Arguments

~ Mourne ~

The townsfolk had many reasons to avoid the central square. For starters, there was a terrifying monster sitting on her haunches, right in the middle of it, and she greeted anyone who came near with a sun-colored eye and a snap of her hooked beak. She was the same monster who cratered one side of the square that very morning, and caused so much damage to Town Hall that the front rooms were unusable. According to those who witnessed it, and there were many, each with their own embellishments to tell, she had dropped from the sky as suddenly as lightning.

The second reason nobody wanted to be in the square was the seven-foot-tall beastkin. Nobody was sure what type of beastkin he was, but where one of his arms should have been was nothing but bloody tatters of cloth. Not only was he badly maimed, but he was shouting. His remaining hand gesticulated at the third reason to stay away.

Curator Jane was angry. Everyone in the township knew Jane. She had a reputation for being reserved, even downright mirthless with strangers. She was only known to smile in the tavern, after hours, if all her work was done and the people around her were having a good time. She could be terse when things weren't going well, and famously cold when displeased. But nobody, in all the years she had lived in Mourne, had seen her angry.

Anyone who had business on the town square that day found reasons to do it elsewhere.

"You promised! You looked me in the eye and you promised to supervise. Then you try to abduct him? Are you insane?"

"You're not listening!" The beastkin leaned over her to shout in her face. "He's beyond talented! He's wasted here! He needs proper training!"

"He doesn't need you! You race around the world, scooping up all the best talent, and they all die."

"Everybody dies. My students live as heroes!"

"Because they're insane! You teach them to chase power and glory, and they keep doing it until they die! How many promising bloodlines have been lost because you taught them to be reckless?"

"He'll never reach his potential without the Rossingol Court. He needs this!"

"You have no idea what he needs! Back off!" She craned her neck to look Reginar in the face. The more familiar cold displeasure crept into her voice. "You interfered with a legal custodial arrangement. You kidnapped a legate. You and your familiar wrecked civic property. And you did all of that in another province. As of right now, I own you. So. Back. Off."

The few who witnessed the exchange behind barely-open shutters and doors would retell the story for years. Not only did the bloody tower of fur back away, he sat down, on the ground, legs crossed. Perhaps they'd be less impressed if they knew Reginar was a government official in Rossignol, and that inter-province issues were adjudicated by the emperor.

"Better. You will begin with the square. Repair it. Properly. Then, Town Hall. After you fix the structural damage you caused while showing off, you may begin the road work. Our legate normally handles that, but he's currently busy hiding from you. Since you have deprived us of his labor, you will do his work for him. You will submit to a contract to never contact him again, directly or indirectly, or interfere with him until he's an adult. You will pay ten times the usual offering to Chowgani, so the penalties will stick if you break your word again."

"Now come on … Look what he did to my arm!"

"I warned you," spoke the gryphon, "the boy doesn't want to come. He's ready to fight to the death, I said. And you didn't listen."

"Thank you, Silvain, for reminding me you were part of this. I have jobs for you, too. We need extra deliveries in the township, because someone put craters in my plaza and crushed Town Hall. All to impress a child. We were lucky nobody was killed by your recklessness. This time."

The tenuit and gryphon looked at each other, neither of them willing to be the first to give in to the curator.

"It's this, or the emperor," Jane reminded them.

Curator-J: Good news. You have some days off. Stay in Disford until it's time for your trip. Until then, I'm sending Blake and Kasper to keep you company.

Legate-X: I have too many questions. I don't know where to start.

Curator-J: Reginar broke so many laws that he has to do what I say, or else he goes in front of the emperor. Look up the Court of Fifes when you're in Bostkirk, and you'll understand why he's willing to do a week of roadwork.

Legate-X: And you're sending people to watch me because …

Curator-J: Kasper will be lonely without you. Blake will be lonely without Kasper.

Legate-X: I'm sorry for the trouble.

