The sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon as Maddock crossed the riding-grounds, but the heat of the day still smothered the land. Master Dramut had released him and the other Field-hands only once the masdon cart had been hauled to the gardens, and its stinking contents transferred to the pits. The other Field-hands had filed into the bath-house complaining of aching backs and limbs, but he had no time to join in with their gripes. He had scrubbed and rinsed himself down quickly, then pulled on clean clothes. He'd called a quick farewell to the other boys as they still soaked in the hot water of the first bath, which was slowly turning mud brown.

His body was still hot from his day's labours, his hasty bath had done little to cool it, and his fresh clothes were soon plastered to his back again. He was beginning to regret not having spent some time in the bath-house's cool levelling pool. He stopped at one of the riding-grounds' troughs, took some gulps of water, and then doused his head in its icy cold before he set off again towards the battle-grounds.

When he reached them, they were uncommonly quiet. The construction of the new arenas around the five jousting rings was almost done. Most of the Engineers had left, though he could see, high on the new structure, two of them still working at the base of one of the banner-poles that ringed the outer wall.

He ran along the open ended avenue that skirted the new arenas, past its rows of closed up stalls. In the morning, the new thoroughfare would be packed as the crowds waited for the gates in the rear of the stands to open and admit them to the spectacle that was the tourney. Maddock felt a justified envy for those rich enough to be able to afford entry, and for those lucky few hundred common folk who would be allowed to enter for free.

Larrad, the youngest of his three brothers, had once told him that, a few years before, their father had been one of the lucky recipients of an entry token, but rather than attend, he had sold it to buy maylard grain for the farm. Even though he did not completely believe his brother, it would not have surprised Maddock that his father would do such a thing. Still, he knew many people who had witnessed previous tourneys, and they sounded thrilling. Even though his soul ached to see them for himself, he had resigned himself to the fact that he would be witnessing that year's critical events third hand, in the crowded arena-field.

That was where the avenue led. When he reached it, the place was as quiet as the rest of the battle-grounds. It was a vast expanse of flat land whose eastern edge was bordered by the slope of the fortress hill, which rose to a cliff that curved sickle like around the field's northern edge. The fortress-bailey's curtain wall, built along the height of the cliff, with the tall sentinel tower in its centre, enclosed the space still further.

In the mornings, the arena-field was a place covered in the fortress' shadow, but as Maddock crossed the deserted expanse, the sun was slowly sinking and the field was a bowl of light. As he ran, he inspecting the bright banners that flew over the pavilions arrayed along the field's western border. He was looking for the banner of Pride-commander Galder. Even though he knew he was too late to see his brothers' return, he was hoping they were still somewhere within the battle-grounds, and thought the enclave of Sir Galder was the best place to start looking.

After his last meeting with Dak's friend, the Order brat, he was more than familiar with the banners of the six Pride-commanders. First he passed the grey tents of Bannoc Chapter, then the yellow and red of Dolphus. Beyond the green and black tents of Katchewan stood the white ones of Jacob, and in their centre stood the pavilion of Lord Morath, which stuck out from the others because it was draped in dull grey-brown cloth, the colour of the fallows plain. The dead Grand-commander's banner, with its cherossa tree and rearing madriel, still flew proudly in front of its secured door and was ringed by a detachment of his guard, even though the tent stood empty.

Beyond the tents of Jacob were those of Vikas, and in their centre stood Commander Galder's great pavilion. It was opulent and of a rich burgundy, large enough to house him and all his trappings. Lying close by the entrance, carefully observing any movement with his sharp yellow eyes, was Sacsensa, and beside the larger male was Nortennor, the steed of Sir Nathalle.

Standing to attention opposite the entrance to the pavilion was one of Sir Galder's soldiers, wearing the pristine uniform of a Section-commander. Maddock wondered if the soldier would know where his brothers might be, but as he approached the tent, its flap was pushed aside. Commander Galder came out from the wide, ornately hung entrance, followed by his son, and then the looming, wide shouldered bulk of Pride-commander Zembulla.

"A part share in a farm that only grows larakkos and maylard shoots is not a wise acquisition," Sir Zembulla was saying. "A tragasaur ranch, or a place with a kernik orchard would have more trade value."

"Sir Dakster has a share of a ranch near Deeps crossing," said Sir Galder. "I am sure that it is not beyond your skills to defeat him."

Maddock turned quickly away, feigning interest in a nearby madriel that was being stripped of its armour by an Engineer and an attendant squire. A Madriel-master stood close by, inspecting its hide and joints as the individual pieces of armour were removed.

"What does trade value have to do with anything?" Sir Nathalle was saying.

"Your son's ignorance quite overwhelms me on occasion," said Sir Zembulla to Sir Galder, before addressing the younger knight. "You only have to look at the city of Naddaran to see what benefits trade can bring."

"The Association of Allied Merchants are just a gaggle of jumped up clerks and petty brokers!" the younger knight replied.

