Tahlia yawned.

"I do wish they would get on with it," she said. "What is taking so long?"

Grifford ignored her. All through the morning, his sister's constant complaining and stupidly obvious questioning had been grating on him. He had eventually decided that his best course would be to ignore her mutterings and deny her any form of answer, in case it provoked further comments.

On the dais, Master Hepskil had finished his greeting to Sir Gunthred and had stepped forward to face the crowd.

"Has he not done yet?" muttered Tahlia. "I do not think I can stand still for much longer."

"People of Klinberg!" The Council-master called. "The Pride-order has gathered on this day to witness the challenges for its prime command! In the months gone by we have mourned the sad passing of the greatest of us all, the Lord Morath, the salvation of the Pride-order at Wessvall, the voice of accord in our troubled lands, keeper of the peace and holder of our hunting grounds. His loss is a wound to us all, and a wound whose healing must start today..."

"Has he to go on so much?" Tahlia whispered.

"Oh will you shut up!" Grifford hissed back. "This is an important day, and I am sick of hearing you do nothing but complain!

Tahlia took a startled step back at the sudden venom in his voice.

"I am sorry, I was just..."

"Well stop. I have had enough!"

"Quiet, children!" came the cracked voice of Mistress D'almeria from behind them. "Show some respect to your father."

Grifford glared at his sister, then returned his attention to the events unfolding in the arena-field.

* * *

Council-master Hepskil stepped down to the grass of the arena-field. He turned to face the dais and the six Pride-commanders, who sat in their chairs with their steeds at one side, and their ladies at the other.

"Sir Unsaethel Anestar," he said, and his strong voice echoed across the whole of the battle-grounds. "Pride-commander of the Chapter of Katchewan, do you stand to challenge for the position of Grand-commander of the Fortress of Klinberg, to guard its lands and protect its people?"

The old knight stood to face Master Hepskil. He drew his curved broadsword from its scabbard and looked out at the people gathered around the field. His eyes passed over the ranks of knights standing in its centre, and the crowds gathered about its slopes, then he looked back down at the Order's Council-master.

"I do not stand," he said, and though his voice held some sorrow, it was still strong and proud.

He sat back down in his chair and laid his sword across his knees. His wife, her face still strong and her smile kind, laid a hand on his shoulder as the murmurs ran around the crowd. They were not the whispers of shock; merely the sound of quiet understanding.

Council-master Hepskil then turned to the chair of Sir Galder, who stood quickly in anticipation of the question.

"Sir Galder Kroken, Pride-commander of the Chapter of Vikas, do you stand to challenge for the position of Grand-commander of the Fortress of Klinberg, to guard its lands and protect its people?"

"I will stand," said Sir Galder, with barely a pause after the question had been asked.

He drew his own sword, stepped down from the dais, and thrust it into the earth at Master Hepskil's feet. The Council-master met the knight's gaze with a nod of acceptance, before the Pride-commander turned and retook his seat.

Then he turned to look up at the next knight on the dais.

"Sir Zembulla Xafanni, Pride-commander of the Chapter of Dolphus. A claim has been made for the position of Grand-commander of this fortress. Will you accept the claim or contest it? Do you stand to challenge for the position of Grand-commander of the Fortress of Klinberg, to guard its lands and protect its people?"

The huge knight had stood to receive the question, and when it had been asked he drew his sword and swung it in a wide arc, as though testing its weight before placing in back by his side.

"Commander Zembulla?" asked Master Hepskil again. "Do you stand?"

Sir Zembulla looked at the old Council-master from the darkness beneath his brows.

"I do not stand," he said, and the deep sound of his voice, though he did not shout, carried across the arena-field, and the sudden shocked whispering of the crowd followed it. Many in the crowd thought they had misheard, but the words were confirmed when Sir Zembulla spoke again.

"I am satisfied with the claim of Pride-commander Galder of the Chapter of Vikas."

He sat back in his chair, his heavy sword still in his hand. His wife, the Lady Mandassa, stood tall and rigid beside his chair, her face blank and unreadable. The whispers around the crowd were rising into a roar of disbelief.

