The more Llian probed Wilm on the journey to Chanthed, the clearer it became that he was on a fool’s errand.

Naïve as only a child brought up in rustic circumstances could be, he did not have a tenth – not even a hundredth – part of the knowledge required to succeed in the immensely difficult college scholarship test. As a final-year student twelve years ago, Llian had marked hundreds of test papers and listened to dozens of presentations. Only one of those students had gained a scholarship.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” he said as they crested the last ridge and headed down the long broken slope that would bring them to Chanthed tomorrow morning. “It’s a tough test – and expensive.”

“It’s taken every grint my mother could scrape together,” said Wilm. “How can I give up now?”

“There’s no point attempting it unless you’re confident you’ll do well. And no shame in pulling out either.”

“I can’t pull out,” Wilm said desperately. “I may never get another chance.”

Because that would be admitting failure, and failure meant returning to Casyme and a life of drudgery? His determination to better himself was touching, and Llian saw echoes of his own life in the lad, though Wilm simply did not know enough.

“There could be a thousand ways of proving yourself. You’ve got to find the one that’s right for you.”

“You think I’m not up to it, don’t you?”

“No,” Llian lied. “But you have to be sure, otherwise you’re wasting all your poor mother’s savings for nothing.”

Wilm jerked convulsively. Clearly, he was terrified that he was going to fail. “I’ll work harder than all the other students put together. I’ve got to succeed!”

But it didn’t work like that. Llian stifled his next objection and the one after. As Shand had said, a man has to make his own way in the world. And make his own mistakes, no matter how painful.

Wilm’s mistakes were going to be very painful and there was not a thing Llian could do. He wondered what the lad would do when the inevitable disaster struck, and whether there would be any pieces left to pick up.

To while away the evenings Llian had been telling an abbreviated version of his Tale of the Mirror, and he finished it that night. Afterwards Wilm was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Is that why Shand took Aviel in?”

“How do you mean?” As always after a telling, Llian was in a state of exhilarated exhaustion.

“To cover up her theft of the enchanted gold from Shuthdar’s destroyed flute, Yalkara the Charon murdered the only witness, a crippled girl. And much later, because Charon live practically for ever, Shand and Yalkara had a child together. He must have been terribly ashamed when you discovered that the woman he loved had committed such a terrible crime. Do you think he gave Aviel a place of her own as a way of making up for Yalkara’s crime against that other crippled girl?”

As Llian lay awake afterwards, staring up at the stars, he began to see Wilm in a new light. Maybe he did have what it took to be a chronicler after all.

“The application fee was five silver tars, but it’s gone up to seven,” said Wilm, wringing his big-knuckled fingers. “I’ve got to pay it, but that won’t leave anything for food…”

He was pacing back and forth in the tiny room Llian had rented in a decrepit three-storey rooming house. It had a dangerous tilt to the left, the roof leaked, everything including the bedding smelled of mould and rats, and the damp patch on the wall, the size and shape of a charging buffalo, was growing by the hour.

Some of the masters – the corrupt ones – are doing very nicely, Anjo Duril had said.

The college was much changed in the time Llian had been away, and not for the better. Unscrupulous masters had taken advantage of the bedridden Wistan’s long decline to turn it into a palace of greed. Every student, and every applicant, had to pay until they bled, and every tale had a price now. It firmed Llian’s resolution to support Thandiwe. The college urgently needed a vigorous new master.

He had also made several attempts to get an appointment with Wistan, hoping to gain access to the secret archives of the college library, but Wistan would not see him.

“Then there’s an interview charge,” Wilm went on, “one tar, and robe hire —”

“You don’t need robes to do the scholarship test.”

“The master in charge said a scholarship winner must look the part. He said I could do the test dressed like a dung-shovelling hick… but it would count against me by ten per cent. What am I going to do, Llian? These are my best clothes. My mother spent weeks sewing them.”

With love and devotion and all the care in the world. As with Wilm’s travelling clothes, they fitted him perfectly, but they were made in a rustic style that had gone out of fashion eighty years ago – if, indeed, it had ever been in fashion.

“Do you think I can beat all the other candidates by ten per cent? Please tell me you do, Llian. I’ve got to.”

Wilm leaned towards Llian, his whole body quivering. It was unbearable how much he wanted to win.

“No, Wilm. You can’t. Not even by five per cent.”

Wilm crumbled but pulled himself together by an effort of will. “Then I’ll have to hire the robes. That’s another three tars.”

“Three tars?” cried Llian. What were they doing to his beloved college? “You used to be able to hire robes for a term for that kind of money.”

“That’s the charge, and I’ll have to pay it.”

