Maddock stood nervously with the other Field-hands, tapping one of the hollow metal bars he had been issued with against his leg.

The newly built stands alongside the riding-grounds were slowly filling up with the knights and ladies of the Order. Many of the knights were young, just risen to the lowest echelon and keen to see the skills of the squires who would be competing that morning.

"They don't look right happy," said Maddock to Cirric, who was standing beside him.

"Suffering from last night's revelin' I reckon," replied Cirric.

"Got no sympathy for them. My brother says that drink is a fool's poison."

"Sounds like a wise man, your brother."

Maddock went back to watching the knights and ladies as they slowly filled the stands.

The riding-grounds consisted of a wide oval of cropped grassland, studded with tall wooden posts, all new and freshly painted in red, blue or yellow, and each one bearing a number from one to twenty. At the far end of the field, High-madriel-master Sprak sat with two other senior Masters high on the judge's platform, which was itself flanked by two more tall striped posts, capped by a third. As he waited, Maddock saw the adjudicating Madriel-masters appear from behind the stands and walk around the perimeter of the grounds to take their positions. He also saw Master Dramut leave the group and walk towards him and the other waiting Field-hands.

"Right then lads," he said as he approached. "You all know what you're doing today?"

"Yes, Master Dramut," replied the other boys, somewhat apprehensively.

"Come now! Don't be worried; you've all done your training, and I'm sure you'll be up to the task."

"S'not our training that bothers me," muttered Macus to his neighbour, though not quietly enough to evade the ears of Master Dramut.

"Now, Macus," said the old Master. "The young squires have had training aplenty, otherwise they would not be allowed on the field."

Macus did not reply, but neither did he look any happier.

"Just remember to stay beyond the outer line, and if any of the young squires fail to control their steeds, just run like fire and let one of the adjudicators intercede."

Macus still did not seem reassured, but Maddock saw that many of the older Field-hands seemed quietly confident.

"Don't worry; we haven't lost a Field-hand in five years," said Master Dramut. He then clapped Maddock on the shoulder.

"Now, Maddock; your first time at the grounds. Feeling nervous?"

"A bit."

"It's good to have some nerves, but best not let them show. Don't worry; I'll send some of the older lads in for the first few rounds so you can see how it's done."

A karabok horn sounded, and the squires rode onto the field. First came those of highest rank; the ones who served the five current Pride-commanders. They rode two abreast, in the order of their knight's power and wealth, and first came Tasker and Matzurra, squires to Sir Galder and Sir Unsaethel. Tasker seemed to ride his steed with an arrogant conceit, assured in his position at the head of the procession, but the square faced Matzurra, his face remaining blank and his back straight, showed no such arrogance.

Next came Ince and Zemrossa, who served Sir Zembulla and Sir Kralaford, followed by Henjin, squire to Sir Bevrik. Zemrossa, Sir Zembulla's youngest son, had the same wood dark skin as his father, and was already showing the same domineering height and wide shoulders. Unlike his father, who had his head shaved regularly, Zemrossa's hair was long and unkempt, hanging down around his shoulders in unruly black dreadlocks.

The rest of the squires followed behind, each wearing the colours of their knight's Chapter, bearing its crest on the front and back of their tunics. Last of all came the newest squires who, as they had not yet been chosen for service, all wore uniform tunics of grey that bore no crest.

All the squires rode their madriel with skill, though some of the steeds seemed barely controlled, sniffing at the air and throwing their horned heads from side to side. It was the youngest squires who had most to do, having to constantly give quick commands to keep their steeds following those in front, as the double line did a wide circuit of the riding-grounds, under the gaze of the knights and ladies of the Order.

"What do you reckon?" asked Cirric to another boy standing close by.

"Some of those looks skittish to me," the boy replied. "I reckon we'll get a few today."

Cirric frowned deeply, but he replied lightly.

"I'm after better 'n the greys. Think any of the chosen look likely?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Maddock.

"Of course; farm-grub don't know the game," said Cirric, ruffling Maddock's hair amiably. "We have a little contest. Y'know; to see which one of us can bag the best squire."

"Bag?"

"Yup. See who can do the most distracting," said Cirric. "If you can get one to fail his step or miss a post, you're doin' well. Getting them to cross the perimeter is even better."

"An' it's the best chance we get for getting even with them for their cocky behaviour," put in the other Field-hand.

"It's unofficial, mind," said Cirric, glancing over at Master Dramut, who had strolled further down the field to closer inspect the passing squires. "Course there's rumours that the Madriel-masters bet on the contests between 'emselves; on the performance of us Field-hands."

Macus had wandered over, scratching at his thick curly hair.

"I fancy wiping the smile from that Tasker's face," he said.

"Not a chance, mate," said Cirric. "Tasker's too good."

