you do nice things for 'em."

"He didn't run," insisted Taylor, "he's just exploring. He's right over there, messing with that beehive." He pointed at the wolfkin child, hanging from a branch precariously with one hand, while his other hand held a stick. He was poking it vigorously into a large knot in the tree.

"And you're going to let him get stung?"

"What do you care? You think he belongs in jail! Besides, I can heal a thousand stings, and pain will teach him not to mess with bees."

"Maybe he'd be safer in jail."

"He's better off wherever he's fed well, and nobody can exploit him. Can you promise that at your jail?"

The watchman stopped with his complaints, but the exchange left Taylor feeling defensive about the Kasper situation.

The caravan moved more slowly than the previous night's rush, but it was still faster than a badly stung wolfkin child could keep up with. Taylor turned back to pick him up and found him licking gobs of honey from his fingers. He was stung so many times, his entire body was covered in bumps.

"Is the honey sweeter than the stings are painful?"

The boy looked at his now-empty hands. "It hurts."

"Did you learn anything?"

"Bees are strong."

Taylor laughed. It wasn't quite what he expected, but the kid wasn't wrong. "There's a man at my house who can get honey without getting stung."

"Nuh-uh."

"It's true. His name is Blake, and he's married to Cook. You'll meet him later today."

"He must be strong."

"He's smarter than the bees. That's a kind of strength."

When the caravan reached Midway, all parties concerned went their different ways. The caravan would linger for two days on business, then proceed to Mourne. The bandits went into a wagon bound for jail. Most of the watchmen went to their homes. Taylor and Kasper, freshly healed from bee stings, headed for Mourne.

The weight of two small boys was nothing for tall, magically enhanced Tristan. Taylor used his Riverstone to fully obscure his body in an illusion of water, which suppressed his curse enough to let Kasper ride in front of him. When he felt how fast Tristan could go, the cub stood up in the saddle and shouted joyfully, balancing against the horse's movement. That prompted the proud horse into a gallop.

They were at the mansion in time for breakfast, where Cook watched through watery eyes as Kasper ate pancakes and sausages in a state of bliss.

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