The cloaked company of men, armed with bows and swords, led him to a small tent on the perimeter of the encampment. “There we are then,” the leader had him sit on a box they were using as a makeshift seat. He set his bow on the table between them and stood, staring at Kel appraisingly. He wore banded leather armor under a dark green cape that hung from wide shoulders. A grizzled beard, neatly trimmed, framed a perfectly symmetrical grimace.

After an awkward stretch of silence, Kel decided maybe he should speak. “So, er, thank you... for saving my life.”

The man crossed his arms.

“I couldn’t make out the banner. Are you Sepherian?”

The man still only stared.

“Okay then.” Kel huffed. He didn’t feel threatened, exactly, but he wasn’t sure what was going to happen or what was expected of him.

After a minute of appraising silence, the man spoke. “Are you a spy?” he demanded.

“What?” It was a suspicious answer, Kel was sure, but that had taken him by surprise. He wasn’t good at being accused of things - the accusation itself always made him feel guilty.

“Or a scout, then? Sent ahead to track our location?”

“No….I...no. I didn’t even know you were here. I was heading in the opposite direction until the wolves found me. At least I think I was.” The Faerie Road stretched northwest, cutting under Fellow’s Glen like a sidelong frown. When he ran, had he run northwest or southeast?

The archer glared. “Wolves don’t make a difference. You still could have been watching us when they came after you.”

“I promise, I had no idea.”

“What’s in this bag?” He glowered.

“Erm. just my things.”

“Thing, hm?.” The soldier dumped the bag over. Kel’s rolled up cloak and an apple tumbled out onto the table. Kel’s stomach growled. “ A little light for someone traveling through the woods at night, eh?”

“The rest must have fallen out while I was running.” Kel really didn’t want him figuring out that the bag was magical.

“Alright then. So what’s your name?”

Just then there was a commotion outside the tent. Armor clanging, the sounds of a salute.

A small, angular face appeared through the door-flap, then the figure stepped inside: a blonde boy in traveler’s clothes. Kel wondered if he was a page or a squire or something. The archer immediately stood at attention, his haughty attitude gone.

Kel took a closer look at the boy. He was around the same age, a hair or two shorter with a thin, slightly upturned nose. Freckles dotted his pale face and his emerald green eyes practically glowed in the lantern light. His platinum blonde hair was long, falling past his shoulders; a strange hue Kel had never seen before. The best way he could describe him was pretty, but judging from his deportment and the sense of authority he carried, this other boy probably wouldn’t appreciate that description.

“Clif, I heard we had an intruder.” Ah, so Clif was the archer’s name.

“That is correct, your grace.” Your grace?

The pale boy looked Kel up and down. “Well then, who are you?”

Kel, despite his recent brush with death, was exhausted and tired of being interrogated. “Who are you? By all gods, I’m tired of answering questions.”

“You dare...” Clif started towards him threateningly.

The boy raised a hand and the archer, or whatever he truly was, backed off once more.

Manic from exhaustion, Kel couldn’t stop himself. “Where I am from, people introduce themselves properly- not at arrowpoint.”

“And where exactly is that?” said the blonde boy, with an air of restraint.

“Erm…” he hesitated. Telling them the truth was risky, but getting caught in a lie would be worse at this point and would confirm their suspicions. “Fellow’s Glen.”

The other boy shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

“Now you have.” Kel kept his gaze steady. Respectful, but steady.

The blonde boy laughed, a high delicate sound. “I like you. You’re not a pushover, but you’re not an absolute prick either. Come with me - I’d like to talk more with you, master….?”

“Kel. My name is Kel.”

“Charmed. I am the Marquess Etherbridge, of Truant.” His smirk was somehow not unfriendly.

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Back in Fellow’s Glen, Caaron reflected on the events of the trial  that day. Maybe he was losing his touch with charm spells - He had wanted the witnesses to be truthful, but not that truthful. It could have gone so much better. He sighed. At least they had an advantage. Just before Johan had left, he had managed to pull one more trick out of his sleeve. That last look had been all he needed to establish a link. I’ll give him what he deserves. Johan had been thinking, directed at Caaron, of course. Very well, but what does that mean? He had shot back as the captain strode out the door. I’ll give him a head start, provision him. I’m assuming you were filling his bag when I arrested him? Johan had barely broken his stride.

