The squires of the third echelon completed their courses and more crests were added to the board, some now hanging near the top most scoring line. The sun was starting to sink towards the western horizon and the shadows cast by the coloured posts were lengthening, creeping slowly over the short cut grass towards the fortress. Maddock sensed a growing excitement in his fellow Field-hands as Master Dramut selected which ones were to provide distraction in the final rounds. As Cirric had predicted, the oldest and most experienced were chosen, and Maddock was not surprised when his name wasn't called. He waved Cirric and the others off, and tried not to let his disappointment show.

Matzurra, squire to Commander Unsaethel, was the first to ride, and he completed the course without fault. His control was meticulous, though it seemed to Maddock that his precision made him slower than some of the squires who had ridden previously. His thought was confirmed when Sir Unsaethel's crest, with the grappling forms of Falsch and the red crak emblazoned on its green and black field, was hung beneath those of some of the lower echelon squires.

Next to ride was Henjin, the squire of Commander Bevrik, and it seemed that he too would complete the course without a mistake, but then he faltered on his return leg as Cirric caught him on the far edge. The Field-hand shouted and made such a noise that Henjin's steed struck its red target post twice, before the squire regained control, and they wheeled away to finish the course. Commander Bevrik's crest was hung beside Commander Unsaethel's, to discontented mumblings from the crowd. The Field-hands around Maddock clapped wildly and called their congratulations to Cirric.

Ince, Commander Zembulla's squire, rode with reckless abandon, attempting to gain a high score for himself through swiftness, but he had already made two minor mistakes before he had even reached the judge's podium. One of his steed's strikes on a post was not clean enough, another not high enough up the post. In his frustration, the squire seemed to lose more control as he returned along the field, and as his course brought him close to the edge of the grounds where Macus stood on the inner perimeter line, his face already held a look of bitter disappointment.

Squire and steed had not even reached their target post before Macus ran in, yelling and banging his metal bars together. Ince had lost concentration, and so, when his steed swerved from his path towards the Field-hand, he failed completely in his control. The madriel lowered its head, and with a quick swipe of its horns, struck Macus a savage blow. The boy had jumped back, attempting to avoid the lowered horns, but the blow caught him on his breast bone and sent him flailing across the grass to land unmoving on the outer perimeter line.

With a savage word of command, Ince regained control of his insubordinate steed, and it struck the final post with an angry claw before returning to the starting line.

Two doctors in white tunics ran out to the still form of the fallen Field-hand and knelt beside him. Master Dramut strode over to them, and a muttering went up among the Field-hands standing behind the service fence.

"He's always been too slow," whispered one to Maddock.

"Do you think he'll be all right?"

"Don't know; that looked nasty."

The muttering went on as Master Dramut bent over Macus to consult with the doctors. Meanwhile, Ince had led his steed away, not even waiting to see where Commander Zembulla's crest would be hung on the board. The assistant herald ran the length of the field from the judge's platform, and Sir Zembulla's crest was hung low, among those of the sixth echelon squires.

Two infirmary porters had run out from behind the stands carrying a pole stretcher, and Macus was loaded onto it and carried from the field, accompanied by the two doctors.

Master Dramut returned to the still muttering Field-hands, to be instantly greeted with a barrage of questions.

"Your friend will live," the Master reassured them. "Though some of his bones are broken."

"That'll teach him to move quicker," said one of the Field-hands, and a ripple of relieved laughter passed among the other boys.

"Indeed it will," said Master Dramut. "Now, who shall we choose to replace our slow friend?" The Field-hands stood in expectant silence. "Maddock; in you go."

"Me!" said Maddock.

"Yes, why not? Over to Macus' position, if you please."

Maddock ducked under the fence and ran off, to disappointed mumblings from the other Field-hands, and his heart seemed possessed by an uncontrollable beating as he took up his position.

Zemrossa, squire to Commander Kralaford, now rode out to take his position on the starting line, and the horn sounded to send him on his way.

Zemrossa's face remained impassive, and his voice controlled, as he guided his steed among the posts. He did not come near Maddock's position on either leg of the course, but Maddock did not mind. He simply stood and marvelled at the performance of steed and squire as they completed their sequence effortlessly. Despite its size, Zemrossa's steed moved lithely through the posts, making not a single mistake, and it was as though the distracting Field-hands were not there. The beast did not show a single sign of discomposure.

Rapturous applause erupted along the stands as beast and rider crossed the finish line, but the crowd swiftly subsided into silence as the assistant herald ran across the field and lifted Commander Kralaford's crest onto the board. Zemrossa's steed was large, coming from the same line as Lakalla Sawak, the steed of his father. It did not have the speed of some of those it competed against and so, despite his faultless control, Commander Kralaford's crest was hung on the second line of the scoring board, beside those of Matzurra and Henjin.

Zemrossa's face remained unreadable as he watched the herald hang the crest, and then, showing no sign of displeasure or happiness, he left the field.

* * * * *

In the stands, Grifford could hear the young squires sitting behind him jeering and mocking Zemrossa's performance. He looked around to see Gefry grinning gleefully at him.

