Scout woke me at dawn by landing on my face.
I jerked awake, flailing. The raven hopped to the bedpost, clicking his beak in what I'd learned to recognize as amusement.
"That was unnecessary," I muttered.
Through our bond, I felt his response: Urgent. Found. Come see.
I sat up. Scout's vocabulary was limited—ravens thought in images and impressions, not words—but "urgent" was clear enough.
"What did you find?"
He showed me.
The images came in fragments, the way Scout experienced the world: aerial views of the Thornwood, the canopy spreading below like a dark green sea. Then diving lower, threading between trees, following a game trail until—
There.
A caravan. Three wagons, maybe a dozen guards, stuck on the old Silver Road. One wagon had lost a wheel. Men with weapons stood in a defensive circle while others tried to make repairs.
And circling in the shadows: wolves.
Not the alpha's pack. Different wolves, smaller, but still dangerous. Waiting for the right moment to attack.
Scout showed me the location—about eight miles north, near the border of the territory I'd been mapping.
"When did you see this?" I asked.
Just before dawn. Still there.
I was out of bed and dressing before I'd fully thought it through.
Hans intercepted me in the courtyard as I was saddling Copper.
"My lord? It's barely past sunrise. Where are you going?"
"North road. Scout found a caravan in trouble."
"And you're planning to... what, exactly?"
Good question. What was I planning?
I had two bonded creatures—a raven and a fox. I had rudimentary skill with Tame. I had no combat training worth mentioning. Riding into a wolf attack was objectively insane.
But.
That caravan represented merchants. Merchants who would pay for information. Merchants who might pay even more for someone who could guarantee safe passage through the Thornwood.
This was an opportunity.
"I'm planning to help them," I said. "And then I'm planning to make them remember who helped them."
Hans's expression suggested he thought I'd lost my mind. "My lord, you can't fight wolves. You don't know how—"
"I'm not going to fight them. I'm going to move them."
"Move them."
"Wolves are territorial predators. They're attacking because the caravan is in their territory, presenting an opportunity. If I can convince them there's easier prey elsewhere, or that the risk isn't worth it..." I tightened Copper's girth. "It's worth trying."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then I'll run away very quickly."
I mounted before Hans could talk sense into me.
Soot appeared from wherever she'd been sleeping—probably the kitchen, raiding supplies—and yipped. Through our bond, I felt her interest: Hunting? Adventure? Clever-hands doing interesting thing?
"You want to come?"
The fox's response was to bound ahead toward the road.
I looked at Hans. "If I'm not back by noon, send Sir Jarred to collect my corpse."
"That's not reassuring, my lord."
"Wasn't meant to be."
I found the caravan exactly where Scout had shown me.
Three wagons, northern merchant make, bearing the stamp of the Coldwater Trading Company. The guards—twelve of them, professional but nervous—had formed a perimeter. The merchants huddled inside while two men worked frantically on the broken wheel.
And in the trees, shadows moved.
I felt the wolves before I saw them. Their presence pressed against my Tame sense like heat from a fire. Six, maybe seven. Hungry. Patient.
Not as powerful as the alpha's pack. But still dangerous.
The guard captain—a grizzled woman with a crossbow—spotted me and raised her weapon. "Stay back! This road's not safe!"
"I know," I called. "That's why I'm here."
I dismounted slowly, hands visible. Soot stayed close, a small orange shadow at my feet. Scout circled overhead.
The captain lowered her crossbow slightly but didn't relax. "You're the young von Klause lord. What are you doing out here alone?"
"Offering help. How long have the wolves been circling?"
"Since we broke the wheel an hour ago. They're waiting for us to panic or run." She spat. "We won't give them the satisfaction. But we can't get the wheel fixed with them lurking."
I opened myself to Tame, reaching out carefully toward the wolf pack.
Their minds were simpler than the alpha's—less intelligent, more instinct-driven. Hunger, territory, pack, hunt. They'd identified the caravan as wounded prey and were waiting for the best moment to strike.
I couldn't bond with them. Not from this distance, not without preparation.
But I could communicate.
I showed them what I wanted them to see: the caravan as dangerous, unprofitable. Armed guards, weapons, high risk. And then I showed them alternatives—deer to the east, easier prey, less risk.
It was like pushing against a wall of instinct. The wolves had already committed to this hunt mentally. Changing their minds meant overcoming that momentum.
Not worth it, I projected. Easier prey elsewhere. Go. Hunt there. Live.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then, slowly, the shadows in the trees withdrew.
