Journey of the Acolyte

By Mark Leon Collins

Vesperos knew in time he would be in for a tough life, but he didn't know how or why. Had he taken his destiny more seriously he might have been better prepared for the road. He was cast upon a quest, the manner of which took him totally by surprise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Leon Collins
• Release date: Jan 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215385470

Mark Leon Collins

Mark conceived the idea of Escavian Chronicles some years ago as he prefers connected stories rather than sequels. He is currently preparing another two novels in this series with ideas for at least as many more. Apart from writing Fantasy books, his hobbies include board games and table top war games as well as reading ghost stories and folklore. He has had numerous short stories published over the years, but is a novelist at heart.He lives on a Surrey border that has plenty of heath to roam whilst dreaming up scenes and themes. He is married to his best friend.

Book preview

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Part One

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By Candlelight

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How many miles to Babylon?

Three score miles and ten.

Can I get there by candlelight?

Yes and back again.

If your heels are nimble and light,

You may get there by candlelight.

(Trad.)

I have no interest in gods, at least, not until one bothers to reveal himself to me. - King Tell (Riven Calyx)

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PROLOGUE

Against the light, late evening breeze, dangling proudly upon an intricate gold chain, a moonstone sparkled before Vesperos’s green eyes, and he gasped in wonder.

Men have died for gems such as this, you know, young lad, said the aged man, his bony wrist crooked as he hung the jewel slightly above Vesperos’s eyes. His beard was silvery, hiding many years of mixed experiences. His eyes too were grey-silver, shining, twinkling in the moonlight.

Vesperos thought the dark blue robes must be as old as his friend. What do you mean, Astocath? he asked.

"Men fought and died getting gems such as this one for me," the man repeated.

Tell me! The youth hoped for another exciting tale of adventure, of a kind he would never tire of hearing, and he put his hand instinctively around the hilt of his dirk, anticipating the time he might one day have to use it in adventure.

"Would you not rather know about the man who lived to tell the tale? Smiling kindly, Astocath looked down upon Vesperos’s disappointed face. Look down your hill, lad. He turned the youth around by the shoulder. There, lad. He pointed a long bony finger before him. See the city?"

He could not miss it: numerous lanterns and the torchlight of inns and taverns in the darkness of this young night clearly defined Yandor.

In amongst that sprawl that has swelled beyond her proud walls are poor folk. They work and toil with no choice but to slave. They call for heavy drink to ease their yokes of burden, and to their cries come the Judezzeks: men and women such as you who give their lives to help and bring them relief, so needful—and whilst the Judezzeks denounce the extortionists, the priesthoods who manipulate the credulous and superstitious alike, is it any wonder their lives are no easier? Hated by the wealthy and nobility, and especially by the priesthoods, Judezzeks are the examples of their living faith and charity. Are their righteous lives not more exciting than adventurous killers, young lad?

Vesperos blinked away the tiredness in his eyes. Yes, I suppose. But I too am a Judezzek and am not sure I could do all that ... There did seem to be something of an attraction to saving folk from the clutches of the unscrupulous, especially at the risk of personal jeopardy. A Judezzek had been sogged for the pyre and stake earlier this year, and the prospect of that for oneself was not quite so palatable. There was an excitement to it, he supposed, especially in the name of a genuine reason, yet to fight with a sword was more immediate, more visible. The truth came to him that to live for the sword, one would die for the sword—but to live for love, it would be a wondrous matter indeed to die for love.

Currently, he was glad he lived with his parents in comparative comfort and safety upon their farm. They had servants and farm hands, all of whom were well treated and were permitted to do much as they chose for themselves, unlike other employers who would assume some sort of control over their servants.

Look, Astocath said as he swung Vesperos around, bringing him face to face once more. He said some strange words. The gem shone brightly while sparkling lights flew from it and disappeared in the air. Vesperos laughed with pleasure, not only for the release from such deep subjects, but also because some of the sparks touched his cheeks without burning him—yet they were real, physical; he felt them tickle his face.

Astocath! How can it be?

The elderly mage shook his head with a smile. Take it, lad, and say these five words …

Vesperos gladly complied and repeated the monosyllables carefully. The gem glistened and sparkled more than it had before, illuminating the mage’s face as by a lantern rather than candlelight.

My, it’s magic! He put his hands up to his face.

