Maddock stood waiting outside the training-arena, tapping the training stick he had been issued with against his boot. The stick, like his tragasaur hide boots, tunic, breeches and arm bracers, was new, its surface smooth and unscarred. He looked around the Enclosures, which were strangely quiet after the commotion of the day before.

The previous afternoon, the Pride had been released back to the great-bailey, and the Field-hands had been ordered to the task of cleaning up the vacated pens. The sun had been closing on the horizon by the time Maddock and the others had finished their labours, and their shadows had been long as they wheeled their empty hand-carts down the hill from the gardens. They'd had little rest all day, and never did get the chance to climb to the fortress and see the remains of the two assassins that were the cause of their pains. They had been discussing the possibility of sneaking up the next day, despite Macus' assertions that there would be very little left of the creatures to be seen, when Cirric had pointed back down towards the Enclosures.

"Oh, shit-balls!"

The other boys had looked and given similar curses.

Another group of knights was riding in, at least twenty of them.

"I thought they were all back from their hunting," one boy had said.

"No, they ain't been hunting," Cirric had put in, his hand held up to shade his eyes from the sinking sun. "That's not riding-armour they're wearing."

Maddock had raised his own hand over his eyes and peered at the approaching knights.

"And that's Vikas' banner. It's Commander Galder!"

"The boy's right you know," Macus had growled.

Cirric had been scratching the back of his neck beneath his mop of dark hair.

"I wonder what he's doing back down here."

Maddock had wondered the same thing. He had heard nothing from his brothers for months, and he was hoping Sir Galder's return to the fortress indicated some significant development in the north that meant they would soon be returning home.

The boys had watched as the knights rode into the Enclosures, followed by a retinue of other riders; the knights' squires, and some Madriel-masters, into whose care their steeds had been handed as they dismounted. A group of the knights, six in all, had immediately set off towards the battle-grounds and the unseen chain-carriage station.

"That's definitely the Commander," Cirric had said, his hand shielding his eyes again. "Must be some big news for him to come himself. We'd best get down there. Sure the beasts'll want some food getting."

Maddock had reluctantly taken up the handles of his hand-cart.

"I hope it won't take too long."

"Don't you worry, none. You get back to the refectory and get some fodder for yourself, then get some nap. Big day tomorrow, remember."

Maddock could hardly forget, and he had gratefully done as Cirric suggested, but despite a full belly and the exhaustion of his labours, sleep had not come quickly. His mind had been wild, not only with the anticipation of the following morning's training, but also with the constant pondering at the meaning of Sir Galder's return. Despite that, he had been asleep when his fellow Field-hands had returned to the bunk-house, and he had woken before them that morning, so he had still heard no news.

The door to the training-arena clicked open behind him.

"Ah, Maddock," said Madriel-master Dramut. "Nice to see you are as prompt as usual. Come on in, boy."

Maddock followed the elderly Master into the shadow of the arena. A pen was standing against its far wall, and Maddock could see his small beast prowling back and forth within its confines.

"Have you thought of a name for your steed yet?" asked Master Dramut.

"No."

"You must choose one. Today it does not matter, because we will not be attempting anything too difficult, but you must find a name for him soon. For now, it is enough for you and your beast to meet and allow you both to get the measure of each other."

Maddock nodded and followed the Madriel-master to the centre of the arena.

"It will also give me the opportunity to observe the two of you, so that I may decide the best way to progress with your training." Master Dramut unhooked his training stick from his back. "The primary tool you have at your command is your voice, and your secondary tool is this. It is not a weapon. We do not use it to strike."

Maddock looked at his own, unscarred training stick.

"Master Dramut, can I ask you something?"

"Always," said Master Dramut. "That is how you learn. What do you wish to know?"

"I couldn't help noticing, this armour I've been given isn't like that what the squires have. There's is all padded and stuff..."

"The hide of a child of the Order is more valuable than that of a mere Field-hand, and they must only face a juvenile beast once. You will have to face countless, and a Madriel-master should not rely on armour to keep him from harm. The training that begins today is not only the training of your madriel. Now, Maddock, are you ready?"

"Yes," said Maddock, though in truth he was anything but.

Madriel-master Dramut crossed to the small pen. He put his hand on its heavy bolt, and Maddock saw that the beast inside had stopped its pacing and was crouching in front of the door in readiness.

"The relationship between a steed and its rider is a complex one. I have already told you about the bond that must be formed if success is desired. The journey towards that bonding will end in mutual high regard, and the path that begins the journey is understanding between you and your beast. Today, you will take the first step on that path. Do not meet your beast's eye. Merely stand and be still. Prepare yourself."

Maddock tensed himself as master Dramut drew back the bolt on the pen door, waiting for a frenzied charge of tooth and horns, but to his surprise the animal came tentatively through the gateway, sniffing almost delicately at the air.

Master Dramut closed the gate behind it and withdrew. The small beast turned to watch him, but the Madriel-master did not even look at him, so after a few brief sniffs, the beast turned its attention on Maddock.

It approached him cautiously, a low growl in its throat, and Maddock did not move. The beast circled round him until, after three full circuits of the arena, it stopped its pacing and stood facing him.

"Interesting," said Master Dramut, but gave no indication of which of the beast's actions he was remarking on.

"What do I do now?" asked Maddock, who was still not looking directly at the animal, and had his eyes fixed on a point in the air a half metre above its head.

At the sound of his voice, the madriel drew back its lips and issued another low growl.