“Save your money. I’ll borrow you a set of robes from one of my old friends.”

“Thank you, thank you,” cried Wilm. Turning his back on Llian, he took out his wallet and began a dismal count. “Application fee, seven tars; interview fee, one tar; test admission fee, one tar; rent for a week, one tar; food and drink, one tar and ten grints.”

Wilm turned around. “That’s eleven tars and ten grints! Everything is so expensive here. At home we can live for six weeks, food and rent and everything, for a single tar.”

“How much do you have?” said Llian.

“Twelve tars and nine grints. I’ve got less than a tar left over, and there are bound to be other charges. I haven’t got enough, Llian.” His voice rose; he looked like a lost little boy. Then all the blood left his face. “I forgot the fee to use the college library – another tar! I’ve got to pay it too; I’ve got to study the Histories, but… even without paying for the robes, it won’t be enough.”

“Look, don’t worry about the rent.”

Wilm stiffened. “I’m a man now and I have to pay my own way. I’ll tighten my belt; I can’t possibly need one tar and ten grints for food. There must be cheaper places to eat.”

“There are,” said Llian, “though I wouldn’t advise you to frequent them. You’re liable to end up with food poisoning.” He tried to make light of it. “It won’t impress the examiners if you throw up all over them.”

Wilm was beyond seeing the funny side of anything. “I’ve got a strong stomach. I’ll be all right.” He paced furiously, the sagging floor shaking underfoot. “I can manage it, but there won’t be anything left for the trip home – if I fail.”

“Forget about the rent. Plenty of people helped me when I was starting out, and when you’re rich and famous I’m sure you’ll do the same.”

“If I start out in debt, I’ll never get out of it.” Wilm counted his coins again. “I’ll get a job. I’m strong and used to hard work.”

Llian kept his silence. In a town teeming with students all looking for work to pay the masters’ outrageous imposts, work would be hard to find and poorly paid. But maybe Wilm was right. He’d had such a tough life, maybe he could work harder than anyone else.

“You’ve got to leave time for study, though,” said Llian.

“Do you think I need to study that much?”

His naïveté was astounding. “How well do you know the Histories?”

“I went to school until I was twelve. And I’ve read some of Shand’s books.”

Llian sighed. Wilm had to be told. “The other candidates will be studying night and day, learning two thousand years of the Histories off by heart. Do you know them that well?”

Wilm’s broad shoulders sagged. He lowered himself onto his bed, which groaned under him, and put his head in his hands.

“I’m a stupid yokel, aren’t I? If I go for the scholarship it’ll take every grint of my mother’s savings and there’ll be nothing to live on, even if I do win. But from what you say, I’ve been deluding myself. There’s not a hope in the world, is there?”

“I would never say there’s no hope,” Llian said carefully. “It depends on the examiners. If I was one, I wouldn’t be looking for kids who could parrot off a thousand pages of the Histories. I’d be looking for candidates with original ways of thinking.”

“Should I take the risk and probably waste all the money? Or abandon my dreams and creep home, to become a miserable muck-shoveller for the rest of my life?”

“I don’t know, Wilm.”

Wilm’s face contorted. Although he was only seventeen and had barely lived, his agony was as real as that of the characters in any tale Llian had ever told.

“You’ve travelled the world with some of the most important people in the Histories,” said Wilm. “Mendark, Rulke, Tensor, Malien, Yggur! You’ve even fought some of them, and survived! You’ve succeeded at everything you’ve ever done, and you’ve written a Great Tale. You’re brave and brilliant and generous and wise. Tell me what to do.”

Llian’s face grew hot. He had done some great things, but he’d also had a lot of disastrous failures. “Wilm, you have to make your own decisions, right or wrong, succeed or fail; that’s what being an adult is all about. Besides, I’ve made a mess of my own life. I’m banned, remember?”

“It’ll be overturned,” said Wilm with utter confidence. “This time next week you’ll be a master chronicler again.”

“Maybe,” said Llian, thinking about all his other failings. “But you’re looking at your life in black and white – either you win the scholarship and become a chronicler, or you fail and go home to nothing. Life’s not like that.”

“If I fail, there’ll be no money for me to train in any other trade.”

“Life throws up opportunities all the time and most of them don’t require payment – not in money, at any rate.” Llian’s belly throbbed. What would Thandiwe’s real price be? And how far would he go to get the ban overturned? “You have to seize them when they appear, not knowing where they’ll lead, but only that they’ll take you to places you could never have dreamed of.”

Wilm rose, a little unsteady on his feet. The light was back in his eyes. “You’re right. I’m going to go for the scholarship – and win it.”

“Good for you. And now, if you’re all organised, I’ve got to see Thandiwe.”