Caaron had done his best to maintain a neutral expression. It had been a while since he had done this and it required even more concentration for him than it did for Johan. As a highly decorated officer before his “retirement” to Fellow’s Glen, the captain was clearly well trained in surveillance. And, Caaron now realized, subterfuge. Thank you, he mentally offered before the guardsman walked beyond the range of the spell. It hadn’t offered any tactical advantage, true, but the knowledge that Johan wasn’t riding off to recapture the boy meant worlds to the old man.

No one had been the wiser.

Dusk was falling now and somewhere, far away, a lone wolf howled. Caaron was sitting in the town square, his back propped against that gods-awful fountain. A group of at least ten assorted villagers, including himself and the head of the Council, remained there in the square, waiting. Askel and Nathan leaned on spears at either side of the square, ostensibly guarding against the creature that had suddenly appeared in the Council-House. In their exhaustion, it seemed they had forgotten their fear. Mayor Hardstahd stood facing the gate, waiting with his arms crossed. “What’s taking him so damned long?”

“You mean, finding a fugitive and his teleporting goblin companion who may not even be on this plane of existence anymore? Yes, how inconvenient for you.” Caaron snorted.

The mayor seemed to miss his snark entirely. “Is that what that was? A goblin?”

The wise man sighed, growing impatient. “It’s just a turn of phrase, Gerald.”

Just then, a speck formed at the top of the hill. It sped down the winding path towards the town, becoming larger as it kicked up dust along the way.

“That’d be him, then.” Chaaron said, a knot forming in his stomach. Had Johan caught up to him? Had he delivered the bag and, more importantly, the note?

Johan crossed the bridge and charged through the gate at full pace, stopping abruptly before the dwindling assembly. Caaron felt relief wash over him - Johan no longer carried Kel’s bag, which meant he had been able to deliver it to the boy, as promised.

“No sign of him at any of the roads. He must have crossed over into another province by now. I’m afraid he is now beyond our power to capture.” He dismounted and gave a very stiff bow.

Mayor Hardstahd was much calmer than either of them likely expected. “Winston, did you contact your ‘help,’ as I asked?” He turned to the large man standing beside him who through the proceedings of the day had worn the sun mask of GYMN.

“I did,” said the councilman, his face now visible. He bore the features of someone who had once been very handsome but had spent his youth, and his present, drinking and carousing into ill health. His face was bloated from a daily mix of strong spirits and fine food. “They shall be very happy to have a new job.”

“Yes, well, they’d better be worth the money.”

“Worth every scepter.” Winston grimaced unpleasantly.

Johan interrupted. “Mayor, speak plainly.”

The mayor shrugged. “I mean, captain, that it is beyond your power to pursue the boy, yes. But it is not beyond our power. Winston here has referred me to a company of freelancers he claims to be excellent and expedient.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Sell-swords. You’re sending sell-swords after a child?” Johan was clearly shocked.

“You heard the council, Johan. He’s my property. Not a child - property. And I will have that property delivered back to me.”

Johan and Caaron were both at a loss for words. They knew the mayor was nearly fanatical with his need to control those in his debt but this was a whole new level of madness.

Winston fiddled with his mask, wiping a smudge from it with a fine silk handkerchief. “How else can we mete out justice, wise man? The council has given their decision.”

“And the council was wrong. This is not justice - this is corruption.” The wise man took a decisive step forward.

“One more word, Caaron, and I will have you jailed myself.” The councilman sneered.

Johan put a calming hand on his shoulder and gave him a look that said to let it go.

Emboldened, Winston turned his attention to the guardsman. “Captain Densk, I must also add that your favoritism in this matter troubles me. Part of me wonders if you didn’t simply let the boy go.”

Johan glared at him silently.

“We will find the boy. In the meantime, I implore you to reflect upon your dedication to this town and to this country. Do you really want to remain Captain of the Guard in Fellow’s Glen? If I find out you really did help him escape, I will have you removed and imprisoned.” The bloated man spoke casually, as if he were discussing what the weather might be the next day.

Johan blinked. He seemed to want to say something, then thought better of it.

Satisfied, Winston turned and walked out the city gate toward the bridge, to a carriage waiting to take him to his own home across the river where his estate lay.

“Well then, good night to all,” the mayor said, smugly. With a sweep of his fine silk cloak, he stumbled away limping, his foot still smarting from Derry’s clumsiness earlier that day. Whatever other villagers had remained, eager to see Kel brought back or hoping for a second glimpse at the ‘goblin,’ dispersed grumbling to their own homes.