"Your father's squire is too slow!" he called. "Tasker will easily beat that!"

Grifford turned back to the field without reply.

Tahlia gave an angry snort.

"Tasker will not win, surely?" she said.

"I do not know. I have heard that his beast is fast."

At the far end of the field, Tasker had ridden his steed to the starting line. It looked sleeker than Zemrossa's animal, and Tasker rode him with his usual arrogant confidence.

The horn sounded, and the last ride of the day began. Tasker showed the same strong control as Zemrossa, and his steed seemed equally oblivious to the noisy Field-hands. They struck post after post, and Grifford noted the time that beast and rider turned at the judges' platform to start their return leg. They had been faster than Zemrossa, and also incurred no faults. The crowd around him continued to watch in silence.

* * * * *

Maddock watched with equal intensity, willing the arrogant squire to fail, but it seemed that nothing would hinder his progress. In the centre of the perimeter line stood Cirric, and as Maddock watched, his heart beating fast, Tasker guided his steed within range of the gifted Field-hand. Cirric raised a great noise, his shouts matching the same pitch as Tasker's commands, but the animal merely rose up and struck its target post and then leapt away, carrying Tasker out of range of Cirric's shouts.

Maddock's heart dropped in disappointment as beast and squire pounded unstoppably back towards the starting line.

They only had three posts to go, and two were struck with precision before they headed for the final post at the edge of the field, but too far from Maddock for him to attempt any kind of distraction. The post was struck and Tasker turned his steed towards the start line, but instead of guiding him back towards the centre of the field, they rode arrogantly along the perimeter line, indifferent to the presence of the Field-hands. The squire glanced down at Maddock as he passed and gave him a condescending smirk.

Maddock bristled at the insult and lifted his metal bars to strike them together, but then paused, remembering the words of Cirric after he had left the field that morning. Instead of striking the two bars together, he took a deep breath. The beast was beginning to draw away when he shouted at the top of his lungs, putting as much authority into his voice as possible. He attempted an imitation of High Madriel-master Sprak's querulous tone.

"Halt!"

The beast paused in its stride and lowered its head. Tasker shouted, commanding him on, but Maddock chose that moment to crash his distracting bars together again and again, close to the beast's head. At the same time, he started to shout incoherent commands at the animal. Tasker shouted again, but the tone of it held too much anger and did nothing to regain his control of the beast, which snarled and swung round, raking at Maddock with its lowered horns. Maddock leapt away swiftly, and as they swept by, he imagined that he could feel their sharpness as they cut the air a hand's breadth from his unprotected stomach.

Tasker's steed growled again, and then took a single step towards him.

An excited murmur passed through the crowd, and Tasker looked down to see his steed's paw on the wrong side of the perimeter line. The squire's face was suddenly suffused with rage. For a single breath he made no attempt to arrest his steed's progress, allowing it to rear towards Maddock, claws outstretched and eyes blazing. Maddock threw himself backwards to escape the thick black claws that swiped at him, and he fell heavily onto the grass, the madriel rearing above him, claws poised to strike at him again.

Things would surely have turned to pain and gore for him then, had not control breeched Tasker's sudden hatred. He gave a strict word of command, and his steed dropped back to the ground, a growl of protest grating in its throat. With another angry command from Tasker, the beast turned itself, crossed back over the inner perimeter line, and bounded away across the field.

As they crossed the starting line, the crowd applauded, but the excited murmur continued and grew louder as they waited for the result to be declared. The Field-hands around the riding-grounds and behind the service fence clapped and cheered wildly, and many ran towards Maddock where he still lay panting on his back. They pulled him to his feet, and he was suddenly surrounded by boys clapping him on the back and offering hearty congratulations. Most enthusiastic of all were the compliments of Cirric, whose grin was wide and his eyes bright.

"It looks like I've been beat this year!" he said gleefully.

"I learnt from the best," replied Maddock, now with an equally wide grin.

Cirric clapped him heavily on the back.

As he made his way back towards the service area, surrounded by the crowd of jubilant Field-hands, Maddock glanced over towards the scoring board. The assistant herald was raising the horned demon crest of Commander Galder, placing it three lines below those on the second row. He lowered his eyes to see Tasker, still mounted, glaring across the field at him, his eyes filled with incoherent anger.

Maddock turned away with a wide grin, to meet those of the other Field-hands, who welcomed him with more hearty cheers and slaps on the back.

* * * * *

Tahlia was practically jumping up and down with joy.

"That will teach that nasty boy a lesson!" she cried.

Dak was beaming at Maddock's performance, and even her brother could not manage to suppress a smile. Tahlia turned to regard the squires sitting behind her, and saw them scowling and muttering angrily among themselves. They cast her and Grifford baleful glances, before standing and pushing their way from the stands.

"They do not look so happy now, do they?" she said.

"They do not," confirmed Dak.

Tahlia looked around at the eager, chattering crowd around them, and then down at the knot of Field-hands in the centre of the riding-grounds, the rude scruffy boy who had once saved her life, lost somewhere in the middle of them.

Tahlia frowned, but then a happy thought occurred to her.

"Let us go and find something to eat," she said. "I'm starved."