Curator-J: Not going with Reginar was the best choice, even if you had to kill him. Are you still hurt? Do you need anything?

Legate-X: I'm much better. Food and sleep will take care of the rest.

Curator-J: What are you doing right now?

Legate-X: Digging for worms. I need live bait.

~ Curator Meltissa Jane ~

Safely behind closed doors, Meltissa drank tea with hands so unsteady, she had to use both to hold her cup. Reginar could single-handedly kill monsters that whole armies would have trouble with. The emperor kept him and his fellow battle junkies of the so-called Rossingol Court around because they were useful, but he never passed up a chance to put them in their place. It would have been a simple matter to pass this up the chain of command, but that would mean explaining Bilius to the emperor. He was terrifying, but she had to punish the overgrown dust mop, or else he'd try again. Forcing him to work was just an excuse not to go to the emperor.

She was anguished when Bilius sent his first message, telling her what had happened. But the longer it took Reginar to come to Mourne, the more confident she grew. It took him hours to come talk to her, either because he was too embarrassed or because it took that long to stop the bleeding. The missing arm was proof of everything Bilius had told her over the tablet, and a testament to how hard he had to fight.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

That boy deserved a better life, but he would have to make that life for himself. The best she could do for him was provide a little emotional shelter and occasional guidance. For now, Bilius was alive, he was healing, and he wasn't being kidnapped by the Rossignol Court. She couldn't imagine anything worse than Bilius growing up in a place where power and glory were the sum totals of a person. Nor would he come to the attention of the imperial court. She shuddered to think what the emperor might make of him. The world was a lot safer if Bilius had more hobbies and personal relationships, and fewer reasons to shoot people's arms off with magic.

That's what Kasper was for. Bilius' joy in his new little brother was palpable, so Kasper had to be part of his life. And, the wolfkin boy was adorable in his own right, even if he was a little wild.

[Mentee] rejected and defeated a competing mentor.

[Mentee] has gained reputation with [Rossignol Court]

You have gained reputation with [Township Mourne]

You have significant skill-ups pending.

Do you want to skill-up now?

"No," she told her interface for the third time that week, "I do not want to skill up. Who even has the time?"

Four glorious summer days on Fingers Lake. Of all his recent windfalls, financial and otherwise, this was one of his best. The three of them, Taylor, Kasper, and Blake, were up early in the mornings to fish. Kasper dropped his line next to Taylor's, often from a rented boat in deep water, hunting for catfish larger than they were. Whenever one of them got a bite, they had to work together to reel it in. Taylor could haul them up alone, but it would have spoiled Kasper's fun.

Blake stayed near the shores, flicking handmade flies above the water, enticing the local wildlife. It wasn't just fish who took the bait: toads and birds liked them, too. Blake had no use for the few birds he caught. He netted the desperately flapping creatures, removed the hook, and set them free. Toads were another matter: they went into a bucket for later, next to the fish bucket.

Whatever the three of them caught and didn't reserve for Taylor's smoking experiments, they sold to a fishmonger in Disford for pocket change, then promptly spent all their gains at food stalls. Taylor would stake out a spot in the town's park with Riverstone's watery cloak around him, while Blake and Kasper fetched samples from all the nearby vendors. Everyone who lived or worked near Disford's center ate at least one meal a day from the carts, and the variety on offer was excellent for a mid-sized town. Sweet pastries ruled the mornings, soups the afternoons, and noodle stalls in the evenings. The catfish they caught came back to them, battered and fried, served in cheap paper cones with nuggets of fried coarse bread and a stream of sauce. Disford loved its sauces, and there was a legal minimum of six to choose from at every stall. Many had over a dozen.

Afternoons were for exploring the many offshoots of the lake — the fingers — in a small sailboat that Taylor powered with magic wind. They pried into reedy banks and explored forests of trees that grew in murky shallows. The boys wrestled until Kasper couldn't take any more, then napped in sunlit meadows.