Astocath pulled Vesperos’s hands away and told him to squint his eyes. Astocath spoke one other word. The moonstone seemed almost to explode, creating a blinding light, at which the youth gasped loudly.

"I made it for you. You have no talent for magic, as if you need reminding. You are either born with it or not as the case may be, but you can always use items of magic if you are told how."

"I’m so sad I have no talent. Sometimes I get so angry about it—like it’s my fault, you know?"

Come, Vesperos, me boy, it’s time to pull up the mandrakes! He turned and began to walk away, whilst an excited Vesperos stalled to place the chain around his neck and tuck it beneath his grey tunic.

The night darkened further as clouds heaved across the starry sky and hid the full moon. The breeze picked up over the hill, and Vesperos hurried after the wizard before he lost sight of him, although he knew exactly where the mandrakes grew. Catching up with Astocath, the wizard said,

Ah! Talents of a sort you have, lad. Gifts you will discover in yourself, and you will be sure to make use of them. No point in crying for the moon. Astocath snorted. Vesperos wondered if the mage was developing a cold.

I am so glad I had to come out that day and find the sheep—and finding you as well. But then I thought you were never coming again! You’ll always come here, won’t you? Even if the ‘drakes don’t grow? Vesperos sounded desperate for an affirmative.

Astocath chuckled. "I’ve been coming here for most years’ equinox the past few decades! If you had the gifting for magic, I’d have happily taken you away those four years ago, dear boy! He looked down at Vesperos. And I know you think of me as a wise man, but consider what I said just now. I will not spend my life using magic to help the needy. I cannot sacrifice myself to do so. And neither would my position in the Circle of Medeas permit me. We are forbidden such pursuits. Even so, if I were to use my magic to make the crippled walk, I would never be left alone. In addition, my magic would consume me to a husk. So greater than me, for all power I have, is he who can share his life. One as yourself, for instance."

But my father will not even let me be squire to Sir Gathrick, and he a Baron at that would really be able to make something of me! Vesperos saw the possibility of his future years unfurl in his mind’s eye, as I knight the people he would have met and befriended, the places he would see: the hills, the forests, the ocean and the great cities upon her shores.

But to share his life with the lives of others, he believed he could do gladly with proper motivation. I am to inherit the family demesne, learn and work to farm instead. Not that the labour is too much for me, but our ownership is so insecure! And not helped by refusing me to Sir Gathrick’s service.

Astocath sighed. Your Father’s decision is not all that unwise. My sort are as self-seeking as the rest of the world. The quest for wisdom leaves us as fools. Yet you can feed the kingdom.

There was a Judezzek, and she healed some people by prayer earlier this year. Vesperos sighed deeply. She was captured, sogged in the river and burned as a witch. It seems no one much cares for others, and those who do care suffer for it. Yet I would not mind suffering if something would show me the way to make the most of my life!

The priests hate us more than your people—when they bother to make a distinction. They like to keep the status quo. They have so much power, the High-Priests have as much sway as princes—and face to face with a prince, often more so.

I believe in Sharlom, the Judezzeks’ God, said Vesperos sincerely and confidentially. And I know he changes the world face from arse.

I know that too. They consider themselves to be a nation, one without land.

I know! Vesperos smiled, but then his face turned serious. He paused, wondering why Astocath felt the need to tell him this. They had not really discussed this much in the way of their beliefs much in the short times they had shared together. "But He’s spoken to me," he cautiously dared to say.

What did our God, Sharlom, say to you, Vesperos, lad? The question was tentative.

Things I can’t repeat. There followed a still silence, and Vesperos was glad they were close to the marsh now at the bottom of the hill. To cross the marsh was difficult, but if they did so and climbed another hill, that would bring them to the ocean. He could feel the early winter wind, and he tightened his cape for warmth.

Why not? Astocath asked after a while.

Because I can’t. I can’t say what he said. It wouldn’t sound right.

Very well. He’s never spoken to me, young lad. Astocath’s tone was a humble confession and gave no indication that he disbelieved the boy.

And yet you still believe in Him. Same thing for my parents. I haven’t told them anything of it, though. Vesperos felt his feet begin to slip and sink into the ground. He and Astocath had come upon the marsh, and soon they would be splashing in stale water.

Come home with me, after?