The wolves weren't fleeing. Just... reconsidering. Weighing options.
I pushed harder, showing them the image of successful hunts elsewhere, full bellies without risk.
The presence faded.
The wolves left.
I sagged against Copper, suddenly exhausted. The guard captain was staring at me.
"What did you just do?"
"Convinced them you weren't worth the trouble." I straightened. "You have maybe thirty minutes before they reconsider. I suggest you fix that wheel and move."
The captain barked orders. Her men scrambled to work, moving with new urgency.
The lead merchant—a portly man with the calculating eyes of someone who counted copper in his sleep—approached. "Lord von Klause. That was... impressive. How did you know the wolves would leave?"
"I didn't. But wolves are practical. When easier prey is available, they take it. I just... reminded them of that."
The merchant studied me. "You have the Tame skill."
Not a question. I nodded.
"I thought that was a peasant's ability. Useless for anything serious."
"Most people think that. Most people are wrong." I gestured to Scout, circling overhead. "That raven is how I found you. He scouts the Thornwood daily, maps pack territories, identifies threats. I knew where you were, what was threatening you, and how to address it because I have information no one else does."
I could see the wheels turning behind the merchant's eyes.
"Information," he repeated slowly. "About the Thornwood. The pack territories, safe routes, threat locations."
"Updated daily."
"And you're offering to sell this information?"
"I'm offering to guarantee safe passage. For a fee." I pulled out the rough map I'd been building from Scout's reconnaissance. "Three main wolf packs in the northern Thornwood. Two wyvern nesting sites. The Thornwood clan's main camp. I can tell you where they are, where they move, when they hunt. I can provide advance warning and, if necessary, intervene like I did today."
The merchant took the map, studying it. "This is accurate?"
"I stake my reputation on it."
"You're a minor baron with a failing estate. No offense, but your reputation isn't worth much."
"Then I stake my life on it. You hire me as a guide, I guarantee you safe passage through the Thornwood. If I fail, you don't pay."
"And if you succeed?"
"Fifty silver marks per caravan. Plus bonuses for advance intelligence on specific threats."
The merchant's eyebrows rose. "That's expensive."
"The Royal Highway adds two weeks and three hundred marks in fees to any northern route. The Silver Road cuts through the Thornwood and saves you both time and money—if you can travel it safely. Fifty marks is a bargain."
He was quiet, calculating. Then: "I'll need to consult with my partners. But Lord von Klause, if you can truly guarantee safe passage... there are a dozen merchant houses who would pay handsomely for that service."
He handed me a business card—fine paper, embossed lettering. Marcus Wendell, Senior Factor, Coldwater Trading Company.
"Contact me in three days," Wendell said. "If my partners agree, we'll discuss terms."
Behind him, his men finished securing the wheel. The caravan was ready to move.
"Thank you for your assistance today," Wendell said. "Regardless of future business, you may have saved lives."
After they left, I stood alone on the road with Soot and Scout, holding a business card and the first real hope I'd felt in weeks.
Fifty marks per caravan.
If I could secure even one contract per week, that was two hundred marks a month.
It wasn't enough to pay off my debt.
But it was enough to start.
I rode back to the manor and went straight to my study.
Hans was waiting, looking simultaneously relieved and exasperated.
"You're alive."
"Surprising, I know." I handed him Wendell's card. "Contact him in three days. We're negotiating a contract for caravan protection through the Thornwood."
Hans read the card. "My lord, you can't guarantee safe passage. You have a raven and a fox. What if you encounter something you can't handle?"
"Then I don't take the contract. That's why I need Scout to continue mapping. I need to know exactly what threats exist, where they are, and what I can realistically manage." I pulled out my ledger. "What's our current position?"
"463 marks, my lord. Though the blacksmith is requesting payment—"
"Pay him. We need the horses functional. How much will that leave us?"
"446 marks."
"And the grain harvest projection?"
"Still approximately 300 marks, though that won't come in for another month."
I did the math. If I could secure one caravan contract at fifty marks, and do it weekly... that was two hundred marks monthly. Over two months before the tax assessor arrived: four hundred marks.
746 total against a 4,200 mark debt.
Still not enough.
Not even close.
But it was something.
"My lord," Hans said carefully, "even if you secure multiple contracts, we're still drastically short of what we need for the tax assessment."
"I know."
"And if something goes wrong—if you fail to protect a caravan, or if the merchants refuse to pay—"
"I know, Hans." I set down my pen. "But what's the alternative? Sell the timber rights to Voss for 800 marks and still be short by 2,600? Beg the Duke for a loan I can't repay? Give up?"
