Maddock should have been dead on his feet, but he was too captivated to be weary, despite the late hour he'd had gone to bed the previous night. Karek had kept him up, delighting his youngest brother with stories of his exploits in the north, though the tallness of his tales was frequently tempered by Yohef's more reasoned interjections. Larrad had been somewhat more reluctant to speak about serving as a soldier, seeming happier to talk about the people and things he had missed on the farm.

It felt as though he had slept for less than an hour when his mother roused him. He had hurried back to the Fortress while the sky was still dark, to spend the morning, along with the other new Field-hands, clearing up the Enclosures. He had missed the spectacle of the knight's exodus from Klinberg. All he had seen was the back end of it as he had made his way up to the fortress-bailey to begin the work of clearing up there. That had not been an easy task, as the dung the madriel had left behind them had been trampled into the grass by their passage, and the job had taken up the rest of the morning.

After their mid-day meal, all he could think about was his bed, but that changed soon enough when Master Dramut gave him his afternoon's duties.

He would be serving in one of the arena's readying-halls.

He was still doing nothing but clearing up dung, but that didn't matter. He was close to the knights, and could watch as they prepared for their contest from the confines of the service area, where he waited with the other Field-hands and Junior Engineers on duty.

What was even better, was that when the fighting began he could climb the stairs which led from the readying hall to the deck beneath the lowest tier of the stands, where the serving Madriel-master's and squires watched the contests. He wasn't sure if he was allowed onto the deck, but no one seemed to pay him any attention, though he did sometimes get an odd surly look from the attending squires, which he duly ignored. Ignoring them was easy, thanks to the spectacle of the jousting ring. All the pictures in the books he had seen, and the stories he had heard, and the wild imaginings of his mind, were nothing compared to the reality of an actual fight between armoured knights on their madriel steeds.

The clash of metal as they crashed together on the first bout he had witnessed had deafened his ears, and the booming stomp of the crowd in the stands above had made the wooden frame about the deck shiver. He could feel it in his legs, and through his fingers where they gripped the ledge of the open window fronting the long chamber. The knights clashed and circled and clashed again, so fast he could barely follow their quick attacks and defensive strikes. He felt his heart skip in dismay as the first knight toppled from his saddle to land with a strained grinding of metal in the dust of the arena.

It was his first sight of what it meant to be a knight, and the boundless hostility and violence contained within the wide ring of earth in the arena's centre made him shudder through and through. Despite that, he remained undaunted at the prospect, as it only fuelled his desires. As he watched, his mind swam with visions of himself astride his own madriel, winning bout after bout to the surprise of those in the crowd, especially those watching from the high observation tower. He imagined the open mouthed look of shock on the face of the idiot squire Grifford, as he lay on his back in the arena dust with himself, a mere farmer's son, standing over him triumphant. The image secretly crept into his mind of the boy's sister running into the arena to kneel by the side of her fallen brother, bending over him in despair before looking up at his conqueror, with wide eyed admiration on her face.

A great crash came from the ring, tearing Maddock away from the odd daydream. The crowd above roared, as lances shattered and a knight was thrown from his saddle. Maddock grinned with the recollection of where he was, and felt like his position as Field-hand and all the countless hours of shovelling shit was finally paying off.

The afternoon sped on with bout after bout, and in between each, Maddock would return to the readying chamber as the knights withdrew, victorious or defeated. He watched as they removed helmets from their sweat soaked faces, and marvelled at their calm demeanour. Though there was happiness or disappointment on the faces of those who had just fought, there were never any shouts of resentment or exclamations of despair.

Once the knights had left, and the Masters had led their madriel away, Maddock had the task of cleaning up the chamber in readiness for the arrival of the next knight. Because the early bouts were often so short, he was kept constantly busy. When the bell at the top of the observation tower tolled to mark the end of the day's contests, Master Dramut entered through the tall outer gates.

"Hello, Master Dramut," said Maddock, wiping a dirty forearm across his sweating brow.

"Hello, Field-hand Maddock. How are you liking your time at the arenas?"

"Just fine," replied Maddock. "I've watched the fights!"

"One of the finer perks, boy. I hope they've been working you well."

"Yes, sir. It's not stopped."

"Which is just as it should be."

"It's okay. I like it here."

"I'm betting you won't feel the same after shovelling dung down here for a few days. You will probably be bored with it all soon enough."

"I don't think so, sir."

"Here," said Master Dramut, smiling and reaching into his tunic. "When you've dropped that cart at the compost pits, go and get yourself some food."

He flicked a large dark coin towards Maddock, who caught it deftly from the air.

"Enjoy your supper," said Master Dramut. "You've earned it."

