Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 31i

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Tahlia was also watching Klinberg's Chief-communicant.

"What is he staring at?"

Her brother ignored her so she huffed noisily, that outburst of her annoyance being similarly ignored.

It was not only her tiredness that caused her peevishness. Grifford was still being thick headed in refusing to help her discover what Tasker was up to, even though it was to his own benefit. Tahlia had therefore decided that it was up to her to handle things, but even that was proving bothersome. She had intended to spend the previous day at the Encampment, watching the merchant's tent for any sign of Tasker, but her mother had summoned her to her rooms. She had called her there to be fitted for her new dress, and the process had unbelievably taken the best part of the morning.

In the afternoon, she had been subjected to the tedious business of the third Echelon challenges. Even once they were done, and she had managed to get away, her efforts had ended up being futile. She had spent what remained of the afternoon in the avenue fronting the brightly coloured tent, watching the people come and go, and keeping a close eye out for anyone who could be Tasker. It had been impossible for her to see the entrance to the tent, with all the people passing up and down in front of her, and she could get no closer because of the strange two headed creature who guarded the door. The thing would fix her with one pair of eyes or another as soon as she stepped within three metres of the tent's entrance, and each time she had been forced to back innocently away.

She had waited pointlessly until the sky grew dark, when there was no other option but to return home. She decided she would spend the next day watching Tasker, but much to her annoyance, she had been woken before dawn that morning and ordered to the battle-grounds to watch the Commanders' challenges. She contented herself with the knowledge that Tasker would be similarly engaged, but her inability to discover the reasons behind his sneakiness, along with her brother's continued stupidity, was rankling her.

"How much longer?" she demanded of Grifford.

Her question was answered by the distant sound of a karabok horn, somewhere out in the great-bailey. A hush fell on the arena-field as a thousand conversations ended abruptly. All eyes turned in the horn's direction as it sounded again. A distant rumble could be heard; the heavy thrum of thousands of pounding paws on the earth, interspersed with the clank and grind of metal on metal. The rumble lifted to a distant thunder, and in the north a dust cloud was rising like a shadow in the blue sky.

The horn sounded for a third time, and the noise rang from the fortress walls, resonating around the amphitheatre of the arena-field. The sound had not faded before the thunder of the knights' approach rose to join its echo, and the knights of the Pride-order of Klinberg entered the arena-field.

* * *

On the dais, High Lance-master Tzarren's heart lifted at the sight of the knights' approach, and he could tell by the look on the face of Council-master Hepskil, who stood beside him, that the old man had not forgotten the joys of being a knight of Klinberg either. Nothing could match the powerful belief in oneself when clad in armour of plate, astride something as powerful as a madriel bedecked for war. Glorious Galanth was ten years dead, and though Master Tzarren had long since bridged the abyss of brooding memories, the power of his steed had not been forgotten. The memories still stirred as he watched the knights enter the arena-field.

First came Sir Unsaethel, the polished edges of his old armour shinning a flat blue from the half night sky. He rode, straight backed, his lance raised and his rail shield held firmly by his side, while around his neck hung the plaited necklace of plains grass that his wife had made for him at the tourney's beginning. His steed, Falsch, moved with a tread that belied his years, his armour as old as Sir Unsaethel's and as equally well polished.