"Yeah, but I heard his ride has a cantankerous streak that ain't been out trained proper. Just a matter of getting close enough and makin' enough noise, is all."

"You still ain't got a chance; you ain't got the voice. Not like Cirric here," said the other Field-hand, clapping Cirric on the shoulder and turning to Maddock. "You watch this one and learn something."

Macus scowled and stalked off.

"We'll see who ends up mauled today," he muttered as he went.

Maddock felt a little apprehension creep into his belly.

"Is it really all that dangerous?"

"Don't you be worrying," said Cirric, "Just keep banging those pipes together and stay this side of the lines. Leave the top squires to us lads. I think I might have a go at Zemrossa myself."

"Likes a challenge does Cirric," said the other Field-hand.

"Is Zemrossa good then?"

"The best. Else Sir Kralaford wouldn't have picked him as his squire."

"Him and Tasker are favourites today," explained Cirric. "Sir Galder's squire against Sir Kralaford's. Favourites among us Field-hands and Masters o' course. The Order folk are doubtless expecting Ince to do well, him being Zembulla's squire. Those up in the fortress reckon the performance of the squires in the riding-grounds will reflect on their knights' in the rings. Like omens or something."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I reckon its nonsense."

The squires had finished their circuit of the Grounds and led their steeds out of sight, behind the stands. Master Dramut returned and started ordering the Field-hands to their allotted positions around the perimeter lines. Those who were not chosen, Maddock included, remained behind the service fence.

"Watch and learn lads," shouted Cirric to the younger boys as he set out for his position at the end of the grounds, near the judge's platform.

* * * * *

Tahlia had found Grifford among the crowds at the top end of the stands, sitting on his own, away from the other young squires. Dak had followed her up the stands with a fearful look, seemingly uncertain as to whether she was allowed to be so high. Now she was sitting next to Tahlia, looking around nervously.

"Stop fidgeting," hissed Tahlia as she craned her neck to look over the crowds on the tiers below.

As was usual in their few rare meetings, her brother ignored the presence of the Engineer's daughter.

"Can you see him?" asked Dak nervously.

"Who?" said Tahlia.

"Maddock. I am not seeing him anywhere."

"No, I cannot see him. They all look the same to me anyway."

The talk in the crowd quietened as the first grey clothed squire appeared from behind the stands and rode his steed to the end of the riding-grounds, furthest from the judge's platform. Steed and rider stood still, facing the field of tall coloured posts. On the cross beam above the platform, at the opposite end of the field, a series of flags were being hoisted, each was red, blue or yellow, and each bore a number.

The squire sat quietly in his saddle, studying the sequence of flags carefully.

"What is he doing?" Tahlia asked her brother.

Grifford gave a sharp sigh and continued to watch the field below intently.

"Begin!" shouted a Madriel-master who stood close to the squire. Beast and rider set off across the field.

His steed paced gracefully through the posts until it reached a red painted one. At a command from its rider, the madriel rose up on its rear legs, struck the post with its fore-claw, and wheeled away towards a second, yellow painted, post.

"What is he supposed to be doing?" asked Tahlia again.

"He is to follow the sequence on the flags," snapped Grifford, his eyes not leaving the beast and rider below.

The beast struck the yellow post perfectly and turned to its next target. They continued striking posts, all the while the rider calling commands to his steed.

The Field-hands that Tahlia had noticed positioned along each side of the field all stood intently watching the rider's progress. When he came near to any of them, they would stand on the outer line and bang together the two metal bars that they held, with sharp metallic clangs, and shout at the madriel and its rider at the top of their lungs.

"What are they doing that for?" asked Tahlia.

Grifford did not reply.

"Grifford; I said why are they..?"

"They are trying to put him off! Now will you please be quiet!"

Below, beast and rider continued to follow the sequence until they reached a post at the very edge of the field, and as they approached, one of the Field-hands ran in as close as he could and started shouting and banging his two metal bars together.

The madriel struck the post as before, but then seemed confused and wheeled twice round as the squire tried to regain control. The animal lashed out in frustration at a nearby red post.

"That is not fair!" cried Tahlia indignantly. "How is he supposed to concentrate with all that noise?"

"The noise is the whole purpose," said Grifford, finally turning to her. "It is to prepare them for the field of battle."

"But why the flags? It just makes no sense!"

"It is to teach them to follow orders. Now stop asking me questions."

"Sorry!" said Tahlia huffily. "I was only showing an interest in your silly games."

The squire, meanwhile, had managed to take control of his madriel. Rider and steed bounded back across the field to strike a final coloured post, then they wheeled and returned to the starting edge.

* * * * *

Behind the service fence in the field below, the Field-hands around Maddock muttered happily as the young squire dismounted.