The mage nodded. I ought to, I suppose. Here we are, he added quickly, leaving Vesperos to assume his friend preferred to feign distraction.

Then the mage uttered words over them both. Vesperos’s nerves tingled throughout his body, a sensation he knew was the result of a spell to protect their mind and muscles, their very marrow, from the mandrakes’ curse that could invoke terminal madness. He knew these plants were creatures of a sort, their whispers spiritual and used as oracles by some for the information the plants gleaned from the wind. Their conversations were enchantment against local communities of people, fuelling gossip and envy by colouring the dreams of folk as they slept. The gathering of these was Astocath’s chore at the full moon of most equinoxes.

Once they had pulled a half-dozen of the mystical roots, their indignant screams wretched, the pair walked towards the youth’s home, and the mage said casually, The talisman will protect you with good fortune. Not to say it will bring you any great wealth or good dice should you gamble coin, but it will keep you in fair fortune in general.

Thank you, Astocath. Thank you very much. Vesperos wished deep in his heart that this strange old man was his uncle, his guardian, one who could and would at least visit more often and share the coming winter evenings with his family, telling wonderful stories around the fireplace. But let’s walk slowly ... to stay out a bit longer? he urged fervently with the enthusiasm of youth.

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CHAPTER ONE

Mid-morning saw him at the city market on a search for the auctioneer to list Rolly. A tap on the shoulder distracted him, and Vesperos turned around, deliberately showing his annoyance at the imposition.

Sorry, son. Good morning, greeted a wiry man with a smile. He was wrapped in a thick black cape. Look. It’s cold, and I don’t want to be here longer than need be. He paused as if to discern the youth’s tolerance.

Yes? asked Vesperos impatiently. He didn’t feel particularly cold.

You selling this cow? The man’s narrow eyes seemed to glitter.

Well, I’m looking for the auctioneer. Where are you from?

Over a day’s walk. I’s told Yandor had a good market, so I come to see. He smiled revealing his teeth which were beginning to decay.

And?

Not much different to one back home.

So you’re looking to buy Rolly here?

Rolly! The man laughed. You be no farmer, is you, eh?

Affronted, Vesperos looked him up and down; the man was not very well dressed at all. "I certainly is."

Realising he had offended the lad, the man straightened his posture and withdrew his hand from Rolly’s flank. Well, son. A good milking cow, eh? What sort of figure be ye looking for? Or ye determined for auction?

What’s the need for her? Milk?

Me brother’s wedding gift.

Vesperos pursed his lips. Rolly was low on milk for a farmer, but she should easily suit a young and small family. Four shillings? The first sum that came to mind.

Possible. With an auction and a desperate enough fellow. Three?

And a half. Vesperos held his voice steady, hoping for a better deal than he deserved. Then we can both go off to happy folks. As men pushed past them, he hoped they would not be overheard.

The man looked Rolly in the eyes, and a dribble of saliva crept from her mouth. She likes you. Vesperos smiled nervously. He hoped this fellow would hurry.

So what you say, Rolly? The man grinned at her, opened her wet mouth and peered at the teeth. More saliva frothed at the mouth. Very well, young man. I dare say that she be older than you is a fair bet.

How much says your bet?

Half silver.

Younger. Vesperos smarted. This man knew little enough. Rolly was eight at most. I’m twice her age—good as, anyway.

Three shillings and sixpence it is. Here. The man gave over four shillings. You got a tanner for change?

No, said Vesperos flatly, now disappointed the man would likely have her for three shillings after all.

The stranger turned around to a passing farmer. Got change of a whole silver?

The man shook his head, and with a nod of acknowledgement to Vesperos, he moved quickly on.

Pah! exclaimed the buyer. So how about three?

Four, unless you got a crown. In Vesperos’s mind, he could accept three.

You ain’t gettin’ five shillings off me, lad. Not from me.

Four then?

Don’t like me much, do ye, lad?

I wouldn’t if you left me a pauper.

The man laughed, and Vesperos could not help but smile. He handed the man the rope and put the four shillings in his purse.

Good day to you. And may the wedlock be a happy one. This fellow, he told himself, would have been discontent not spending out. Father said he could keep whatever he got for more than two shillings, so she couldn’t be a bad deal especially as he won the bet for half a shilling.

A grand name. ‘Til the next time. The man raised his hand and led Rolly away from the market.

