Comfortable silence sits between the men as they lead their horses down the now much steeper path. It drops off suddenly and without warning, requiring both to get down and walk the flimsy path until it flattens out once more.

  Outside the capital, the landscape is primarily farmland, with pockets of dense forest and other wildlands interspersed throughout. The area they’d found themselves in was obviously once cleared for croplands, but many of the fields were overgrown. The pockets of forest growing around the fields are lush and vibrant, with life and new growth emerging even in the untended fields.

  Beyond the fields overgrown and encircled by somewhat tended ones sat a small village, though it was kindness to even call it that when it was only a scant handful of buildings. They were all seemingly made of mud, or had become so covered with it by neglect that it was the same color as the ground.

  As they approach the village, Til notices that there doesn’t seem to be any plan to the structures or locations, there’s no obvious sign of what the front or the back of the buildings are, and there doesn’t appear to be any real sign of a road between them, just a footpath to the huts and a path away.

  Noan stops his horse suddenly near the center of the buildings, forcing Til to turn around and see why the other has stopped.

  “Wizard, what are you doing?” Til asks, looking back at the man.

  But Noan isn’t looking at him; he isn’t looking at anything at all.

  His eyes are closed, and he’s just… breathing deeply, the rise and fall of his chest seeming exaggerated except for the fact that til’s is heaving much the same. Til lifts his eyes to focus on the other’s face, noting the slight frown on his face.

  Til opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, to tell the other there’s no time for this, when Noan’s eyes snap open, startling Til.

  Noan’s head turns, apparently locking onto something almost behind them, and he turns his horse with a sharp movement and pulls his horse to follow whatever’s caught his interest.

  “I found one.” Noan calls to him without stopping, “They’re near here.”

  “What? Right now?” It hasn’t even been a day since they left the castle, and they’d already found a child? It seemed far too soon. Til hadn’t really had a chance to think about what it would be like to care for a child out here. Surely it’s a mistake, and they’ll still have more time. Right? “Are you sure?”

  “Very, I know what I’m looking for.” Noan calls again.

  “But this child’s so close to the castle, wouldn’t it be better to leave them? I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Til calls back, trying to stop the Wizard before he gets too far away. He’s not ready for them to find the first one, not this early on. “This close to the capital and the King, to the Kingsguard, I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to try to take them. We should keep onward, look for the children furthest away, they’re sure to be in more danger, and that’ll almost certainly be faster-”

  Til’s self-interested sputtering stops as Noan abruptly stops at a larger squat house with some children running around and shouting outside.

  Dropping his reins, Noan marches into the building before Til can catch up, leaving Til outside debating if he should follow the other in. Did he worry about having the horses stolen, or was that something that wouldn’t happen around here?

  He takes a moment to tie up the horses, not for any other reason than worry about the beasts, not to just push off the inevitable, and follows the Wizard slowly, keeping an eye out for anything that might be… Unusual.

  What does one look for when searching for a magical child? Growing up, Til had been told that those Touched by magic were in no way different on the outside than those who’d been passed over. Of course, for every adult in his childhood who’d been certain that there were no marks, it seemed there was always someone among his peers who spoke of freckles or moles in odd places, hair growing out of direction, something in their eyes that made them different. Something that makes magic take notice of them.

  Inside the cramped front living area that the door opens into, Noan stands talking to a young woman, their heads bowed together and their voices barely more than a murmur.

  Til pauses, looking at them.

  Irritation flashes hot through him, if Noan really stopped them for a roll in the hay under the guise of finding one of the children, Til was going to have more than words for him.

  The two of them disappear deeper into the building in a flurry of cloth, the woman’s thin skirt catching the air more than Noan’s cape does, before Til has a chance to say anything, leaving Til standing awkwardly in the main room with a small huddle of children too close for comfort.

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  He could engage them, but what to say to children so small? He’d never been among those tasked with caring for the children as a youth; his jobs always focused more on defense or gathering supplies.

  So he doesn’t speak. Or even acknowledge them, hoping they’ll stay back.

  Though he does listen to them without turning his head, just in case.

  “You do it.” One of the young voices argues that it’s hard to tell if it’s a boy or a girl.

  “No, you.” Another voice argues back, sounding younger than the first.

  “Do you think it’s real?” A third questions, awe in their voice.

  “Of course it’s real!” Snaps another, sounding closer than the others.

