There was a place called Pania, sundered into many countries and towns. All were beset by war and turmoil, for none would tolerate the rule of another. Yet one power all were subject to. To every Panian, soon or late, the Servitor came. None might foresee when. To most it was in age, but others were visited in youth or infancy. But when that one came, the visited stopped activity, left home, and went away with the Servitor.
     Once the Servitor went to a home in Alagor town, to the head of the house. And the man went without a word, leaving behind his wife and daughters, all dependent on him. The children, Septa and Scepta, asked their mother why. “He received his summons,” she told them, “and obeyed, as all must.” Septa was satisfied, Scepta persisted questioning.
     “Father always said folk of Alagor answer to no one,” she said. “Why then must he go now, leaving us in want?”
     Her mother told her all Panians obeyed the Servitor, whose master was the King of the whole land.
     “But,” Scepta said, “there are hundreds of kings in Pania, and as many princes, dukes, and sovereign councils. None suffer any master. If there is a King above them all, how can they act as they do?”
     “The King allows it,” her mother said. “Attended by servants in plenty, he lets those he does not yet need do as they will. When he wants more, the Servitor fetches them. Then they must answer for what do before called. Those who behave honorably are rewarded, and those who have not are punished.”
     “Why then,” asked Scepta, “does every person not behave honorably, knowing this?” But her mother had no answer.
     “I will ask Father when he returns from the King’s service,” Scepta said.
     “No one returns from service with the King,” said her mother.

     The years passed in Alagor. The girls and their mother all found work which, while gaining them little enough, preserved them from utter misery. The girls grew, and in time considered what to do with their lives.
     “I,” said Septa, will marry and raise children to be a credit to our town. I will do what is honorable, so when I stand before the King I will be rewarded.”
     “I do not yet know how I will spend my days,” said Scepta, “but it will not be that way.”
     In the end she stayed with her mother to care for her, while Septa went off to marry a fine burgess, with whom she raised a family.
     
     Scepta continued to think about the King, why he treated Pania as he did, and why almost no one she knew, not even her powerful brother-in-law, appeared to give him the least thought in what they did. Were it not for the visits of the Servitor one would hardly think there was a King. Yet every person seemed confident he would find favor in the King’s eyes. Occasionally one doubted, and tried to change his behavior to better please the King. Yet most, even those whose fellows deemed them at fault, seemed to regard their own actions as completely unobjectionable.
     There came a time when Scepta’s mother told her, “I must go to the King. See, the Servitor is here.” And it was so.
     Though sad she must part with her mother, Scepta was glad to see the Servitor, thinking this her chance to have her curiosity satisfied. Yet to all her questions the Servitor would say nothing.
     “Do you not come from the King?” she asked. “Are you not his Servitor? You must know all about him.”
     But the Servitor turned away from Scepta and extended a hand to her mother, saying “Come. It is time to go.” And Scepta’s mother went away with the Servitor.

     Scepta was sad, but in time recalled that she had a life to attend to. But she continued to hunger for the answers denied her.
     One day her sister came to see her. “Fanat, my son, is studying to serve the King,” said Septa, “if anyone has the answers you want, he does. Why not go to him?”
     “I did not know one could learn such things by study,” rejoined Scepta, surprised. “If this is so, why does not everyone do it?”
     Her sister shrugged. “Everyone’s turn to serve the King comes soon enough, so why not enjoy ourselves in the meantime? But some wish to serve even before their summons. Fanat is like that.”
     “I will surely go to him,” said Scepta.

     Scepta’s meeting with Fanat did not go well. He but repeated what others had told her, and took offense at her desire to know more. “You know all that is necessary,” he said, “the important thing is to behave well before you are called.”
     “Certainly,” Scepta agreed. “But I also wonder why the King pays such small heed to his realm that Panians give such little thought to him in what they do. Were it not for the Servitor one might doubt there even was a King, and the Servitor will not speak of him. And I wonder, too, how we must serve him when we are summoned.”
     “That you will discover when it happens,” said Fanat, “as all do.”
     But she pressed her nephew. “Septa says you know. If so, you should share it.”
     “It takes many years of study to fully comprehend such matters,” he said. “For those not engaged in their pursuit, it is enough to strive to be worthy of the coming service.”
     Scepta set her jaw. “To so strive, must we not know what it means to be worthy, and what service awaits? How may one engage in this pursuit?”
     “Through studying the Book of the King. But it is written in an old language, and not for the frivolous.”
     “I am not frivolous,” said Scepta, and though Fanat attempted to discourage her she persisted, until at length he confessed that she might be one who might benefit from study.

