He looked around the rude camp, wondering what he was going to do next. He'd left his fellow travelers a few days back when news of the happenings had reached him, convinced that there would be at least something he could do. The messenger had told them of the things happening around Bortruz and beyond, some sort of activity, but the details were sketchy.
He looked around the blank hillside, down on the estates and across the empty landscape. He'd found a slight hollow which provided at least a hint of shelter, but that's all he had: a hint of shelter, the clothes he wore, a pack with a few travel essentials and the walking stick. It wasn't much to reflect where he had come from. He poked at the reluctant fire again. Still, change went two ways. Things either got better or things got worse. He couldn't see how things could possibly get worse from here. He'd lost just about everything. At least he still had what he believed in. In the meantime, he would have to find some way to keep himself alive. He could forage from the land, take what he could, but the estates were hardly likely to be taking on workers in the current circumstance. He looked up at the sky, at the remaining streamers of darkening light, then back down at the fire. It would be night soon, and the cold would descend. He leaned back and rummaged through his pack, pulling out the blanket and bundling it to one side. He patted the heap and thought about the things he'd learned over the past few weeks.
His companions may have been relatively low in the order of things, but they'd been open and giving. They had shown generosity where there was no reason to give it. They'd offered him solace and shelter and taught him, when there was nothing they owed him. Compared to the others he knew in his former life within the Guild hierarchy, these men who had virtually nothing to their names were a different sort. He wondered briefly how people all descended from the one origin could be so unalike. Everyone, all of them, had come from the First Families, or what remained of that population who had made it down to the planet. They were all the same stock, the same set of beliefs and values, and yet such variation still existed. Had such diverse groups existed on the ship itself during the many years of travel across the void?
With a grunt, his thoughts returned to his own situation as he poked at the fire again. He didn't know which estates he was near. He'd headed blindly in the direction that the Storm Season holdings lay, guided by the brief directions given him by Abaile, but he was in no position to tell one from the other. Somewhere down there, not visible for now, lay his own family holdings. Not seeing the Ka Vail estates -- he wasn't ready to deal with that yet -- was a relief. He thought he was somewhere close to the Ky Menin holdings, but he couldn't be sure. Somewhere nearby sat his father and brother and the knowledge filled him with a strange mix of emotions. Somewhere nearby sat everything he had once held dear.
Some motion in one of the fields ahead drew his attention, and using the stick to bear his weight, he pushed himself to his feet. The firelight, meager though it was, made it difficult to distinguish anything, and he stepped away from its circle so that he might see better.
A pair of figures was approaching. They were heading directly for where he stood. They both looked old, though how he could tell from this distance, he didn't know. One of the figures seemed to be supporting the other, guiding him. Taking a firm grip on his staff, Markis headed down the hillside to meet them.
As he neared the approaching pair, Markis felt his breath catch. Even through the descending gloom, he could recognize one of the two men -- the one being helped across the field, his weight supported, one hand held out in front of him as if trying to feel his way. It was his father, Aron Ka Vail. He barely had time to wonder what had happened to him before he was charging across the intervening space. Anything that had gone before didn't matter. The old man was obviously in trouble.
"What's happened?" he asked as he pulled up in front of them. He at least had the caution to think better about revealing his identity just yet.
"This man needs help," said the older Guildsman leading Aron Ka Vail. "Do you want a job?"
"What is it?" said Markis again, adopting the speech of the itinerant workers he'd been traveling with. "What you want?"
"You can earn some money if you take this man to Darthan. There will be people there who will take him."
Markis peered into his father's face, but Aron Ka Vail didn't appear to see him. "Who is he?"