In the evenings, they watched bards, storytellers, and puppet shows from a balcony seat in Disford's only theater, for as long as Taylor's Riverstone kept his curse at bay. They slept in their suite at the inn at night, Taylor in one room, and Blake in the other. Kasper slept with Blake.

On the last night, after they were asleep, Taylor peeked at them. Kasper was splayed out belly-up with his arms and legs all over Blake and the bed. Blake had one hand on the cub's shoulder.

Taylor remembered a time when he slept in great piles of people in deep rock caverns to hide from the desert heat, or in earthen huts to ward off bitter winter nights. He could still see their faces and recall their names, some of them long gone. Inez died fighting an ancient guardian, her honor restored. Mika, old when Taylor met him, died of old age. The spike-haired cousins, Mila and Milo, preceded him by only a few years. There were a myriad of students who likely still lived. And Dahabia. Sweet, fierce Dahabia. Was there ever a better woman in all the worlds? It took a parade of children and students to fill the hole she left.

By all the gods in all the worlds, why did he have to remember? He softly closed the door and slid down the wall.

It hurts, said his Bilius heart. Why does it hurt?

Because loving someone makes them part of you. It hurts when you lose them. We love anyway, because that's the way we're meant to live.

He knew what this was. He'd been here before. Like restoring flow to a blood-starved limb, his relationship with Kasper was waking up other things. The family that abandoned him. The servants who let Bilius die. The world that couldn't look at him without hate.

Anger rose to push away the pain, but there was no one near to be angry at. Those responsible were either dead or a thousand miles away. His mother, who died giving birth to him. The midwife, who might know something about the curse, but who fled before anyone could question her. Father and Sister, living at Grisham's Wall. And Brother, who died in the Garem-Da. His servants and Curator Jane deserved some blame, too, but they were trying hard to make amends. It was ultimately Father's fault for leaving Mourne without trying to know his son.

Tears slid down the inside of his mask to drip onto clenched fists. He tried to be quiet, but the sobs pressed past his clenched teeth. He fled to his room, shut the door with care, and buried his sobs in bedding. Tomorrow. It would be better tomorrow. The sun would rise, and he'd feel better.

The next day was a day of parting. There was no time for fishing, only breakfast and packing. Kasper was visibly dragging his feet, as if the chore of packing made his body so heavy he couldn't lift his legs.

"Why won't you come home?"

"I have to go to the capital for a while. I'll be back in a couple of weeks."

"Why?"

"I'm a legate. If the governor calls for me, I have to go."

"Is the governor strong?"

"In the government, she's two steps above me. She has many powerful fighters, a lot of money, and controls all kinds of resources. In that sense, she's much stronger than I am."

"Can you beat her in a fight?"

Taylor laughed. "Yes. But! If we were enemies, she would find other ways to win. A governor's strength is in the people they govern and the productivity of their province."

Kasper wrapped his arms around Taylor and refused to let go until the older boy hugged him back. "I promise I'll be back. You like Blake and Cook, right? They take good care of you."

"I know." The cub sniffed. "But they don't talk Arc. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. Now come on. Don't leave anything behind."

When it came time to climb into the carriage, Taylor had to haul the boy into the air and throw him in. Kasper laughed, jumped out, and made him do it twice more before he was satisfied enough to sit down.

Blake handed him a bit of rolled-up canvas before boarding. "I've never fished the Sunglaze this time of year. Maybe these will help."

Taylor unrolled the canvas to find a row of hand-tied flies, ten of them, with colorful wings and artful shielding that formed striped patterns to hide the barbed hooks. It was some of his best work.

"Young Master, the wife and I … we feel … what I mean to say is … " Blake was never loquacious, but he had never stammered before. He gave up on the things he couldn't say. "You are a good person, Master Bilius, and a good legate. We look forward to your return."

"Thank you, Blake." He rolled up the gift and placed it carefully into his satchel. "I look forward to returning home."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.