guess nobody knows before it happens, when a particular day is going to alter the course of your life forever. There was certainly nothing noticeably auspicious about this particular afternoon. The air was soupy with the rising smells of fallen fruit and warm grass as the ripe, late-summer sun eased its way over the town of Jaelshead below and down towards the western plains.

I wasn’t
hiding
per se, out in the orchard beside the Lord’s Manor where I happened to live; procrastinating, most definitely, but I was eighteen! Who would I be hiding from? Well, my father for a start, although I suspected he would be rather too busy to care, and perhaps my mother or possibly any one of the huge retinue of hangers-on that seemed to be necessary to the running of the Lord’s household. All of whom seemed to have a suspiciously determined interest in the activities of the heir. Jaelshead wasn’t even particularly big, and certainly not particularly important, squished unceremoniously at the beginning of the foothills of the Rhye Mountains in the far east corner of the country. The closest thing to excitement was one of the Capitols, Lille, which lay less
than two weeks’ ride down the highway that ran beside the Jael River. The Monarch, the Advisor and their court resided in Lille every fourth year, and I had overheard some terrifyingly thrilling stories about the place.

But I was never even likely to visit.

No, I had two more years of study before I began my ten-year joint Lordship with my father. All this before he would retire and I would govern the entire Jaelshead district by myself until my eldest child reached their maturity at age twenty.

Well, that was the plan anyway.

It was this eldest child bit that was rather occupying my mind as I lay on my back in the shade of a pear tree, listening to the racket of bees and cicadas – alert for any moving into to my immediate proximity. Apparently it was almost time to start thinking of marriage, as my father had started hinting at. Custom dictated that I marry a nice girl from the surrounding area who could quickly provide me with heirs. And the earlier I wanted to retire – the thought of years of demanding Lordship made me a little panicky – the earlier this chain of events had to be set in motion.

The problem was that I didn’t even know any nice girls from the surrounding area. I had private tutors, and so had never been to school in the town, and the girls who lived further out in the plains… Well, my father had also hinted that she had to be a nice girl of
good breeding.
Which I suppose meant a daughter of one of the leaders of the small local Guilds or something, none of whom I knew. What’s more, at the town fairs or when our family had to be present for one of the Temple festivals, all the local girls I had seen blushed and giggled at me. Luckily none had ever bothered to start a conversation, because I would have no idea what to say.

And as for this
heirs
business…

Sick of being poked in the back by blunt grass stalks, I rolled over and opened my eyes to see a figure in a heavy black robe squeeze through the last of the cottages on the outskirts of town and start on the narrow road that led through the grape vines
and up to the Manor. I wondered idly if he was hot – I assumed it was a he; he looked rather tall, even from this distance – I was warm in the shade in only my light summer casuals. In fact, he must have been terrifically hot as he moved quickly, loping even, up the steep path to the low rise on which our house was built.

Visitors were not uncommon at the Manor: my father did most of his business in his study or the large reception hall directly across the courtyard from the gate. Most visitors were either poor supplicants, obvious in their poverty or disability or local farmers and craftsmen, bringing their taxes and often gifts to try and win favour. Less frequently came the emissaries or other political figures that arrived with much fanfare and strings of weary horses to stable – mostly to wrangle over petty border disputes or some other minor grievance.

The figure in the black robe was obviously quite, quite different.

He clearly couldn’t have travelled far because even from here I could see the dust of the road hadn’t touched his pristine garment. I sat up on my knees to watch as he paused, seemingly to marvel at the huge lamppost that stood at the far edge of the orchard to mark the beginning of the family’s private land. He must have been using stilts or wearing some other high-heeled contraption, because the top of his hooded head came up almost to the top of the lamp. Which I know is high, because my head fits just under the crossbar, and I have only recently grown taller than my father who everyone is the tallest man in the Jaelshead region.

So all in all, a rather odd character to be approaching the Lord’s Manor so boldly.

I supposed this called for some heirly duties, so I stood and bent down to try and brush as much of the incriminating grass from my knees. When I straightened up, the tall figure in the black robe had turned from the lamppost and was staring directly at me. Then he stepped unerringly around the trees in my direction, clearly not wearing stilts or some other high-heeled contraption. The thought of running away may possibly have crossed my mind, but adults don’t run away,
especially
when they are Lord’s
heir of the district, even when approached by some sort of giant monster with – I could see his face under the hood now – grey skin, huge red eyes and a few wisps of colourless hair.

The monster stopped just before me, and peered down for a moment before blinking and extending his hand.

“I presume you’re Jaseth.”

“My name is Ϛaioћлeжa Ұлeßжa. Though I understand that Nea’thi is a difficult language for Humans to pronounce, so you can call me Charlie,” he beamed.

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