Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 2ii

Her thoughts were interrupted by a clanking rattle as the carriage passed the chain's first support pier and was set to rocking again. As they approached the next pier, Tahlia spotted the second carriage coming along on the upward chain. She looked across as they passed, but it was empty.

She shivered.

What she would do when she reached the ground, she decided, was run north until she was out of the fortress' shadow and then walk in the sun until she was too hot. Then she would find somewhere to sit and eat the breakfast she had stolen. The final support-pier was ahead of her, and after that her journey would end at the lower station on the edge of the battle-grounds. In their centre stood the stone tiered observation tower, commanding a view over its six jousting rings. She was fairly certain the battle-grounds would be deserted at that time of the morning. The cursors on the tower's nearest clock face displayed the time as being halfway passed the seventh hour, and very few knights of Klinberg saw the need to raise themselves from their beds much before the tenth hour had passed. It would be some time yet before the place saw any activity.

The hillside below began to level out and was not so rent with sharp bands of rock. As the six circular jousting rings drew closer, the sunken stones marking their perimeter lines slowly becoming clearer, Tahlia began to idly wonder what her idiot brother was doing that morning.

* * * * *

Grifford pulled Marcin to his feet and slammed him against the locker again, enjoying the sound the squire's head made as it thumped against the solid wood of its door. From his position on the floor behind them, Gefry gave a bubbling groan and continued to throw up his breakfast, his hands still clasped between his legs.

"I said, where is it?" Grifford growled.

Marcin looked dazed, but the sight of Grifford's raised fist returned him to awareness.

"Xantir's locker. It is in there."

The squire half slid back down to the floor when Grifford released him. He pressed the back of his hand to his bloody mouth and winced. Grifford sneered, turned away from him, went to the locker opposite and pulled open its door.

"It had better be here."

He reached inside and began pulling neatly folded clothes out, letting them pile about his feet. Something else fell out with them and landed with a metallic ringing on the stone floor. He bent to pick it up, lifting it to his eye to examine it for damage. It was a plated demon's tooth, set in salium and looped on a heavy linked chain. He hung it about his neck, tucking it safe inside his tunic.

"Do not touch my property again."

Grifford kicked aside the fallen clothes and went to the changing block door.

"I will tell Tasker about this, Layne!"

Gefry had somehow found his breath, and his voice, and was pulling himself up on one of the block's benches.

Grifford let his hand fall from the door handle, turned, went back across the room and kicked the other squire hard in his throat.

"That is what I think of Tasker!"

Then he left to the sound of Gefry's dry choking.

The heat and noise of the quad was intense after the cool quiet of the changing block.

"The tines, boy! Use the tines, like you have been taught!"

Squires faced each other across the dust choked training-rings, fighting with sword and rail-shield. The squire in the nearest fenced ring managed to angle his rail-shield to block his opponent's next blow, catching it on the half metre tine protruding from the metal triangle that he clasped in his clenched fist. The next strike came low, but he managed to catch it on the lower tine of his shield and turn it aside.

"Better!" shouted the Sword-master standing beside the ring.

The two squires had just their rail-shields for protection, only the older ones were given the benefit of training-armour, though its benefits in actuality were debatable, it being designed for the prime purpose of adding weight to its wearer rather than granting any substantial protection.

Grifford had already spent the early hours of the morning in the rings and could still feel the weight of his armour on his shoulders, along with the tight ache of exertion in the muscles of his arms.

On the far side of the quad, Squire Malik was still being tended to by Doctor Hebeca. He was conscious again, and the doctor had something pressed against the side of his head. Grifford scowled across at him, still livid at the injustice of his Sword-master's ruling.

"Are you ready, Squire Grifford?"

Grifford spun about at the sudden voice.

"High Lance-master Tzarren!" he said, only just remembering to bow to the tall figure who had been leaning, unseen, beside the door to the changing-block. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough. I have come to escort you to the Enclosures."

Lance-master Tzarren did not move from his position, arms folded and one heel resting up on the wall. His once bright uniform of office was faded by the sun and his sturdy boots were scuffed.

"I thought father was taking me."

"Your father is otherwise engaged. He sent me in his stead."

Grifford glanced up at the open windows high above the old Lance-master's head, but it seemed the noise of the quad had masked the sounds of his altercation with Marcin and Gefry or, if it had not, Master Tzarren was choosing to ignore them.

"First we visit the commissary," he said as he unfolded himself from the wall and straightened up.

"The commissary?"

"That is what I said, Squire Grifford. Doubtless in your eagerness to train this morning you neglected to eat breakfast."

"I did not have time."

"Well now you do. Come with me."

And he led Grifford away between the dusty rings and their sweating, cursing occupants.