Grifford slammed the door of the training arena behind him and crossed to the water trough that sat in the nearby shade of a cherossa tree.
"Stupid beast!"
His dark hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and as he walked he stretched his arm back and forth and rubbed at his elbow with his other hand. After the mess he had left it in the previous day, Master Chen had made him take his training-armour off before leaving the arena, but the thick stench of it still clung to him.
Once at the trough, Grifford plunged his hands deep into it, doused his head with the icy water and then shook it vigorously. He turned to look back at the arena.
"Stubborn, useless animal!"
"Not happy, little brother?" said a voice from above.
He looked up into the tree to see his sister sitting astride one of its thick boughs.
"Do not call me that," he said. He grabbed a rough towel from a nearby branch and began scrubbing at his hair.
"I am the eldest," Tahlia replied as she drummed her heels against the tree's trunk. "I was born first."
Grifford finished with the towel and threw it on the floor.
"Is Jud-jud not behaving himself?"
"Do not call him that. I have not given him a name yet." Grifford pulled his tunic off over his head, dipped his hands in the trough again, and began sloughing water over his arms and neck. "And no, he is not behaving himself. The stupid animal will not listen to me. My throat hurts from shouting, yet the beast refuses to acknowledge me."
"Oh dear," said Tahlia, her face a model of seriousness.
"I hit the ground with that stupid stick and shout, and he just sits there. 'Get up close to him,' said Master Chan. 'Hit the ground in front of his nose if you have to. Let him know you are in charge.'"
"So what did you do?"
"I did what Master Chen told me to do, and the beast still ignored me, so I hit him a little closer than Master Chen suggested."
"Where?"
"On his nose."
"Poor thing!"
Grifford glared up at his sister.
"Poor thing! He nearly broke my arm! Charged straight at me and knocked me right off my feet."
Tahlia swung herself off the branch and dropped to the ground.
"Maybe he does not like you."
"He does not have to like me. He only has to do as he is told."
Tahlia went to the through, dipped her head to the water, and took a drink.
"You should name him," she said as she wiped her arm across her mouth. "Then you would get on better."
"So you are suddenly an expert! Maybe I should take lessons from you instead of Master Chen. I might as well. Father has refused to get me someone more capable."
"At least you get time to train your madriel. Mother is making me do extra tuition with Mistress D'almeria, just because I forgot to go to my needlecraft lesson yesterday."
"And then, after that animal nearly tore my arm off, Master Chen gave me punishment!" railed Grifford. "He will have me polishing madriel saddles in the morning!"
He picked his towel back up and began shaking it free of dirt.
"I mean, needlecraft is not that important," said Tahlia. "The fortress is already filled with tapestries..."
Grifford wasn't listening. He was looking over his sister's shoulder at something behind her. Tahlia turned to see what had caught his attention. A Field-hand was approaching, pushing a wooden cart, which was surrounded by a thick cloud of black flies.
"What have you got there?" Tahlia asked the boy as he drew near.
The Field-hand set the cart down angrily in the shade of the cherossa tree and swatted away the flies that were crawling about his face.
"Dung," he said.
"Well you cannot leave it there," said Grifford. "It stinks."
"That's what I said to Master Dramut."
"And what did Master Dramut say?" asked Tahlia, in a ridiculous tone of genuine interest.
"He said 'That is the nature of dung.'"
The boy unslung the wide headed shovel that was strapped to his back and leant it carefully against the tree's trunk. He was short, with thin dirty features under a tangle of hair, his arms and face brown from the sun. He pulled a piece of grass from his filthy tunic, left his cart and its cargo to the circling flies, and went to the trough.
He lowered his head to drink.
"You cannot drink here, Field-hand," said Grifford. "Use one of the other troughs."
"Don't listen to my little brother," said Tahlia. "He is just in a bad mood."
The boy had stopped, his mouth close to the water. Grifford moved around the side of the trough to stand in front of him.
"You should do as you are told, boy."
The boy didn't move from his position by the water trough, though Grifford towered over him, and reckoned he was a good deal heavier. Slowly, his eyes not leaving his, the smaller boy dipped his hand into the water and lifted some to his lips. He drank.
Grifford stepped forward and pushed him hard on his shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards.
"Grifford!" chided Tahlia. "Leave him alone."
Grifford advanced, but the Field-hand had straightened up and was, unbelievably, standing his ground and looking defiant.
"So you think you can be clever with me?" Grifford closed in on him. "In my family we do not stand for that sort of behaviour!"
"Maybe I don't care for your family."
"Impudent borak!"
Grifford lunged, and the boy dodged swiftly aside. He lunged to the right and again the boy dodged aside, but this time the lunge had been a feint. He brought his left arm forward with a quick punch, which connected solidly with the boy's dirty cheek and sent him sprawling in the grass.
"Grifford, stop!" shouted Tahlia. She jumped over the steps of the trough and threw herself at his back. She was only half his weight, but the energy of her charge carried both of them several metres, before they landed on the ground together with a heavy thump.
Tahlia rolled off quickly and stood defensively in front of the Field-hand, who had regained his feet swiftly, his hand clamped to the side of his head.
Grifford got more slowly to his own feet, glaring at the boy with a deliberate dark fierceness. He took a step forward.
"Do not do it, Grifford," warned Tahlia.
"Get out of my way."
"No! I will not let you do it. Master Chen already has you on punishment tomorrow."
Grifford looked at her and some of the fierceness left him. He lowered his fists, but he kept them clenched.
"Besides; think of what father would say if he hears you have been beating Field-hands," added Tahlia. "The boy is really not worth it."
