Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 4i

"Shall we go?"

"Soon," said Sprak "There is someone else who will be choosing today."

"Who?" demanded Grifford.

Sprak smiled wickedly and pointed over his shoulder.

"Her," he said.

Grifford looked round. Walking towards them was his mother, accompanied by a small figure in a light dress, which would have looked elegant had it not been for its many rents and tears, and the various colours of dirt engrained in its embroidery.

"Hello, brother." Tahlia performed a quite convincing curtsey to the two Masters. "Hello, Master Sprak, Master Tzarren."

"Hello, child," said Master Tzarren. "Lady Tahlessa."

He inclined his head, and Grifford's mother returned the gesture with a half curtsy.

"My apologies. In my current condition, I am unable to display accepted decorum."

"You have to give allowances to a bitch when she's carrying her young," interjected Master Sprak.

Grifford glared at him, and so did his sister.

"Thank you for your most gracious understanding, High Madriel-master," said their mother.

Master Sprak grunted as she turned away to look at Grifford.

"Hello, my son."

"Mother," said Grifford as he bowed.

"Enough pleasantries," said Master Sprak, "Let's get on."

He gestured with his head and they followed him between the pens, where the air was thick with the musky smell of madriel. A Field-hand was wheeling a small cart towards them, filled with freshly killed slabs of karabok meat, wrapped in leaves to keep the circling flies off. He wheeled his cart hastily aside to let them pass, his head lowered.

The pen that Master Sprak took them to was lower than the others, and its sides were more tightly fenced. There was a small pool in its centre, and the grassy slopes surrounding it were scattered with boulders and piles of tanglebrush wreathed rocks. Up and down the boulders, and in and out of the spaces between, young madriel played, stalking each other and rolling around in the dust, fighting, biting and grappling. Sometimes a pair would charge together and then rear up, striking out with half sheathed claws.

The cubs were yearlings, most of them standing no taller than Grifford's waist, but their horns had started to develop, though not to any significant size.

Master Sprak took Grifford by the shoulder and pushed him up against the pen so he could get a better view of the fighting beasts.

"Watch them carefully, Grifford, son of Pride-commander Kralaford. See which one you think would suit you best."

He unhooked the heavy, scarred stick from his belt.

"Just remember that the choice you make now will be for your life, so you had better make it a good one."

"They are fine specimens," observed Master Tzarren, who had come to stand beside Grifford.

"Not that runt."

Sprak pointed to one of the cubs with his training-stick. The beast was substantially smaller than the other males and was crouched by the pool, eagerly eyeing them as they fought. Suddenly, with a quick run and a spring, he launched himself onto the back of one of the other males. He grappled onto his chosen foe with his front claws and sank his teeth playfully into its neck. The other male dispatched its smaller opponent with a swift blow from his scarce grown horns and the runt tumbled off. He immediately regained his feet and charged again, shocking his enemy with the swiftness of his attack, so much so that the beast ended on his back with the smaller madriel clawing at his stomach and biting at the fur of his muzzle.