“Walk with me,” Johan commanded as he began to take his horse to the stables. Despite everything that had been said, he didn’t seem particularly bothered. Caaron nodded and followed the captain as he took a side street back towards the guard house. They took refuge in the darkened shelter, a single lamp their source of light against the gathering shadows. Once he knew they were quite alone, Johan spoke in a low voice. “I suppose whatever advantage I had with neutrality is gone.”

The old man nodded “I suppose it is.”

“So what is the plan now?”

“Whoever Hardstahd hired, they’ll go toward the North first. After all, they believe he is still trying to reach the Academy. And they would be correct, except they don’t understand the process of admission.” There was mischief twinkling in the old man’s eyes.

The captain raised a brow. “Which is?”

“Referral from a former student.” Caaron idly snatched a bit of hay and offered it to the horse. It seemed pleased.

“So he’s not going to the Academy?”

“No, he’s going to find an old friend of mine. Someone who can provide him a formal education in magic, better than my slap-dash methods. By the time he’s done, he will have a foundation of practice that would make either of our heads swim.”

“So it really is all about who you know.”

“Indeed,” the old man grinned as darkness fell around them, “It sometimes is.”

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Kel could barely stop himself from immediately gobbling up the food that was placed in front of him. He was currently sitting in the smallest of the three rooms in the central tent, staring down a rack of ribs and a quarter of chicken that had been basted in butter and rosemary. A chalice (a chalice!) of apple cider had been set beside him on the giant oak table. All the while, the Marquess was directing his servants and chatting at Kel rather than with him. All Kel could focus on was the food.

“I apologize for your rough treatment,” the noble boy began. After the day Kel had been through, his interrogation had been the very least of his problems, even if it had been frustrating.

“S’okay,” he managed between mouthfuls of chicken.

“You’ll have to forgive Clif - he’s a tad aggressive because my father has told him if anything happens to me, he’ll lose his head.” He seemed to ignore the fact that Kel was eating his body-weight in food and continued talking. “I’m always interested in the common folk. Your lives seem so simple in such an...elegant way. What were you doing out there in the woods?” He waited for Kel to swallow, at least, before he asked.

Kel decided the absolute truth would probably be unwise, but an utter lie would be unbelievable. So he compromised. “Running away from home. My father doesn’t want me to be a wizard. And I do, so I’m going to the Academy to study.”

The pretty boy fixed Kel with a look. Those emerald eyes seemed to absorb everything they saw. “Aren’t you a little young to attend the Academy? I’ve heard a bit about it but never considered it myself. Father says we are above magic. To be honest, I think he’s just scared of it.”

“Well, I’m going on an apprenticeship first, until I’m old enough.” He assumed that was what Caaron had intended, at least. Why else was he sending him to a patron of the school?”

“With whom?”

There was no harm in telling him. After all, did a duke’s son really care about the legal squabbles of a lesser known village? “Maximilian Magnus the Third.”

The Marquess blinked a few times. “Oh...I was hoping it was someone I had heard of.”

“Me too, honestly. To tell you the truth, I have no idea where he lives.”

“That is a pickle. And here I thought you knew exactly where you were going. Out late at night, surrounded by wolves.” The noble boy tossed his hair and chuckled.

Kel normally would have been angry, but he realized that the Marquess’s jokes were a way of being friendly and familiar. He allowed himself a chuckle at his own expense. “I was on the right track until the wolves came.”

The marquess leaned in, his freckled face serious. “Do you think your parents miss you?”

“My father? No, he doesn’t.” Never knowing the man didn’t mean this was a lie. Just a half-truth.

“And your mother?”

The look in Kel’s eyes said it all.

“Ah..sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge that up...I have a tendency to be too forward.” The other boy leaned back, clearly remorseful.

“It’s fine,” Kel said. And it really was. He had cried about it enough. Now the loss simply...was.

The marquess sighed. “Not to burden you with this, but I also lost my mother.”

Kel didn’t really know what to say. “It is something you never forget,” he offered.

“Or forgive,” the marquess said. His clear green eyes hardened into something that didn’t quite look like sadness.

Despite not knowing the whole story, a feeling of kinship came over Kel. Something told him their experiences were not so different, despite the strata of class between them. Knowing that this other boy had shared his loss made him feel less alone. They were quiet for a spell.

After the silence turned uncomfortable, Kel took a swig of cider and coughed. “That’s why I’m studying magic. I’m going to bring her back.”