Vesperos nodded at the man’s back. His heart was racing, and his mind was in turmoil, debating whether or not he had robbed the man. He strode off to find some ribbons, and perhaps buttons; expensive ... but worth it ... for Leiel the fancy of his heart. Fighting his way through the crowds of people and animals, he felt the moonstone against his skin and blessed the name of Astocath, confident he would not be pick-pocketed with his dirk at his side.

If he failed to court Leiel, he would give Father all he had if Father felt Rolly worth the sum.

Seeing a tavern, he stopped in for an ale and decided Father would insist upon two shillings anyway, since he was a man of his word and clearly encouraged his heir-apparent. The tavern was busy with many groups of people. Serving mostly dinners as well as drinks, bustling wenches manoeuvred with adept skill past idle revellers and their wandering hands. Vesperos sat alone, enjoying the heady brew and resisting the temptation to stay for another. The ale’s effect on him would be too much. He wondered if some of the desire to dally was to delay buying ribbons for Leiel, thereby committing to asking after her token.

It was no use dithering, he decided, and pushed away the empty tankard. He politely edged past a crowd of drinkers and left. He made his way down the busy, litter-strewn street towards the market place.

Thoughts of how much he would spend on the ribbons turned his attention to his purse, and he felt it move. Quickly turning around, he looked in the face of a horror-struck lad, little older and slightly better built than himself, though Vesperos was strong for his size. The thief turned and fled, having taken advantage of his victim’s frozen surprise to lift Vesperos’s purse.

In a fit of anger and heedless of any danger from other rogues, Vesperos leaped after him shouting, Thief! Stop, thief!

It having no effect, he stopped yelling to save his breath. The townsfolk were only interested in moving out of the way. The ocean of people swept aside for the two youths; some individuals were aghast, but most seemed annoyed by the inconvenience.

Vesperos hoped no one would spitefully trip him or innocently confuse him for the thief. But nimble-footed, he at least lost no ground to his fleeing purse. As his heart pounded, his temples throbbed, and his legs moving quicker than his quarry’s. As his breath began to heave, Vesperos ran as if a dragon was on his heels. His anger began to take the place of all rational thought, except to think that the youth had also been drinking at the tavern and must have noticed his coin. As Vesperos ran, the mounting wrath that burned in his chest, melting the imaginary metal in his lungs, soothed his straining body; and now he was gaining ground on the city rogue.

I will pulverise the maggot! Perhaps have him hanged!

The thief turned up an alley with Vesperos no more than a half-dozen paces behind, and leaping over a pile of rubbish and dung, the villain slipped and fell. Ignoring the excrement, Vesperos dived at the rogue and pinned the thief beneath him. Wiping dung over the lad’s face, Vesperos hit him, punching him again and again as he crushed his knees into the thief’s chest. Blood ran from the scoundrel’s eyes, nose, and mouth. Vesperos had broken the nose, and suddenly, he felt sickened. He saw blood bubble and froth over the thief’s lips as he cried for Vesperos to stop. This lad now more the victim than Vesperos felt he had ever been.

Fearful of causing a murder, he relented. He would soon be a wolf if he had no control over himself. In truth, he was afraid, not only of killing this boy, but of the thief having associates. What’s your name? he demanded.

Berath ...

Liar!

No! Please, please! Take your purse and go! the youth blubbered.

There’s a bargain! Why not hang? But Vesperos didn’t want to see someone of a similar age dangle from the gallows. The mental image was appalling, gloating spectators and all.

No! Please! Take everything! Leave me be!

Vesperos felt he would retch. The brown dung over his victim’s face was like a mud pat and stank with his blood. His own clothes would reek now. Vesperos knew he had gone too far. He realised how much stronger he really was than Berath, if that was his name, and although he liked the sense of that, it was not good to degrade this fellow further. He had the lad’s life in his hands. He had only to find a city guard if he was truly afraid, and he realised this fear had caused him to panic.

‘And to their call for strong drink to ease their burdens come the Judezzeks.’ Astocath’s words burned between Vesperos’s ears.

Very well, he hissed. But pick on the wealthy in future.

Berath groaned and lay still. Vesperos took back only his own purse, though there was another bulging one next to it. Stooping down and wiping his hands on Berath’s soiled tunic, he said, You never know, you might remember me for the better one day.