"First point to Jinker," whispered one.

The crowd in the stands applauded politely.

The young squire did not look happy with his performance, but a Madriel-master approached and patted him heartily on the back with a heavily scarred arm. He took one of the madriel's curved horns in his other hand and pulled its head towards the ground, to show the squire how to assert his discipline on the animal. The madriel was led away behind the stands.

The contests continued as each young squire was tested. The flags were hoisted, the madriel were guided through the posts, and the Field-hands made their noise and yelled. The squires were judged, not only by their ability to follow the sequence of flags, but also by the time they took to complete the rounds, measured by a tall clock that stood by the judge's platform. Some were quick, others were slow and methodical. Some were faultless, oblivious to the Field-hand's attempts at distraction, and others struggled to control their steeds. One particularly nervous squire triggered howls of laughter among the watching Field-hands, as his steed ignored all attempts at control and spun around in circles before turning on the boy who had caused its distraction. The beast chased him over the perimeter line and across the field towards the spectator stands, before one of the adjudicating Madriel-masters intercepted it and brought it under control. Even then the young Field-hand did not stop running, and disappeared quickly behind the stands, to further laughter from the crowds.

There was a brief break while the Field-hands were swapped about. Maddock, with a nervous tension slowly building in his stomach, felt his heart jump when Master Dramut tapped him on his shoulder and pointed to a position at the far end of the perimeter.

"Off you go, lad. Let's see what you can do."

The other Field-hands called encouragement to him as he sprinted to his position, and Cirric gave him a mischievous grin and a wink as he passed him on his way back to the service area.

"Good luck, grub!"

The next squire was led out. Maddock tucked the two hollow metal bars under one arm and wiped his sweating palms on the front of his tunic, before taking them back in his hands. The crowd hushed and the contests began again.

The madriel and its rider paced forward to strike, first a blue post and then a yellow, then a second yellow post further down the field, away from Maddock's position. He was a little disappointed as he watched the squire and his steed complete their sequence, before returning to the starting line.

The next squire's route also did not bring him within Maddock's range, and neither did the one after. Only after half an hour of waiting did a rider come close, his steed aiming for a yellow post at the edge of the field. Maddock yelled and banged his metal bars together. The madriel hesitated, its ears twitching at the air, but with a quick command from its rider, the beast struck the post and wheeled away to continue its circuit. The same happened with the few other riders who came close to him, and none seemed to pay him any heed.

Then Master Dramut swapped the boys around again, and Maddock ran back to the service fence.

"Good job there," Cirric greeted him.

"Didn't get one though."

"Close though. You need to shout more. Find the voice they'll notice."

"I'll try. It goes so quick though."

"True enough. Get a rest, now. You've done good."

"Will I be getting another go?"

"Dramut'll probably send you in again straight off. He'll be keeping the best of us for the final rounds, so we can give the oldest squires some challenge. I'd grab yourself some chow and sit yourself down. Won't be long till it starts again."

Maddock took Cirric's advice. He collected a skin bag of water and a hunk of bread smeared with yhurt from the bowls that were being handed around. The bread was rough and the water already warm, but he had spent a good few hours standing in the sun so was glad of it all the same.

* * * * *

Tahlia looked at the remains of the sweet pastry in her hand, and felt sick. She had eaten two others already, along with a garrola fruit and a bottle of krakla juice. She shrugged and dropped the remains of the pastry beneath her seat, where it would fall through the gap in the wood to land in the grass and dirt beneath the stands.

"So what happens now?" she asked her brother, who was still sitting silently on the bench beside her.

"Now it's the turn of the chosen squires."

"More of the same then?"

"Hardly," replied Grifford. "Now the contest starts properly, and the squires' performances will reflect on their knight and their Chapter."

Tahlia put her hand to her mouth to cover a krakla berry tasting hiccup.

"So who shall we cheer for?"

Grifford gave her a look of distain, but did not answer.

"Zemrossa, of course," said Dak.

"Will he win, do you think?"

"I do not know. I am hearing that he is good, but you surely must think that he is the one to support. He is the squire of your father, after all."

"Yes, but I do not want to cheer him if he loses."

"He will be competing against Tasker," said her brother dryly.

"Well I know who I will not be cheering for then," said Tahlia.

"I am pleased to hear that."

"I still do not know what he has been up to, sneaking around the Encampment."

"Really," replied Grifford.

"Have you been keeping an eye on him, like I told you to?"

"No."

The karabok horn sounded to mark the recommencement of the contests. A squire rode his steed to the end of the field. He was dressed, not in the uniform grey of the younger squires, but in a bright tunic of green and black. The flags were hoisted, and now there were more of them, making the sequence to be followed more complex. The Field-hands positioned around the field now stood on the inner perimeter line, which brought them closer to the outermost coloured posts. Some of the posts stood only two metres from the inner line.