  Til adjusts his stance, turning slightly, not enough for the children to know that he’s listening, but enough to have them in his field of view. His chest tightens as he looks them over, noticing too many things all at once.

  They’re all small, too small, not just small in the way children are often too small, but small in a way that speaks to not enough food. Though their faces are clean, very little of the rest of them is. Each child’s clothes ill-fit them, dwarfing the small frame even more, barely containing the skin and bones beneath, or some mixture thereof.

  He knows without a word from any of them that the woman isn’t their mother, but the closest thing they likely have left. The area to the west has consistently experienced problems with plague, skirmishes, and droughts, often followed by famine. The children might be all that was left of several hamlets in the area. Not that he’d be able to tell from their behaviors.

  The children whisper to each other, punctuating their whispers with quick glances at one another and at him. Fortunately, they don’t seem to notice that he’s looking them over in turn, trying to discern their plan.

  He’s not sure what it is they’re planning, but he knows he’s worried about whatever it might turn out to be. For the time being, he hopes that Noan will reappear long before they act on whatever it is they’re thinking, or that they’ll get bored with his inaction before becoming a problem.

  Unfortunately for him, the children can’t bore of him that easily, and they encroach on him with all too loud attempts at sneaking. Their less-than-subtle steps grow louder the closer they get, halted only momentarily when he looks at them, feigning nonchalance in an attempt to keep him from noticing.

  Fortunately, Noan chooses that moment to return, a bundle in his arms, and Til’s never been quite so glad to see the other man, even with the woman trailing behind him.

  She’s talking quietly; her voice doesn’t carry well enough for Til to hear her, but he assumes Noan could, as he nods his head, a bored look verging on blankness on his face as his eyes start to glaze over.

  Til steps forward, only to feel a slight tug on his cloak. Looking back, he can see that each of the children, all so small and slight, has a hand on it, seemingly enthralled by the dark, heavy, thick fabric.

  Considering for a moment, Til thinks about shaking them off, but they aren’t hurting anyone, and they’re not causing any damage. They’re curious, a common enough thing, and Til himself couldn’t deny that he’d also spent more than a moment simply feeling the cloak when it had first been given to him.

  He needed to speak with Noan anyway; they could do that inside or out.

  But he didn’t have the chance to speak. Noan thrusts the bundle into his arms without checking if Til was ready, much to the horror of the young woman.

  “Here’s the first one. Small, but by the gods, he has a lot of potential! He’s already growing some skills, too. Shouldn’t be hard at all. The care and transport of any of the children, that is. If they’re this small, then it’ll be easy.” Noan’s delighted chuckle cuts through as Til tries to settle the heavier-than-expected bundle into a more comfortable position. “And you were worried they’d be a hassle.”

  Til huffs, but now the bundle is settled, and settling, it feels. He unwraps it, trying to find a face. The first thing that appears is a large ear and a nearly hairless head; then, with a slight turn, a scrunchy, squishy, blotchy, pink face.

  He tries to get the baby a tad more comfortable, but he’s sure that with his armor, he’s missing some of the cues. And as the child nuzzles closer, he’s sure he’s missing two very specific things the little thing’s looking for.

  The woman turns to him, apparently having given up on Noan, looking at him with shining, tear-glazed eyes and her own blotchy cheeks, and begins relaying her instructions once more, her voice quivering, but sure, “He’s still just a tiny thing, I found him a few months ago. He needs to be changed at least three times a day and fed-”

  Til tries to say something, anything, to tell the woman that he won’t be caring for the babe. The woman doesn’t let him get a word in, either, and talks over him with some speed and determination.

  “You’ll need to wash him once a day, or at least as often as you can. The ones this size have a nasty habit of getting themselves and everything around them dirtier than you could believe if they get a chance. Now he’s not too bad himself, he sleeps most of the time, but he gets a nervous tum-”

  Til listens to the woman, hoping and praying that he won’t be left as the only one taking care of the child. His heart pounds as the babe stretches, testing his grip suddenly before settling again, somehow heavier than it had been moments before.

  He looks to the side, trying to see if Noan had been paying attention, but the Wizard’s attention is obviously elsewhere, possibly checking if any of the other children here are Touched. He looks over the ones still enthralled by Til’s cloak, looking for some sign that Til can’t see, then disappears outside, presumably to look over the ones out there.

  Left with no choice but to assume that Noan hadn’t been paying attention at all when the woman was talking earlier, Til adjusts the squirming mass in his arms and tries to commit everything the woman tells him to memory.

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