Berath said nothing, although his eyes told Vesperos that everything in his heart was anything but thankfulness.

I am sorry for what I have done to you. It was no lie. Cautious of anyone coming by, Vesperos turned and leapt past the rubbish. He was back on the street again and aware of how much he must surely stink. His tunic, soiled and ruffled, gave him the presence of an urchin. With this humiliation and his nerves jangling, he breathed in deeply to overcome the shock of beating a fellow. Bracing his nerves, he had to stop and lean against a shop wall for support. He began to tremble, and his body temperature dropped as if the day were deep winter. His mind flashed back to Berath’s pained and aggrieved face. Things could easily have turned nasty, and Vesperos realised he could have found a dagger in his belly. That might yet have happened had he not given quarter, but he was right to give quarter. It had been bad enough seeing Berath’s agony when Vesperos was pummelling him. Now thinking of his strangled face brought less joy. His guilt allayed as he realised it had not occurred to him at the time to use his dirk against Berath.

He bit his lip and drew blood, tasting its salt for some while as people bustled by, oblivious to all but their own business. Now he knew he did not have the nerves of steel to be an effective knight.

Otherwise purchasing ribbons for Leiel, for which her kiss could not be guaranteed, was his pleasure and removed the fracas from his mind despite his subsequent grubby attire. Wanting courtship and being allowed money of his own was a sure sign he was stepping out of boyhood. He permitted himself a secret smile, and once he was outside the looming city walls, he skipped for a couple of hundred yards and then ran homeward as fast as he could for at least a mile through the mud of the road. The bright spring day felt fresh; the budding year, the prepared fields, the full streams, the greening copses, and the promise of brightening slopes of rolling hills already yielded optimistic expectations within him for a new life’s era.

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CHAPTER TWO

Although the sun seemed distant under the dominance of dark clouds, it was dry and breezy, warm enough to melt the last of the snow. Vesperos jogged along, splashing through the mud. The lower half of his leggings and boots were thick with it, and his feet were soaked. He could see a cart ahead with a broken wheel and a man cursing over it. He recognised the back of that balding head; it would stand out anywhere. It would be Grulch—probably a nickname, but the only name he knew his neighbour by—cursing the squealing and fidgeting piglets in the back of his cart.

Hallo! Grulch! Vesperos called out.

Look, boy! He turned around, squaring his narrow eyes that looked too small for his round head. I ain’t of a mind to exchange curt’sies. Help or be off with a curse behind ye!

The fields are smoother than this road, Vesperos laughed. You’ve got straight channels all the way home.

Enough of yer cheek. Get yer hands ‘ere, or I’ll whack ’em.

Vesperos stood nearer to the farmer, who bent over the wheel hub again, and put his left hand near the man’s nose. I don’t think so, he chuckled.

Eech! Pooh! What ye done? Get that out me face! Grulch pulled away in disgust. Cor! Look at ye! Rollin’ with the pigs? You stink, mun!

A cut-purse got a mouth full of it. He smirked in return. Then he blushed, recalling the regret of how far he had taken advantage of the thief.

Good lad. He shook his head in interest then looked again at the wreck that naturally concerned him the most. Don’t make these things as well as they ought. Grulch cursed the pinion.

Vesperos shook his head as he looked at the plight. Looks too far bust. New axle?

Grulch tutted and roared in his throat. Looks that way, dunnit? Got a bargain for them squealers. He nodded at his pigs. Now they damn well cost me all the profit. He cursed again with no less exasperation than the time before. How we goin’ to get ’em home?

Vesperos looked at the piglets and shook his head. You could stay here while I get you another cart?

Would ye, lad? Grulch’s eyes sparkled with gratitude.

You have another cart at your place?

What de ye think, mun? O’course! Aye. Ye can send Dalaerin back with it.

Vesperos nodded, and an uneasy feeling squeezed at his stomach. With a cherubic smile, he said, I’ll get you one, whatever. Unless, out of boredom, your bully of a son pulverises me, he wished he could add.

Don’t forget me, lad. I heard yer head’s in the clouds these days. But there’ll be a drink in it fer ye.

Grulch made the best cider in the area, and Vesperos knew the man meant to give him a keg.

Now get goin’! See? Ye forgotten already! His mouth grimaced, which was the closest he ever came to grinning.