The starting horn sounded, the clock by the judge's platform was started, and the squire's madriel, with a quick command, set out among the posts.

"Can you be seeing Maddock?" asked Dak.

"He is over on the far side again," replied Tahlia, somewhat distracted. "In the middle this time."

"Oh, yes."

"He has not been mauled yet. Which is a shame."

The madriel below was following the sequence of flags, striking the posts with ease and ignoring all attempts by the Field-hands to distract it from its purpose. It reached the end of the field and started its return course.

"It is going near Maddock," said Dak.

The madriel struck a red post at the edge of the field, and Tahlia saw the tiny form of the Field-hand run in close. She could hear his shouts quite clearly, along with the high pitched clang of his distracting bars as he banged them together.

The madriel stopped and reared up, towering over Maddock, who continued to shout and bang the distracting bars together angrily.

"Get out of the way, you foolish boy!" shouted Tahlia, jumping to her feet.

Dak too was standing up, her hand clasped over her mouth to stifle a cry.

With a quick word of command from the squire, the madriel dropped back to the ground and circled away, but its rider had to pause and look once more at the sequence of flags to remind himself of his next target. Beast and rider bounded away and finished the course, the crowd applauding politely. The Field-hands not on duty, standing behind the service fence in the field below, were whistling and clapping wildly.

Tahlia fell back into her seat.

"What a stupid thing to do!" she said.

"I thought you wanted to see him mauled," said Grifford.

"Well, yes but... Not badly. What are they sniggering at?"

Her brother glanced over to where a group of young squires sat a few rows back from them, the idiot Gefry among them. They were indeed sniggering and looking over in their direction.

"Maybe it is because you were jumping around like a commoner and shouting at the Field-hands."

"I was not jumping!" replied Tahlia.

"Or maybe it is the company you keep," continued Grifford.

He did not look directly at Dak, but Tahlia saw her face turn a bright red.

"That is none of their business!"

Tahlia looked back round at the squires, but they had gone back to watching the field below, where the next madriel and rider stood waiting for the starting horn to sound. She suddenly regretted throwing the half eaten pasty away. Instead, she had to make do with one of the slightly squashed olap berries that she found in the bottom of her pouch. She glanced behind her once more, then flicked the berry at the offending squires. It missed Gefry, but hit the boy sitting beside him solidly above his eye. The boy looked around, scowling, but Tahlia had already gone back to watching the squire and madriel in the grounds below as they began their circuit of the posts.

At the opposite end of the grounds to the judge's platform, behind the starting edge, stood a tall wooden wall, painted with spaced horizontal lines of red. Along the length of the lines, square headed nails had been hammered into the wood. As the newest squire completed his circuit, Tahlia watched one of the assistant heralds jump down from the judges' platform, and then run the length of the field, to the wall. Once there, and with the aid of a long stick with a hook on the end, he lifted a shield of square wood, displaying the vesk and lance crest of Asquith Chapter, and hung it on one of the nails half way up the board. Beneath the crest was a name, but it was too small and too far away for even her eyes to read.

"What is that?" she said, nudging her brother.

"It is to record the score," sighed Grifford, then he seemed to decide that a fuller answer was required if he were to avoid further questioning. "The faster they complete the sequence, the higher up the board they are put. The judges decide how much time is deducted for mistakes."

"And what prize does the winner get?"

"The honour of winning."

"Oh."

They continued to watch the contests as, one by one, the squires guided their mounts around the posts, and the crests were hung on the scoring board. The Field-hands were swapped about again, and in the middle of the afternoon she saw Maddock leave the Field to join the other boys standing behind the service fence. She became bored not long after that.

"How much longer?" she asked

"It is the turn of the squires of the third echelon next," replied Grifford. "Then it is the turn of the second echelon."

Tahlia sighed.

While she was becoming less and less engrossed in the contests, the excitement in the crowds around her seemed to be building as more crests were added to the scoring board. Despite her waning interest, she did find some satisfaction in seeing the many crests bearing the three moons of Bannoc positioned near the top of the board.

"Why is all this so important anyway?" she asked, as the karabok horn crest of Dolphus Chapter was placed high on the board, sending a cheer along the stands.

"Because a squire's position in the riding-contests reflects on his knight," said Grifford. "If Zemrossa wins, it will bode well for father in the Tourney."

"Oh," said Tahlia. "Still, it is getting a little dull though, do you not think?"

"But are you not wanting to see if Zemrossa beats Tasker?" asked Dak. "You are always telling me how much you are disliking the boy."

"That is true," said Tahlia, brightening slightly. "It would be good to see him lose."

She started to pay attention again.