“Necromancy?” The marquess’s eyes widened, intrigued. “That’s a dark path.”

“Oh no, she disappeared. She was one of those who was Taken.”

“Oh.” The noble boy replied, then without missing a beat: “I understand. That actually happened to one of my Aunts. A portal opened right in her bedchamber. And then she was just...gone.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh no, it’s fine - she wasn’t particularly pleasant. Tried to have me sent to boarding school in the North. Still not sure why she disliked me so. Perhaps because I caught her with the stable boy…”

Kel snorted. He realized that for the first time the whole night, he was happy. Here he was, finally beginning his life, a clear plate in front of him and a belly full of meat and cider, talking with genuine royalty. What a day it had been!

Considering they had just bared their most personal tragedies to each other, he now felt comfortable enough to ask more probing questions. “Truant. That’s a duchy in Zephirost, right? What are you doing here in the middle of Sepheria?”

The Marquess grinned and stood up. “Follow me.”

He led Kel to the largest room of the tent,a splendid room lined with fine wooden chairs and a large table in the center. Spread across that table was a huge map. Rolled up, it would have been almost as tall as Kel. “The short answer is: it’s a tour of the world. Or at least this part of it. My father wants me to experience the lands outside our duchy.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? Perhaps to interact with people, learn more about other cultures? To experience the world? Or maybe he just wants me out of the way for a while because he finds me tiresome.”

Kel laughed and then realized that the boy may not have meant it as a joke. If he was offended, though, the young noble didn’t show it.

“For me, this is a great way to update our maps. I’ve always been fascinated, even as a child, by maps.”

Kel couldn’t have been more different: He associated maps with Caaron’s history lessons. As an unfortunate result, they tended to make his eyes glaze over and induce fits of yawning. Which of course is exactly what happened as soon as he set eyes on the thing, despite its impressive size.

“By the way,” the Marquess continued unphased, “could you mark on the map where your town is? Cartographers are either lazy or prejudiced - they never seem to mark villages under a certain population or with no historical value of note. It’s frustrating to me.”

Patiently, Kel found where it should be, tracing a line through swaths of forest with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Right up this road from Ferryton, then east at the crossroad. There.” He pointed.

“Perfect.” The boy marked it with chalk.”I’ll have it inked and copied onto every map in my estate library.

Kel was astounded. Through this chance meeting, he had been able to literally put Fellow’s Glen on the map, even if it was only in the library of some foreign duchy.

Curious, he asked “So where all have you been?”

“In Sepheria? Not far. We just came from Ferryton,” he reflected.

“Whoa, in that case you just missed the Gray Peregrin.”

“Oh?” The boy raised a brow. “Yes, right. The local barrony was broken into, several magical artifacts stolen. Happened just before we got there.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t come after you.”

“If he had known we were coming, he probably would have.” He leaned in. “I’ve heard the silliest things about this thief. For instance, someone told me he can walk through walls.” Despite emphasizing the silliness of the statement, his green eyes shimmered with intrigue.

“Yeah, well I heard he can fly.”

“I heard,” the marquess looked around conspiratorially, “he isn’t even a he. It’s a woman from a strange land across the world. She plays music on her lyre and sings a song that enchants people so that they just give her their treasures. Then, when she’s gone, they snap out of the spell and are so embarrassed, they make up a story about being robbed.”

“That’s outrageous!” Kel laughed. It sounded so far-fetched; the charm-work he had seen Caaron do had merely made people tell the truth or agree with him on something that already kind of made sense. Granted, Caaron was not a beautiful, exotic woman.

“Say,” the marquess stood up suddenly, “Do you have any magic you could show me? You must know something if you’re planning on attending the Academy.”

“Err…” Kell thought about it. Most of the cantrips he knew were practical. Warding himself so he didn’t get cut. A spray of acid to defend himself. He didn’t think the noble boy would appreciate him spraying acid around his tent. “There is one….”

Minutes later, they were both rolling on the ground laughing, an image of the farting ghost floating about the room doing what it did best.

It was strange - Kel thought he had outgrown such things, but the marquess had reminded him that he was still a kid and could still have fun. Just being around the other boy made him more inclined to laugh until he cried. He couldn’t think of anyone he had shared such a feeling with. Except perhaps Peri, his brother. For some reason, even that ghost didn’t stop his laughter, which lasted well into the night until finally, exhausted, they slept.