With an appreciative laugh, Vesperos found himself running to Grulch’s farmstead for another cart. Their homestead was nearer than his own, and if no rig was available to spare, he’d go on home without fuss and use one of his father’s. Ah! If father had allowed him to be a squire, what a noble steed he would ride across the lands with his rich clothes. A herald he should be!

Dalaerin was crossing the yard from a barn to the farmhouse when Vesperos saw him. A herald, eh? Here was he, intimidated by this country brute. How could he dream of facing kings with good and ill news, eh? Grulch’s son was tall and lean. His arms were clearly strong.

Dalaerin! Vesperos called nervously to the lad three years his senior, all too aware of his soft, unbroken voice. Your father needs a cart.

Stopping at the doorway, Dalaerin turned to face Vesperos and snarled, Can’t he tell me, then? Vesperos sensed a deliberate effort to growl deeply from his chest, no doubt with a design to humiliate him over his immaturity.

He’s lost a wheel.

What’m I s’posed to do ’bout it, then?

C’mon. I’ll take it myself.

Sure you will. Never see it again. I seen yer drivin’. Drove ’im in the ditch, did ye?

It’s your father, Dalaerin! Vesperos was aghast.

He knows I got a woman to see.

Who is she? Vesperos urged.

You’ll leave ‘er alone! He raised a fist. I seen yer eyes at ‘er.

Vesperos’s heart turned to ice. Leiel?

Dalaerin spat on the ground. What’s it to you, you mule? Yer a bit on the wrong side o’ boyhood. Ye don’t have te prove ye ain’t a girlie yer sen, little faun.

Vesperos bristled, and clenching his fists, weighed up Dalaerin: slightly taller, slightly larger and probably substantially stronger. Would a fight impress Leiel, when he had never seriously attempted to woo her? You going to help your father or no? he asked fiercely.

Dalaerin sneered. A cart’s in the barn. You’d best sit yer backside down firm on the bench, or I’ll whip ye bare with me belt. Dalaerin turned away and entered the house, leaving Vesperos lost for words, his fury eating at his worn muscles. He was too exhausted to hope for a chance to beat Dalaerin in a fight now, if ever he stood a chance. He knew the bully had always wanted a scrap, and out of all the abuse Dalaerin had ever given, this was the greatest reason to start a fight. Vesperos never knew the reason for Dalaerin’s ill feeling towards him, and he didn’t suppose he would ever find out. His father said sometimes people had natural aversions towards others for no reason more than having a freckle too many.

For now, he decided to let prudence play the primary role and he let things be. Besides, Dalaerin would only laugh about him to Leiel and boast he had to take Vesperos’s jealousy in hand. Hopefully, a day would come when the rag would be snatched from beneath the bully’s feet.

Dalaerin came back out. See ye later, ye filthy ragamuffin. Sick o’ the sight of ye already, I am.

Vesperos realised he had stood for too long in reflection. However, he was not going to fight. He felt Grulch deserved better than to hear of a sorry tale of his son in a while, and things would be even worse if Dalaerin were to catch a whiff of his spoiled clothes. But let the day come! Leiel deserved better than this mindless brute. He shrugged, went over to the barn and coupled a horse to a spare cart. As he drove the cart onto the highway, he was relieved Dalaerin had lost interest in him.

Presently he saw a man walking ahead of him towards Yandor. He was dressed in a flowing grey robe with a cowl pulled over his head. As Vesperos’s cartwheels squealed closer, he wondered if the stranger was a wizard or Judezzek. The traveller turned to face him, revealing long, greying hair that fell beneath his collar, and his grey beard fell longer still. Torn between ignoring the fellow for fear, lest he turn out to be a wizard, and otherwise wanting to be neighbourly, he was also inquisitive to know who this figure might be.

Ahoy! Vesperos called and slowed the cart-nag from a trot to a walk. Want a ride? he offered. Now he was close, he wondered if this might well be a wise Judezzek.

The pilgrim raised his walking-staff. Please? the man said with a deep and gravel-like voice.

Climb up.

Although his years were apparently long, the man climbed upon the seat with the dignified agility of a youth, leading Vesperos to suspect him to be a wizard after all. He gulped as the man winced at the stink. Before any embarrassing question was asked, Vesperos said, Where are you off to?

Past Yandor.