     So Scepta became a Scholar, and learned to read the Book of the King. In time she became more learned even than Fanat, who, she found, was incurious and unquestioning of whatever he read. He was, Scepta realized, frivolous. She, however, plumbed the depth of scholarly thought.
     Long she considered what she had learned, but was not satisfied. She went to the Chief Scholar and told him she was leaving. “I have studied to learn what is honorable,” she said, “so when I stand before the King I will be rewarded.”
     “You have, and you have done well,” the Chief Scholar replied. “If you continue, and spend your days with us, you may well become a great thinker.”
     “I do not yet know how I will spend my days,” said Scepta, “but it will not be that way.”
     “Why not?” she was asked.
     “The Scholars hold the King absolute but just,” she said, “allowing his servants much license before calling them in order to test their worth.”
     The Chief Scholar nodded. “That is so,” he said.
     “Then it is odd in a monarch, for Pania has many absolute rulers, and every one strives to control his subjects, whether taking them into service or not.”
     Scepta went on. “The Scholars hold that one who fails the King's test is punished continuously once called, whatever the nature of the offense, an odd justice. Too, the nature of the reward of those who pass, service with the King, is not addressed, though said to be pleasant. Why one should seek it, save to avoid punishment, is not said.”
     The Chief Scholar frowned. “Is not good service its own reward, as set down in the Book, and is the Book not from the King?”
     Scepta shrugged. “So it is held, but how is it known? The Scholars hold none have ever met the King and returned save the Servitor, who speaks not but to summon.”
     “Can it be that you doubt?” asked the Chief Scholar, his face reddening.
     “Yes,” she said. “For even the Scholars are divided about the purposes of the King, and Scholars of other places speak differently from ours. Ours say they are wrong, but without proof, merely holding the uncertainty part of the King’s test.”
     “And so it is,” said the Chief Scholar. “It is wrong to doubt.”
     “How?” Scepta challenged. “I am done here. Your answers are no answers.”

     Scepta went out into the townlands of Alagor, and thence in time through all of Pania. Having no answers, she asked questions, but asked what she thought, she would say “I think there is no King. No one sees him, or knows where he holds court. Only the Servitor is seen, who speaks not but to summon, not even to or for what. We know not even if the Servitor truly serves any other, let alone a King. The Scholars hold it; indeed, were the first to say so, but with neither proof nor certainty.”
     “What then does the Servitor do?” she was asked, “and what becomes of the summoned?”
     “Do I know more than the Scholars?” Scepta would say. “Only the Servitor knows, who does not tell. Perhaps he but culls the people, lest Pania become so full of them it could not hold them all.”
     “This is a horrible thing you say,” people would wail.
     “I am sorry for your distress,” Scepta would say, “and likely I am mistaken. But if asked my thoughts I tell them, deeming it wrong to conceal them.”
     Then the people would say: “The Scholars speak comfort. Why do you contradict them, if you know no more than they?”
     “Because,” she would reply, “their comforts do no good. They say we will go on after the call, speaking of rewards and punishments, but these promises and threats are too vague to be meaningful, for despite them, few are so inspired or frightened that they behave honorably. Suppose, though, that the call is a cull. Then what you do now is all you will ever do, and its importance absolute. Your children will be all that you leave, and your deeds will determine their well-being. If you would behave honorably, you cannot put off doing it, for you may have only this chance. Take that chance, and leave Pania the better for those to follow.”
     Of those who heard Scepta, some heeded her and others did not. She hoped that because of those who did, she herself was making Pania better for those to follow. For many years she took her unwelcome words from place after place, and in that way she spent her days. But her words angered the Scholars, who pursued her from town to town, crying for the Servitor to call her and silence her voice. Her nephew Fanat, maddened that in remembrance of him she would call him frivolous, was foremost among them. So Scepta became a fugitive, speaking where she dared and hiding when she must. The chase went on, year to year, until Scepta grew old and weary.

     At length, hunted and alone, she found no new places to go, and her opponents closing in on her. Having no other option, she sat down to wait for them. Then at last, in that place, the one who comes to all came to her.
     “Come,” the Servitor said. “It is time to go.”
     She tilted her head. “Indeed? But I still have much to do. They say no one refuses you. What if I did?”
     The Servitor merely extended a hand, and Scepta felt all the weariness of her years. She had not the strength to refuse. Still, she was defiant.
     “Where are you taking me?” she asked. “Is it to the King? Is there a King?”
     The Servitor was silent. Shrugging, Scepta accepted the hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “Well,” she said, “we will see. Or not.”

     And so Scepta left Pania with the Servitor. Perhaps she learned at last the answers she had sought. Perhaps, as the charitable suggested, she joined her parents in service at the court of the King. Perhaps, as the Scholars held, she suffered unending torments for misleading the people. Or perhaps, as she herself and those she had convinced speculated, she simply ceased, and learned nothing at all.
     All in Pania hold some opinion, but no one in Pania knows.