"But they are becoming rich clerks and brokers. Rich enough to afford the construction of fighting ships to protect their merchant fleet from Sea-thieves, and fortifications to protect their ports."

From the corner of his eye, Maddock saw Sir Nathalle shrug.

"So they are rich. Why should we care?"

"You may think little of the merchants of Naddaran, but most of the traders in Trehlsvale have signed Association trade contracts. They know the possibilities in the profit that they offer, and the protection that will be provided with them."

"And what does that matter to us?" said Sir Nathalle scornfully.

"It facilitates trade possibilities throughout the Provinces. What, in your ignorance, you do not see, is that it allows them to supply this Order with resources that are otherwise unavailable while our northern border is closed, and to demand twice their value from us."

"We will have no need to trouble ourselves with these merchants once we take the northern Order's lands for ourselves."

Sir Zembulla gave a deep resonating laugh.

"Do not be so sure. War is a costly business, with little profit in it."

"I do not care for profit," said Sir Galder. "Only the soldiers and war-engines that can be bought with it. It is with those that I will reach my ambition."

"Your ambition is flawed, Commander. Nothing can be gained with vengeance, my friend."

"Only satisfaction."

Maddock saw Sir Zembulla shrug.

"Maybe not even that."

It seemed that Sir Nathalle had stopped paying any attention to the exchange of the two Pride-commanders.

"I still think that I will challenge Sir Jerik for his share in Merien farm. He will be easier to beat than Sir Dakster."

Maddock did not need to see Sir Galder's face. He could hear the coldness in the reply that he gave to his son.

"Do as you wish. Your choices are not my responsibility any longer."

"I would urge you to look at the wider picture," said Sir Zembulla. "War or peace, there is money to be made in the trading houses."

The younger knight gave no response. Maddock glanced over to see the Commander of Dolphus shrug his huge shoulders and turn away.

"My business is done here, so I will leave you with my words falling on deaf ears."

He strode away, but called back once over his shoulder.

"The jousting rings await you tomorrow, Sir Nathalle. I look forward to seeing how you fare!"

Commander Galder and his son watched him go.

"I do not care who that man can trace his family back to, I still find all his chatter about wealth quite vulgar," said Nathalle, once Sir Zembulla was out of earshot.

"Greed is his weakness," replied his father. "I do not like such drives in a man, but he does understand his passion and speaks true about one thing; this war will cost me dearly."

Sir Galder turned away from his scrutiny of Sir Zembulla's retreating form, and Maddock quickly returned his attention to the madriel. He walked around to its far side, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, while putting himself in a position from where he could still see the two knights.

It seemed that Sir Galder had suddenly noticed the Section-commander, who was still standing to rigid attention.

"Yes?" he asked sharply.

"Sir. Permission to stand down the levy?"

Sir Galder looked at the soldier with barely concealed annoyance.

"Have they been inspected?"

"Yes, sir."

Sir Galder merely grunted in response.

"It is a pity to disband so much of your army after such a short time in the field," said Sir Nathalle.

"True. The last months gave them some experience, but they need hardening by battle."

"Well they will have that opportunity soon enough."

Sir Galder's glare seemed to warn his son to silence, then he looked back to the soldier.

"Very well," he said. "Better their families feed them than I. Order the troops dismissed."

The soldier saluted, then turned and marched smartly into the warren of bright tents.

Sir Galder and Sir Nathalle mounted their steeds. Nortennor growled as the younger knight climbed into his saddle, but Sacsensia merely stood impassive.

"It will be a fine day tomorrow," said Sir Nathalle. "I will make you proud of me."

Maddock didn't wait around to hear Sir Galder's reply. Instead, he ran swiftly after the departing soldier.

"Excuse me, sir!"

The man turned, and Maddock could see that he was older than he had thought. His hair was very light, though his skin was dark and deeply lined around the eyes.

"What is it, lad?" he asked.

"Are you in charge of Sir Galder's troops?"

"Only the irregulars," the soldier replied. "And why might you be asking?"

"I'm looking for my brothers, from the farm of Dredar."

"We've many men from Dredar," said the soldier. "Come, walk with me. The men are eager to be away to their homes and Sir Galder kept me waiting too long."

He turned, and Maddock followed him through the closely packed tents.

"Their names are Karek, Yohef and Larrad," Maddock went on.

"Ah. The Jonas boys! I know them well. So you must be Maddock. They speak of you all the time."

"Really?" asked Maddock.

"Of course. They're forever wondering what trouble you're getting yourself into without them around. Ha! They love to tell tales of your exploits. I especially like the one where you escaped from the house when you were only five summers old."

"I can't say I remember..."

"All day they spent looking for you. All over the plains and the fields; your mother was convinced you'd been washed downstream, or carried off by a wandering volus."

"Oh, I think I remember Karek telling me something about that," said Maddock, with a sinking feeling.

"They finally found you up to your ears in the pit, trying to teach the borak to sing!"

"Well, I was only five!"

"Always tells it with pride that one, does Karek. Ah, and here we are."