To a wizard’s tower?

I’m a Judezzek, lad.

Great! cried Vesperos. His people were a rarity, their lives harsh, although in a different way to the lot of a peasant. Terrible about our sister last year. She performed a miracle and was burned for it.

I know, I know. The Judezzek shook his head slowly. And you offered me a lift. Yet you thought me a wizard, and now you’re pleased with me?

I know a wizard, Vesperos said slowly. We meet ever so occasionally. But do you not know you are welcome at our farm? We are true believers. We believe in Sharlom.

Is that last farm where ye live, lad?

No, I am running an errand for a neighbour there. We are about five miles farther up.

That’s good to hear. In these times, I sense the days are darkening. Night is coming. Everywhere we are hated, distrusted at best. Our tribes wander. We spread goodwill to all others, but all the time in return, we are accused of dissension. Then his voice brightened. But there is always the sunrise, and as it follows the night, in time, the hours shall brighten as things were in the dawning of days.

Vesperos gulped. Are you a prophet?

Ever wonder why your parents speak so well for country folk? The man avoided the question.

Not really, replied Vesperos.

The Judezzek sat quietly, as if he were contemplating the answer. Never wonder why Sir Gathrick sees so much of your father? Or why your father should feign respect?

Vesperos shrugged. Friendly, I guess.

The Judezzek was quietly contemplative or perhaps put off by the apparently churlish reply. Vesperos wondered about these two questions. His parents had never made such talk an issue, and in turn, he had learned to elude such topics regarding nobility. He knew Father didn’t much like Gathrick.

If you’re not a prophet, why fathom these things? asked Vesperos.

Sir Gathrick’s great-grandfather acquired your ancestor’s fief.

Vesperos thought through the family history. My grandfather was a baron or such?

He was. He lived longer stripped of all his wealth than he otherwise would have. Not that he died in poverty, mind. He got quite much back—never his title, though. Blessed by Sharlom, you know? Wealthier as a farmer than when he’d been titled.

Had it not been but for the Judezzek faith? Vesperos looked at the strange old man and thought of Astocath. The Judezzek appeared to become introspective, as if perhaps he was remembering his own youth. Who are you? Vesperos asked quietly, almost whispering.

Lafont. No matter.

So I should be a baron?

No. He paused. You should not. It’s not in you.

Vesperos swallowed and felt slighted. By my birthright, I should be a baron, at least.

If it were your birthright, you could be a baron, but not by your very nature. Not by your ... soul.

You don’t make sense, sir. Nevertheless, Vesperos knew for himself that nobles had an unhappy time balancing their popularity between love and hate, with a demand for loyalty upmost on the agenda.

Well, you’ll have to let me off here; argument will meet with us otherwise.

Don’t go, Vesperos urged. You’re a prophet, aren’t you? He sensed he had not offended Lafont. There was something else on his mind. How else would you know about me, yet not where I live?

The old man smiled, and he looked at Vesperos straight. His face was barely discernible beneath his beard and the fringe of his hair. Hair was not only creeping out from beneath his cowl but from his nose too. What is a prophet? I am a man, a son of our God, Sharlom.

At that, the nag stopped, although Vesperos had not reined him in. The Judezzek slipped deftly from the rig without a word and stood by the cart with the obvious intent to say no more than his thanks and assurance of his good will. Returning him an anxious smile, bewildered by what may have been behind the man’s intentions, Vesperos flicked the reins and drove onwards, regretting once more that he had been rather too harsh with the city rogue.

Vesperos soon reached a pitifully bored-looking Grulch sat upon his broken cart’s bench. Together they transferred the piglets to the good rig, and roping the spare nag behind, Grulch drove them off.

There was a prolonged silence between them, and Vesperos asked, Is Dalaerin really courting Leiel?

Grulch tutted loudly and turned his narrow face to the youth. I hope not. Is he? A mere weaver’s daughter indeed!

You hope for better for him? Perhaps one of Sir Gathrick’s daughters? Vesperos’s heart was grieved by the belittlement of her station. Leiel: a mere weaver’s daughter! As much had not occurred to him. It begged the question, what would his own father think? And if Dalearian found Vesperos had gossiped to his father ...

Enough, said Grulch. Have a mind fer yer own future.

Vesperos nodded dumbly. His own future! It had apparently been snatched from him