He was quiet.
"This is a start," I said. "It's not the whole solution, but it's a start. And right now, I'll take any start I can get."
Soot tested me that afternoon.
I was in the garden, practicing maintaining multiple bonds simultaneously—Scout in the air, Soot nearby, trying to keep both connections stable while sensing for other presences.
The fox had been cooperative all morning. Right up until she stole a chicken.
Not one of Marta's chickens. One of mine. From the manor's coop.
I felt it through our bond—her mischievous glee, the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of catching prey.
By the time I reached the coop, she'd killed it.
Sir Jarred was already there, sword drawn, standing between Soot and the henhouse.
"My lord, that fox just killed one of our layers."
"I know. I felt it." I looked at Soot. She sat with the dead chicken between her paws, looking inordinately pleased with herself.
Through our bond: Soot hunts. Soot is fox. Clever-hands understands, yes?
This was the test Marta had warned about. Soot was pushing boundaries, seeing how I'd react when she did something fox-like but inconvenient.
I had three options:
One: Punish her. Assert dominance, make it clear this behavior was unacceptable.
Two: Ignore it. Let her do as she pleased, maintain the bond at the cost of control.
Three: Understand.
I knelt beside her.
"You're a fox," I said quietly. "Hunting is what you do. I get that."
Yes! Clever-hands understands! Soot is good hunter!
"But that chicken belonged to the manor. It fed people. When you hunt what belongs to me, you're making my job harder."
I showed her through the bond: the chicken as part of a larger system. Food for the household, eggs for trade, value beyond just prey.
Soot did not know. Looked like prey. Smelled like prey.
"I know. But now you do know. So here's the deal: you want to hunt, you hunt in the forest. Deer, rabbits, wild birds—anything out there is fair game. But the manor animals are off-limits. They're pack. Understand?"
Soot considered this.
Then: If Soot brings clever-hands forest prey, clever-hands pleased?
"Very pleased."
Deal. Soot hunts forest. Manor animals are pack.
She dropped the dead chicken and trotted off toward the woods, tail high.
Sir Jarred stared at me. "My lord, did you just... negotiate with a fox?"
"Yes."
"And it... agreed?"
"Also yes."
"That's..." He struggled for words. "That's not normal."
"No, it's not." I picked up the dead chicken. "But nothing about this situation is normal. Make sure this gets to the kitchen. No sense wasting it."
As Jarred walked away, I felt Soot's presence in the back of my mind—amused, satisfied, and yes, a little bit impressed.
Clever-hands understands foxes. Good. Soot stays.
The bond solidified. No longer conditional.
Partnership.
That evening, I received three letters.
The first was from Merchant Voss:
Lord von Klause,
I hear you've been making unusual alliances. Ravens, foxes, and now merchant caravans. How enterprising.
However, I feel compelled to remind you that creative ventures, while admirable, rarely generate sufficient revenue to address substantial debt. Should you wish to discuss more conventional solutions, my door remains open.
Your patient creditor,
Aldric Voss
The subtext was clear: I'm watching. Don't get cute.
The second letter was from Lady Clarissa's family:
Lord von Klause,
We appreciate your recent communication regarding revenue development. However, given the approaching tax assessment, we believe it prudent to postpone wedding arrangements until after the estate's financial position is... clarified.
We remain committed to the engagement, naturally. Merely suggesting a practical delay.
Translation: We're hedging our bets. Prove you'll survive before we commit resources.
The third letter was from Elena:
Brother,
Word reached me that you rode alone into the Thornwood this morning and faced down a wolf pack to save a merchant caravan. Are you trying to get yourself killed?
If you die before securing the estate, I'm trapped. So please, for both our sakes, stop doing suicidally brave things.
Also, Lord Brennan heard about it. He was impressed. Apparently, reckless courage is attractive to some people.
Try not to waste it by actually dying.
- E
Despite everything, I smiled.
I wrote three replies:
To Voss: Thank you for your continued patience. I assure you my ventures, while unconventional, are producing tangible results. I look forward to demonstrating this in our next meeting.
To the Rothswalds: Perfectly understandable. I appreciate your flexibility and look forward to sharing positive news following the assessment.
To Elena: I promise to only do moderately suicidal things from now on. Also, you're welcome for the Brennan points.
I was sealing the letters when Marta appeared in my study doorway.
I jumped. "How did you get in here?"
"I walked. Your guards are sleeping." She looked around, taking in the maps, the ledgers, the organized chaos. "You've been busy."
