Long was the night and dark was the chapel,
Cold was the ground on which vigil was kept.
Lonely the young man, his lone candle burning,
While all around him the monastery slept.
For his was the Watch, and his was the Duty,
His was the oath of the Keeper of Night.
There as he kneeled, with his sword held before him,
There a stray wind did extinguish his light.
Long he stayed kneeling, his sword he held high,
His lips shaping prayers that flew to Vesh first.
Creaking, and moaning, the chapel stood swaying,
As thunder blew closer and dark skies did burst.
And as he waited, the night hags came riding,
Riding the men all asleep in their cells.
Riding the monks and the abbot most royal,
Novitiate, lay person, each became shells.
When he returned from his Vigil, his Duty,
When he returned to the world he once knew,
Those who had trained him now lay all asunder,
Those who were lucky the hags rode and slew.
Now he keeps watch, this Vigil, this Keeper,
Now he keeps guard all the long lonely night.
Always his sword is held out beside him,
Holds in its pommel a magical light.