"It seems our small friend is testing you. He has taken your scent and heard your voice, and now he is wondering what you are going to do next."

"What am I going to do next?"

The madriel gave another low growl.

"Remember what I told you. Your beast must understand that you are in charge."

Maddock was about to ask again what exactly he should do, but then he realised that he already knew. He lowered his eyes and fixed his sight on the beast's own dark orbs.

The grating in the animal's throat intensified, and it lowered its flanks towards the ground.

"Easy, now," said Master Dramut, and the beast's ears flicked around to find the noise of his voice. "I have worked with your beast and he understands a few basic words of command."

The animal began to stalk sideways, trying to place Master Dramut in its view, and Maddock followed it with his eyes.

"Order your beast to hold his position," said Master Dramut. "Find the voice that will command it."

Then he silently began to move around behind the animal, to keep himself out of its sight.

Maddock took in a deep breath.

"Hold!" he shouted, but even in his own ears his voice sounded feeble.

The beast continued to move, still crouched and ready to leap.

"Hold!" he called again, but the beast still did not stop.

Maddock could feel his patience thinning, his anger close to the surface. Once, back on the farm, he had been herding the ghat for milking, and one of the clumsy animals had stepped on his foot in the crowded pen. He had shouted at it angrily and pushed it away, and his brother, Yohef, had chided him for it.

'Don't lose your temper at them,' he had said. 'That won't get the job done.'

Maddock remembered those word and pushed down his anger.

He took another deep breath.

"Hold!" he commanded, and the beast stopped its sideways movement. It did not stop its growling.

"Good," said Master Dramut. "Now, make your beast sit. You will use the command 'Down!'"

"Down!" called Maddock, trying to keep the same confidence in his voice that he had felt before.

The beast did not move, but the growling in its throat did subside.

"Again," said Master Dramut.

"Down!"

As Maddock remained with his eyes locked with the animal's, he thought he detected a change in its hard gaze. It seemed to lose something of its hostility.

"Down!"

The beast lowered its haunches slowly to the ground.

"I did it!" said Maddock excitedly.

He looked up to where Master Dramut was standing behind the animal.

"Have a care..." the old Madriel-master began, but his warning came too late.

From where it crouched on its haunches as if in compliance, the small beast issued a sudden low growl and then pounced towards Maddock, claws extended in an attempt to savage his face. Maddock hastily raised his training-stick and stepped back. The creature's claws raked down the front of his thick tunic, sending him off balance, and he ended on his back with the runt's jaws clasped around his training-stick. The beast showed surprising strength as it forced the stick down towards his face, all the while piercing him with the violence of its eyes. The young madriel's pungent breath filled his nostrils, and slobber dropped from the sides of its mouth where it gripped the stick, falling on his neck in warm strands.

He didn't see Master Dramut step forward, and was only aware of the Madriel-master when he caught the animal under its belly with his own training-stick to haul it off. His other arm came around and pinned the creature's front legs tight up about its neck, so that it was restrained and could do nothing except claw at the air with its hind legs.

"You have a real rascal here, boy," he said, his bony face split with mirth.

He carried the struggling madriel to the far side of the arena and dropped him to the ground. The beast whirled around to face him, a growl in its throat and its lips drawn back to reveal its small savage teeth.

Master Dramut pointed his training stick at the animal and bellowed.

"Back!"

The order was issued in such a commanding voice that even Maddock had to resist the urge to scuttle away backwards through the dirt.

The growling in the creature's voice died to a quiet grumble, and it took a few tentative steps backwards, crouching low to the ground.

"You have to watch this one, boy," Master Dramut said to Maddock, his eyes not leaving those of the young animal in front of him. "He's clever."

He continued to hold the beast with his gaze until it was quiet. Then it turned away and prowled over to a patch of inconspicuous looking earth, which it began to pay keen attention to.

"On your feet, boy," said Master Dramut. "Let us try again. If you are ready, of course."

Maddock clambered to his feet.

"Oh, I'm ready, all right."

He took his position once more in the centre of the arena.

"Come on then, you rascal," he said to his beast, which was still assiduously sniffing about at the same patch of earth. "Let's see you try that again."

The beast turned to him and gave him an unreadable look.

"Right," said Master Dramut. "Let us begin..."

He was interupted by a tentative knocking at the arena gate.

Master Dramut first looked annoyed, but then crossed to the door.

"Do not move," he said. Maddock didn't know whether he was talking to him or his beast.

Master Dramut opened the door to reveal a young Field-hand, looking red faced and worried.

Maddock turned back to his beast, which had sat back on its haunches and was watching him with the same impassive look, so he did not hear the boy's hastily given message, or Master Dramut's reply. When the boy was dismissed and the arena door closed behind him, the Madriel-master turned to him.

"I am sorry, Maddock, but it seems our lesson will have to end there."

"But, why?" asked Maddock, though his eyes remained fixed on those of his beast.

"Our presence is required for other duties. The Enclosures must be readied to receive the Pride again."

He strode across the arena, his training stick readied to begin the task of returning Maddock's small steed to its pen.

"Go out to the karabok-fields and find Cirric. Tell him to round up all the Field-hands and gather then at the refectory, even those which I have allowed respite. He'll know what to do. Take any further instruction from him."

"But what's happening, Master Dramut?"

Master Dramut looked up to the circle of blue sky above, his head tilted as though listening for something, then he lifted his training stick and held it out to get the small madriel's attention.

"The Order is preparing for war," he said. "Now go about your duties."