Grifford looked at the Field-hand standing behind her. His fists slowly uncurled, then he cast an irritated look at his sister.
"Fine."
Tahlia looked back at the Field-hand, then again at Grifford. Seemingly content that his anger had subsided sufficiently, she turned from him and inspected the bruise that was forming on the side of the Field-hand's face.
"I do not think you need to go to the Infirmary."
She extended a finger and jabbed his cheek.
"Ow!"
"No, you will be fine," she said expertly, before turning on Grifford. "You really are a lug sometimes, you know."
"The boy should learn some respect."
"Or learn to be faster," replied the Field-hand.
Grifford picked up his towel again.
"Get that dung to where it is supposed to be," he said, pointing to the abandoned cart. "Come on, sister."
He turned and walked away.
"What is your name, Field-hand?" said Tahlia, behind him.
"Maddock," replied the boy.
"I am Tahlia," she replied. "That is my brother, Grifford. Sorry about him; he was born an idiot."
"Sister!" growled Grifford. "Come on!"
He turned to see his sister rolling her eyes theatrically. Then she straightened her face into a mask of innocence and walked by him, punching him on the arm as she passed, before breaking into a run.
Grifford ignored her and instead looked at the Field-hand. He threw his dirty, sweat stained towel at his feet.
"And take that to the laundry bins when you are done, Field-hand."
Then he turned and followed his sister.
* * * * *
Dak sat at the desk in her bedroom, her head bowed over the open book in front of her. The pages contained tables and graphs detailing the properties of cickracol, in particular the specifics of its temperature variations when combined with barapane gas. She already had a thorough understanding of the subject matter, and her father had taught her everything she needed to know about its practical applications while working the forge, but she still studied the material with her usual assiduousness.
In the workshop below, she heard the door open and then close, heralding her father's return, but she was so absorbed in her study, it was ten minutes before she realised that he had not ascended the stairs to their quarters. She frowned, marked her place in the book, and closed it.
She found her father sitting at his high desk in the finishing shop. He had pulled back the curtain covering the end of the room to reveal the armour of Commander Galder, and also that of Sacsensia, which he had completed the day before. Its helm and horn sheaths were in place, and everything was oiled and polished to a level of brilliant sheen.
"Hello, father."
Her father, who had been sitting with his arms folded, studying his finished work with lowered brows, raised his head and forced a smile.
"Hello, my daughter."
"Is everything being alright?"
"Yes, of course. I was merely examining my work for any sign of flaws."
Her father straightened up, swayed slightly in his chair, then rested his elbow on his desk and propped his chin on his fist to look at her. Dak went to stand beside him.
"There are no flaws, father. Your work is perfect."
"Yes. I am believing that it is."
Her father's eyes dropped back to the two suits of armour.
"It is your greatest work."
He tapped the fingers of his other hand on the desk.
"Ah, you cannot be saying that, daughter. You cannot be saying that at all. It may well be the best thing I have done up to this day, but as each work improves over the last then it is logic to be assuming that I will be making things of superiority in the future, so your statement of this being my greatest work is inaccurate."
Dak frowned.
"I am not understanding."
Her father let the arm that was supporting his head fall to the desk, and he sat up unsteadily.
"Neither am I," he said. "It was a thing your mother would sometimes be saying."
"Was it?"
Her father nodded.
"It was one of the many, and I am sure that for all the things she was permitted to be saying to me that I could not understand, she knew ten others more baffling still."
He focussed his eyes on her and smiled.
"One day, I am sure, you will be knowing the things that she did and doubtless much more. It is a good thing you are having her mind and not mine."
"Oh, father, you cannot be saying that!"
"I can and I have. I am merely a lowly beater of metal, whereas your mother had the sharpest of brains."
Her father looked again at the two sets of armour, and his shoulders slumped.
"I am missing her company."
Dak raised her hand towards her father's shoulder, but then let it drop back to her side.
"Have you made your request to the Guild for them to be finding you a new wife?" she asked.
"No. It is a duty I should be dealing with. There are many Engineers at Klinberg who have requested a husband, but I am not sure that I am prepared. I am also concerned that there will be difficulty in finding someone with the capability of replacing your mother."
"That is a relevant concern," said Dak.
"She was devoid of flaws."
Her father rested his heavy head in his hands again.
"Excepting for one."
Dak looked at the clock that ticked over the finishing shop's door.
"It is almost noon, father. Come up the stairs and I will prepare our meal."
Her father did not move.
"Maddock is a good lad, and it was a pleasure to be seeing him again, and I cannot be condoning your mother for allowing the friendship, but with the girl she went too far."
"We are still having cold roasted borak in the ice room," said Dak. "And there is jepsil root baking."
"She should have been throwing her out, not inviting her in."
"That is true," said Dak, giving up her attempt to divert the conversation. "But Tahlia is now my friend, and I am enjoying her company."
"It is company that will be causing you trouble," said her father, and then closed his eyes.
After a minute, where he did not move, and Dak was beginning to think he might have fallen asleep, he opened them again.
"Were you mentioning cold roast borak, daughter?"
"I was."
Her father stood up carefully from his desk.
"That is excellent news," he said. "I am starving."
Then he went to the stairs and began to climb up to their quarters.
"I will be requesting a new wife soon, daughter. We are both in need of a restoration of balance in our lives."
Once his heavy footsteps had reached the room above, Dak crossed the finishing shop and pulled the curtain back into place, after giving the two sets of armour a final appraisal. They were indeed flawless. It would have made her very happy if her mother had still been alive to see them.