* * * * *

"Tokens!" beamed Dak's father as he tripped on the last step of the stairs, and stumbled across the floor. He stopped himself in the room's centre and looked around the place, seeming not to notice her standing in the kitchen doorway. Dak had been there since she had first heard her father's laboured attempts to get his key into the lock of the door downstairs. In fact, she had been standing there for fully five minutes, which was the time it had taken for her father to finally open the door, navigate his way across the workshop below, and climb the stairs. All that time, she had been filled with an unaccustomed feeling of annoyance, but as she'd watched her father blunder across the room, it had subsided into a more usual one of worrying pity.

"Tokens!" said her father again, once he finally managed to locate and focus his eyes on her.

He dipped his hand into the pouch at his belt and pulled out a handful of the oval disks. He opened his hand to show her, and half of them fell to the floor.

"Look!" he said as he peered at the few remaining in his hand, before carefully selecting one. "I have been granted tokens, so that I shall be seeing all of Commander Galder's bouts. They are a reward for my work, and I have tokens for you also!"

He dug his hand back into his pouch and began searching around.

Dak sighed and went to pick up the tokens that had fallen on the floor. They were each made of different metals, most of base faller, but some were of finely burnished salium. Those had the crest of Commander Galder stamped on them.

She put them carefully onto her mother's desk and then turned back to her father, who was still rummaging around in his pouch, pulling handfuls of tokens out and then peering at them carefully before dropping them back in and then rummaging around again.

"You should sit down, father."

Her father looked up from his labour.

"What is being wrong with you?"

"Nothing," said Dak as she took his arm and steered him towards his chair at the dining table.

"Oh yes there is," said her father, wagging his finger at her and dropping more tokens to the floor. "You are wearing your mother's least favourite face." She managed to get him to the chair, and he sagged onto it, dropping the tokens that he still had in his hand onto the table. "It is a sad face," he concluded, then he peered up at her.

"You did say that you would be taking me to see the Encampment today."

"I did?" said her father, then his face cleared. "I did! And I shall."

"But father, the afternoon has gone. Evening is coming."

Her father looked out of the window at the slowly darkening sky.

"It is," he said solemnly. "Things got the preoccupation of me today."

"I am seeing that."

"There you are going again, with your mother's face and your mother's words. Ah! There they are!"

Her father pulled himself to his feet, banging into the dining table and sending it scraping on the floor. He lurched over to the desk and swept the tokens Dak had dropped there into his hand.

"See, I am having tokens also for the Fourth Echelon bouts, and the Third! I am hoping that we will be seeing Sir Xanrath fight. That will be being a fine thing to watch."

"I am sure that it will be."

"What is wrong, daughter?"

He leant forward to peer once more at her face.

"It is just that I was looking forward to seeing the Encampment. It is sounding interesting."

"The Encampment will still be there tomorrow, and I will take you then. That is a promise from my heart."

He slapped one heavy hand against the front of his tunic.

Dak nodded.

"I will be looking forward to it, father."

"As will I, daughter, but..." He held his hand up, his finger pointing to the ceiling. "We will go after noon. I will have things to be doing in the morning."

"Of course, father." Dak turned and took the stairs up to the balcony and her bedroom. "There is food in the kitchen if you are feeling like eating."

Her father dropped the tokens with the others on the table and fell towards the kitchen.

Dak listened to him clatter about the platters she had left for him in the kitchen.

"Ah boak ribs! Just what I could be eating!"

Dak went into her bedroom and closed the door.

* * * * *

Maddock spent the coin Master Dramut had given him at one of the stalls outside the arenas, on a bread trencher loaded with grilled meat and vegetables, and a huge pressed tankard of krakla juice. The place was quiet, and with most of the crowds gone, many of the stalls had already closed. He had barely eaten all day so took no time in finding a quiet spot beside the arena wall, where he sat and began to stuff the hot food into his mouth.

He had barely swallowed a mouthful when a group of squires strode into sight around the bend of the avenue. He paid them little attention, and it seemed the group would ignore him, but as they came close, one of them kicked up a long scuff of earth, and the dry dust billowed over him, filling his mouth and covering the food he held on his knees.

It was only then that Maddock recognised the boy. It was Sir Galder's squire.

Tasker did not even acknowledge Maddock. He merely gave a satisfied smile and carried on by.

"Enjoy your food," sneered one of the other squires, before he kicked the tankard of krakla juice over, spilling its contents on the ground, where it soaked away into the dust. The other squires laughed as Tasker led them away.

Maddock made to stand up, but then realised the futility of the action. Instead, he stared after them, resentment boiling in his chest. He washed the dust from his mouth with the little juice that was left in the tankard, and then tried to wipe the dirt off the remains of his food. He took one bite and was rewarded with a mouthful of grit and soil. He looked around at the stall he had brought it from, wondering if the stall holder would take some pity at his misfortune, but the stall, like the rest, had its front tied tightly closed.