* * *

"What happened!" said Tahlia, whose attention had wandered from the formal proceedings on the dais.

"Sir Zembulla will not fight!" said Grifford in shock.

"Why?"

"He has accepted Sir Galder's claim!"

"But why? Everyone said that Sir Zembulla would stand."

Grifford said nothing.

"What happens now?" asked Tahlia.

"I do not know," said Grifford as the surprised talk in the crowd spread about them.

* * *

In the crowd of Councillors at the side of the dais, High Madriel-master Sprak spat the piece of row bark he had been chewing onto the grass.

"What does that mean?" he demanded.

"I suspect," replied High Lance-master Tzarren. "That Commander Zembulla's decision has been swayed by events at the riding-contests."

"Or by his wife. You know how devout that heartwood bitch is. She sees omens in everything."

"Either that, or Sir Galder and Sir Zembulla have come to some agreement."

"Those two! What in the name of shit could make Zembulla release his challenge for Grand-commander?"

"There is only one thing I can think of that would hold sway over Zembulla."

"Money?"

"Territorial assets, more likely."

Master Tzarren almost spat the last sentence.

"You don't approve?" said Master Sprak, with some joy in his voice.

"Of course I do not approve! Territory should be fought for, not bartered with. We are knights of Klinberg, not land brokers."

"You are not a knight of Klinberg any longer, my friend," said Master Sprak, clapping his hand on Tzarren's shoulder. "You are merely a humble High Lance-master, so now you are beneath such things."

Master Tzarren merely grunted in reply and glared at the knights on the dais. Council-master Hepskil had turned to face Sir Kralaford, although he had yet to ask the knight for his challenge. He seemed to be waiting for the disturbance in the crowd to die down.

"So Galder will be next Grand-commander," said Master Sprak. He had pulled a bag of row bark from his pocket and was examining the contents carefully, selecting a new piece to chew. "Who else can beat him?"

"There is only one person I can think of."

Master Sprak pushed the chosen piece of bark between his scarred lips.

"Let's see," he said, grinning.

* * *

In the enclave of the Engineers, Dak asked her father the same question that Master Sprak had asked of Master Tzarren.

"What does this mean, father?"

"It means, daughter, that a lot of Engineers will be losing some money today."

"Did many bet on Sir Zembulla?"

"No, but we Engineers do not make simple bets. We bet on the workings of the contests, the nature of the challenges and consecutive outcomes, not just the end result. I doubt there are many who have bet on this being a component."

When her father stopped talking, Dak was suddenly aware of the heated conversations of the Engineers in the crowd around them.

"Have you lost a lot of money, father?" she asked nervously.

"Some," replied her father. "But not so much. Only a fool will bet money that he cannot afford to lose."

* * *

On the hillside, among the turmoil of the chattering crowds, Karek beamed at his brothers.

"You see! My money is looking safer already."

"Why would he do that?" asked Maddock. "It doesn't make sense."

"Sir Zembulla? Who knows! Sometimes it is better not to think too much about the doings of the great men of the Order. The important thing is that Sir Kralaford won't have to fight him, so his chances will be better."

Karek gave a merry laugh.

"I pity all the fools who put their money on Sir Zembulla, and all those who waited until today to put their bets on Sir Kralaford. The merchants will not be offering such favourable odds now."

"We have more to worry about than money," said Larrad glumly.

"Ah, don't fret. Sir Zembulla winning would be no guarantee of peace anyway. Sir Kralaford is our man if you want that. It'll be fine; you'll see."

* * *

On the dais, standing by her husband's chair, Tahlessa's heart was skipping madly in her chest. What she had just seen, a thing that had seemed most improbable, was a thing most dire. The Order was falling closer to war.

The thought did not cast her soul in fear, as she would have expected, but it seemed instead that in her mind, in the part that had been smothered in dread for the past week, something stirred. It was as though a sudden cold air had filled her lungs, the chill of it running up her neck. Even though her heart beat frantically in her chest, the dark brooding, which had slowly been consuming her, was suddenly banished, and the cold, like ice, brought hard clarity.