They had reached an open area in the centre of the tents, where lines of troops in Jacob burgundy were lined up, arranged into their individual units, though their order had collapsed as men broke rank to sit in the long grass and rest in the late afternoon sun.

"On your feet!" bellowed the soldier, his voice suddenly shifting from friendly to commanding as he strode over towards them.

Maddock stayed where he was by the tents. He scanned the faces of the waiting men carefully, eagerly looking for those of his brothers. Many of them were not much more than boys, and though he recognised none of them, most had the sun darkened complexions of farmers and ranchers.

"The great and good Commander Galder has granted you leave to return to your homes," shouted the soldier.

There were a few humourless cheers from the waiting men.

"If you have all signed your discharge papers, you are free to leave. Fortak grant you health and the joy of the tourney."

The men gave a louder, more enthusiastic cheer this time, and they began to break ranks.

"And I'm sure that the Jonas boys will be pleased to know that their lost borak is waiting for them over yonder."

The soldier gestured towards Maddock, who felt the heat of embarrassment flare across his cheeks. The soldiers cheered again, and a few laughed out loud in recognition. Maddock was suddenly surrounded by soldiers as they surged past him and into the avenues of tents behind. Many of them smiled as they passed and a few ruffled his hair, though he still recognised none of them. He tried to force his way through the mass of smiling soldiers, searching for one that he knew when, quite abruptly, he was grabbed from behind and hauled backwards out of the crowd and into the air. He was spun up and down several times, so that the blue sky flew by to be replaced by the colourful streak of the tents again, and then blue sky and grass then bright colour again and again. The spinning stopped, but his head kept going.

"So here you are, little brother," said a spirited voice.

Maddock managed to focus on the face of his brother, Karek, a few centimetres away from his own. Karek had the same narrow features and dark hair and brows, under which his eyes sparkled. Maddock was also aware of a pair of strong arms gripping him under his armpits.

"I'm going to be sick," he said. His brother took a hasty step backwards. "All over Yohef's boots."

The arms swiftly released him and he fell the short distance to the floor. Karek stood smiling down at him.

"Just kidding!" said Maddock, returning the grin.

He was turned around then by a firm hand on his shoulder and picked up once more, this time to be pulled into a strong embrace. Then he was held out at arm's length, the face of his eldest brother, Yohef, before him, the smile behind his beard wide and wonderful to see.

"I should have spun you some more," he said.

"Until his brains were in his boots," said a third voice.

Yohef put him down and he turned to see Larrad, his other brother and youngest of the three, standing nearby.

Larrad reached out and ruffled his hair.

"What little brains he has, of course."

Maddock smiled and pushed his brother's hand away.

"I'm surprised you found your way back," he said. "I thought you'd get lost between the Rhebus and here."

Larrad smiled and handed the heavy spear he was holding to Yohef, who then stood with it leaning on his shoulder.

"It was easy. I just followed the smell," said Larrad. He leant forward and sniffed the air around Maddock with exaggerated caution. "Have you been playing with the borak again?"

Karek stepped forward then and punched Larrad casually on the shoulder.

"Leave the boy be," he said.

"I like Maddock's scent," said Yohef. "It reminds me of home."

Most of the soldiers had gone now, disappearing into the noise and turmoil of the tents. Maddock took a step back to take a better look at his brothers. They had all changed in small ways in the half year they had been away. Larrad's hair was longer and his cheeks were showing signs of downy stubble, and Yohef had more grey hairs in his own beard. All wore uniforms in the dark burgundy of Jacob Chapter, demon skull and sword emblazoned on the right chest. Yohef stood leaning on his spear, his large crescent shield slung over his back, and Larrad was rubbing his arm where his brother had punched him. He had a short sword at his waist and a tall plains bow and quiver of arrows strung over one shoulder. Karek had changed little, but his uniform seemed more pristine then those of his two brothers. The scabbard of his sword looked new, and the coat of arms on his rail-shield, freshly painted.

Maddock then noticed the curved metal bar pinned to his shoulder.

"What's that!" he said.

"The fools have made him a Unit-leader," said Larrad.

Maddock was almost silenced with the shock.

"You're to stay in the army!" he said. "You're not coming back to the farm?"

"No, but don't worry; I won't be going far. I'll still be staying with the irregulars. They're to give me my own unit to train."

"In between drinking and gambling," said Yohef, a stern look creeping over his face.

"It's done me no harm." Karek took a small bag from inside his uniform, and shook it. There came the distinct jingle of coins. "You're just feeling jealous because I get paid and you don't. Which reminds me. Which way to the gaming tents? I hear the odds on Commander Kralaford are good."

"There is a reason for that," said Yohef.

"Ah, come now," said Karek. "Ignore the camp gossip. Commander Kralaford will stand. And he will beat Commander Galder."

"Have you no loyalty?" said Larrad mischievously.

"Of course." Karek held the bag up and jingled it again. "Come on, little brother. Lead the way."

He put an arm around Maddock's shoulder and guided him in the direction of the tents.