"You heard about the caravan?"
"The whole village heard. You're either very brave or very stupid."
"Can't it be both?"
She snorted. "Soot says you understood her. About the hunting."
"You can talk to Soot?"
"I can sense the bonds, boy. Comes with practice." She walked to where Scout was perched, studying the raven. "You're building something. An actual working system. Most tamers never get this far."
"Most tamers have more than nine weeks to work with."
"True." She turned to face me. "Which is why I'm here. You're going to try bonding with the alpha soon, aren't you?"
I didn't see any point in lying. "Yes."
"You're not ready."
"I know."
"You'll probably fail."
"I know that too."
"And if you fail with a dire wolf alpha, you'll probably die."
"Also aware of that."
Marta sighed. "You're definitely stupid." She pulled out a small leather pouch, tossed it to me. "But you're my kind of stupid."
Inside the pouch were three things: a silver ring larger than the ones I'd used for Scout and Soot, a bundle of dried herbs, and a small vial of dark liquid.
"What is this?"
"The ring is for the bond, if you survive. The herbs are for burning—helps calm aggressive beasts, makes them more receptive. And the liquid is bloodwort extract. You drink half an hour before attempting the bond. It sharpens your Tame sense, makes the connection clearer."
"And the side effects?"
"Makes you nauseous, gives you the shakes, and if you use it too often you'll go blind. But for one important bonding? Worth the risk."
I looked at the items. "Why are you helping me? Really?"
Marta was quiet for a moment. "Because seventy years ago, there were Tamer orders in every major city. We kept the peace between wild and civilized. We were valued. Then the Purge came, and suddenly we were dangerous, subversive, too close to the beasts we bonded with."
"What happened?"
"They killed most of us. Scattered the rest. I was a child when my master was executed for 'consorting with monsters.' I've spent my whole life hiding what I can do, pretending to be a harmless hedge witch." She met my eyes. "You're not hiding. You're building something in the open, showing people that Tame has value. If you succeed... maybe things change. Maybe we stop hiding."
"And if I fail?"
"Then I'm a foolish old woman who wasted good herbs on a stupid boy." She headed for the door. "Don't die, Dietrich. I'm not invested in you yet, but I'm getting there."
After she left, I sat with the pouch in my hands.
The alpha was still circling. Still watching. Still waiting.
And soon, I'd have to face it.
Not because I was ready.
Because I was out of time.
I opened Dietrich's journal.
Day Twenty-Three of Project Taming Ruin:
First practical success: Saved merchant caravan, secured potential contract worth 50 marks per job. Not enough to solve everything, but a start.
Scout proving invaluable for reconnaissance. Soot tested boundaries (killed a chicken) but we negotiated terms. Bond now solid.
Economic status: 446 marks liquid, 300 marks projected from harvest (1-2 months out), potential 200 marks monthly from caravan contracts if I can deliver.
Total projected: ~1,146 marks against 4,200 debt. Still short by 3,054 marks.
9 weeks until tax assessor (technically 8.5 now).
The math still doesn't work. But it's getting closer to working. That's something.
Marta gave me tools for bonding with the alpha. Bloodwort extract, calming herbs, a proper ring. She believes in this. In me. That's... unexpected.
Also learned about the Purge - Tamers were executed for "consorting with monsters." Marta lost her master. This skill isn't just unfashionable - it's historically dangerous. People killed for using it.
That explains the prejudice. Doesn't excuse it, but explains it.
The alpha pack visited again tonight. Six wolves now. They're escalating. Testing. Soon they'll push hard enough that I have to respond.
When that happens, I either bond with the alpha or die trying.
Voss is watching. Rothswalds are hedging. Elena needs me to succeed.
Everything hinges on the next few weeks.
Note: When did I start thinking of Scout and Soot as partners instead of tools? Somewhere between "useful asset" and "negotiating with a fox about chicken murder." Character development, I guess.
Another note: Merchant Wendell's offer could be the first real revenue stream. Need to expand Scout's reconnaissance, map more of Thornwood, identify all major threats. Information = value.
If I can become the only person who can guarantee safe Thornwood passage, I become indispensable. That's the goal. Not strongest. Indispensable.
I closed the journal and looked out the window.
The Thornwood was dark against the stars. And somewhere in that darkness, yellow eyes watched.
Soon.
Very soon.
Scout clicked his beak softly.
Soot yawned from her spot by the fire.
And I began planning for the most dangerous bonding attempt of my life.