Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 31i

Grifford took a deep breath of cold morning air. Beside him, Tahlia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and shivered. It was still practically night; the moons were quite clear in the sky, and even though the sun had risen, it was yet to clear the curtain wall of the bailey. The crowds had been gathering since long before dawn, and the ragged slopes that ran up the side of the fortress hill were already crammed, the crowds eagerly awaiting the events of the day. Still more had gathered at the edge of the lower field, though the vast expanse of the arena-field's centre had been kept clear by the fortress guard.

Tahlia shivered again.

"Oh, keep still!" Grifford snapped.

"But I'm tired!" his sister replied as she pulled her cloak still tighter around her. "Why must we be up at this hour?"

"Because we have been told to be. Now be quiet!"

A whole day had passed since his fight with Tasker. His wounds were healing, but his anger still stung like an open cut as he stood amidst a crowd made up of the ladies of the Order and their children. Six of the ladies did not stand with the rest. They waited at the front of the wooden dais that had been erected beneath the slope of the hill, each of them positioned before one of its six chairs. They stood in silence beneath the banners of Klinberg's Chapters, their faces towards the avenue that opened from the arena-field and led north, through the Encampment, to the plains of the great-bailey beyond.

Grifford's anger had not been improved by the previous day's events either. Sir Gunthred's contest for the command of Jacob Chapter had been spectacular enough, and Sir Unsaethel's defence of his command similarly so, but he could not supress his disappointment at the rest of the day. He could still recall his anticipation as his father had ridden into the arena and faced the knights of Chapter Bannoc's third Echelon.

Not one had challenged him for command.

Grifford was proud of the testament to his father's prowess, but also frustrated by the fact that he would not get to see him fight.

The same thing happened with Sir Bevrik and the knights of Asquith, and then again with Sir Zembulla and his third Echelon.

Grifford's disappointment had grown.

Sir Galder, he was sure, would be challenged. He was old and unpopular, so surely one of his knights would stand against him.

"Why!" he had protested as he had watched the six knights as they stood immobile in the arena below, facing their Pride-commander and issuing no challenge, just as the knights of the other Chapters had done.

"They all know what hinges on tomorrow," said Master Tzarren, who had been sitting beside him. "They either share their Commander's desire for war, or they are too cautious of their esteem to bear the responsibility to prevent it."

Grifford looked over to the members of the Council, who were gathered at the far end of the dais. The High Lance-master was deep in conversation with Council-master Hepskil, while High Madriel-master Sprak stood beside them in grim scarred silence. There were many other Council members that Grifford recognised, but whose names he could not recall. The large figure of the fortress' Chief-engineer stood in the centre of the group, though he was only an honorary Council member and, in Grifford's view, should have had no say in the dealings of the fortress at all. Beside him stood a short, squat, ugly woman who was probably someone high up in the Growers. There were others; Head of the department of heralds, Chief Clerk, keeper of the books, or whatever he was called. Grifford didn't really care. He did recognise the tall figure of Chief-communicant Vennar standing in the centre of the group and leaning heavily on his ceremonial staff, staring happily into the sky.