She searched the stands by the dais for her nursemaid Kamantha, and she found her, holding the still tiny form of her new son. Kralmir had been woken by the sudden noise and was staring out from his hood in large eyed surprise. The sight of him gave Tahlessa new strength, where before it had only fortified her gloom.

She laid a hand on her husband's metal clad shoulder.

"Do what you must," she said.

Kralaford did nothing to acknowledge her words, and she wondered for a few quick heartbeats whether he had heard her, but then he lifted his hand and placed it on her own. Though it was clad in metal and mesh, its touch was gentle.

Master Hepskil held up his arms for quiet, and silence slowly spread about the arenas-field as the conversations subsided.

"Sir Kralaford Layne," he said. "Pride-commander of the Chapter of Bannoc. A claim has been made for the position of Grand-commander of this fortress. Will you accept the claim or contest it? Do you stand to challenge for the position of Grand-commander of the Fortress of Klinberg, to guard its lands and protect its people?"

Kralaford removed his hand from hers. He dropped it to his waist, and as he stood, drew his own curved broadsword. She let her own hand fall from his shoulder and remained motionless beside him, her breath held, just the same as those in the facing crowd, which had grown suddenly still.

The silence about the arena-field seemed to thicken in its intensity, as the people of Klinberg waited for her husband's answer.

On the dais, at the centre of everyone's attention, he held his blade before his eyes, as though assessing its strength.

"Commander?" asked Master Hepskil again. "Do you accept the claim or do you stand?"

Sir Kralaford lowered his sword back to his side and lifted his head.

"I will stand."

He stepped down from the dais and drove his sword into the earth beside Sir Galder's.

The crowd erupted with cheers, and the noise of their approval was almost too much to stand, but Tahlessa did not care. For the first time in weeks, she could feel a smile of genuine happiness on her lips.

* * *

Maddock breathed a sigh of relief, a sentiment multiplied a thousand fold in the people around him as they raised their voices in cheers that ran around the arena-field, echoing off the bailey cliff and the fortress walls.

"See!" said Karek. "What did I tell you?"

"He's not won yet!" shouted Larrad over the noise of the crowds.

"He will," Karek shouted back, and he began cheering with the rest.

* * *

Again Master Hepskil had to hold his arms high to restore quiet to the arena-field. When the cheering, and then the excited murmuring, had subsided, he turned back to the dais.

"Sir Bevrik De'moine!" he called in his strong voice. "Pride-commander of the Chapter of Asquith. Two claims have been made for the position of Grand-commander of this fortress. Will you accept one of these claims or contest them? Do you stand to challenge for the position of Grand-commander of the Fortress of Klinberg, to guard its lands and protect its people?"

Sir Bevrik stepped forward, his elegantly curved sword drawn, and looked about the silent crowd, whose voice had so recently been raised in adoration for his fellow Pride-commander.

"Commander Bevrik?"

Sir Bevrik lowered his gaze to the assembled knights of the six Chapters standing in the Field before him. Then he called, in a voice both clear and precise.

"I will not stand. I am satisfied with the claim of Pride-commander Kralaford of the Chapter of Bannoc and offer him my blade."

The crowd's voice was raised again, this time its adulation given to Sir Bevrik.

* * *

Where the Engineers stood, the cheering was not so great. Dak perceived that the noises around her were not those of jubilation, but were the sounds of analytical rumbling as the implications of the morning's events were discussed.

"I was expecting that Commander Bevrik would stand," said Dak.

"Many here were thinking the same," replied her father, who himself seemed happy at the results of the Challenges. "But it seems he has chosen to garner the regard of the people in a different manner."

Dak looked over at the dais, where the six Pride-commanders were now seated.

"So it will be a simple contest between Sir Galder and Sir Kralaford?"

"Indeed it will."

Dak wondered what Tahlia and her brother would be feeling at that moment.

"If Sir Kralaford wins, it is a surety that he will be requiring new armour made," she said. "Maybe he will be requesting your services, father."

"Maybe he will, daughter."

Her father nodded in the direction of Sir Galder, who was sitting rigidly in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"But I am thinking that the possibility is good that I have already made the armour for the next Grand-commander of Klinberg."