Tahlia heard a shout of surprise from Vlambra, and another of outrage from the man with the deep voice. Half a stale pastry and a few grime covered sweets tumbled to the floor as she pulled her mother's hunting knife out of her pouch. When she reached the skin of the tent, she made a quick slash with it; up to down. The knife was of incredible sharpness; made for cutting karabok throats, and the resistance to the blade as she cut was so slight that at first she thought she had misjudged the distance in her hazy state. Then a breeze caught, and a white line of brightness showed in the darkness of the tent wall.

Tahlia threw herself towards it, stumbled through into bright daylight, and fell heavily into sweetly fragrant grass. Her head swam with all the colour that surrounded her, and for a second she could not find her bearings. Surrounding her were walls and walls of tents, with hardly a gap between them. She sprang to her feet and tried to run, but something had ensnared her feet and she tumbled back down into the grass. Rolling onto her back, she saw an evil looking tentacle poking through the slit she had cut in the tent wall. It was wrapped tightly around both her legs, its surface starting to turn from grey to flesh coloured where it touched her skin.

The surface of the tent on either side of the cut bulged outwards, and two grey skinned hands drew the material back to reveal a face that Tahlia had seen once before, on the heads of two creatures, dead and hanging from chains above the pemtagrin door of Klinberg's keep.

The creature's bony ridged mouth opened, and somewhere from the creature's insides, came the dry clicking noise of its voice. Its twin rows of eyes blinked rapidly in the brightness of the sun, their vertical lids flashing open and closed over the red globes. She felt the tentacle tighten around her ankles as she was pulled towards the darkness of the tent, her dress dragging over the grass behind her. A second pair of grey hands emerged from the tent, ready to grab hold of her and drag her inside.

Fear rose up inside her, building in her chest to a scream, but she held the sound inside herself.

She still had her mother's hunting knife in her hand, and she slashed at the tentacle that entwined her legs. The knife's sharpness did not fail her, and the flesh of the tentacle parted in thick threads of muscle. A dark blood sprayed across her legs, and over her hand. The creature's beak-like mouth opened, and a noise came out that was of such a pitch, she was forced to use all of her will to stop herself from forcing her hands over her ears. Instead, she thrust the heels of both feet into the earth and pushed herself backwards, away from the tent. The foul thing still wrapped around her ankles slipped off as she kicked herself away, while the tentacle it had been severed from flicked towards her, trying to ensnare her again. Its wounded end flopped across the ground, spraying more dark blood over the grass.

A second tentacle emerged from the slit tent and whipped towards her legs, and she turned and stumbled to her feet, running for a gap between the opposite tents. She felt something brush her heel, but she kept running, down through the narrow passage between the tents. Her mind still spun and she tripped over a tent rope and fell sideways, rebounded heavily from a tent's taut side, and then staggered onwards, not daring to look behind to see if anything pursued her. The narrow passage ended in the side of a larger tent, and she forced her way through the gap that speared off at a right angle to the one she had been following. She clambered through more thick ropes, at one point becoming so entangled, she fell to the ground, the walls of the tents spinning around her. She took the knife that she still gripped and slashed around her at the ropes. They parted easily, and the wall of one of the tents started flapping and snapping in the breeze blowing over the plains.

She ran on, out into sudden openness. She expected to stumble into a wide avenue crowded with people, but there was nothing in the small open area except for piles of tenting canvas and a few opened and broken crates. She looked around, but the tents were so closely packed together, she could see no way out of the space. She spun round, the knife raised in her hand, expecting to see thenadidge crawling towards her with malicious ease, down the gap between thetents, but the narrow space was empty. Her heart slowed its frantic beating a little, and she took a deep shuddering breath to calm herself.

She raised a hand to her neck, where her skin still felt tight and painful. She still had only the briefest memory of receiving the creature's bite. All she could remember was pain, and then darkness.

She took her hand away and looked at her fingers, but her hands were so begrimed by the creature's own blood she could not tell if the wound still bled.

She was startled from her inspection by the slightest of dry, skittering sounds. She looked up at the tent above her, and at first saw nothing but the red and yellow stripes of its roof. Then there was a shifting of shadow and she could suddenly see the creature splayed out on the sloping roof of the tent, clearly discernible once she knew it was there, its skin alarmingly red and yellow striped. She took a few quick steps backwards.

When it saw her move, the rest of the creature's red eyes flicked open, it rose on its six sinuous limbs, and its two tails flicked up from where they had been gripping the apex of the tent roof. One now ended in a thick stump, covered in dark congealing blood, the other flicked round over the beast's head as though feeling her scent in the air. It lifted its two mid-limbs from the tent's roof, and with a sick snicker, long bone blades sprouted from its bunched fists.

Tahlia held her mother's knife in front of her. Its blade was only small, barely longer than its handle, and it looked a pitiful weapon compared to the blades and mandibles of the thing crouching above her. Still, she stood with it in her hands and waited for the creature to strike.

Then she shook her head in irritation at herself.

"Oh, you idiot girl!"

She turned quickly on her heel and ran towards the tent behind her, and once there, as she had done before, she slashed at its wall. She did not stop running and simply plunged into the side of the tent, going straight through it, into sudden gloom. She did not have time to see properly where she was, but simply carried on running to where she could see a patch of light. She had a brief impression of a simple bed on the floor, and open crates and piles of dried grass, before she stumbled through the door and back outside into brightness. There were tables set up in front of her, stacked with long glass cylinders filled with strange coloured liquids. She threw herself under the table and out the other side, but her foot caught on one of the table legs and the whole thing jumped, sending cylinders toppling onto the floor.

She did not stop at the stallholder's outraged cry, but simply sprang to her feet and ran.

Straight into the arms of a soldier.

Tahlia looked up into the man's face, which was young and framed by thick, sun faded hair. Her feeling of safe relief disappeared immediately when she saw that his tunic was of dark burgundy and had the crest of Sir Galder on the front it.

Why don't you send word to him?

"Well, well. What's this then?" said the soldier.

Him! Who is him?

On his arm was pinned the curved metal bar of a Unit-leader. She was aware of other soldiers standing to either side of him, looking curiously over his shoulder. The wide avenue of tents was still filled with people, and many of them had stopped to watch the altercation. The soldier's arms gripped her shoulders tightly.

Tahlia turned her head to look back into the stall she had just run through. Between the legs of the table and the square of the door at the back of the stall, she thought she saw a flicker of movement, but then there was nothing but stillness.

Then her view was blocked by the stallholder who was advancing on her angrily, a long glass cylinder clasped in each hand. She quickly dropped her mother's knife into the pouch at her waist.

"What's wrong with you, girl?" said the soldier.

"Nothing." she said quickly. "I am just a little lost."

"Look at this mess!" said the stallholder, who had now reached them. "What's the idea, you horror of a child?"

The soldier held up his hand for silence, releasing his grip on one of Tahlia's arms. The stallholder was silenced. The soldier looked back down at Tahlia.

"Lost, you say?"

"Yes," she said, quickly regaining some of her self-assurance. "I am a lady of the Order, and my father is a very powerful knight."

The soldier looked down at her begrimed dress, and a smile twitched his mouth.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It is."

"Well, your father can pay for any damages," interrupted the stallholder.

The soldier turned his brilliant smile on the stallholder.

"Is anything damaged, then?" he asked.

"Well, er, no," replied the stallholder.

"Then there is no damage to pay for, and no harm done. May I suggest that you go about your business?"

The stallholder looked at the soldier, then at the other soldiers standing on either side of him. He turned and stomped off back to his stall, mumbling to himself.

"Now, young lady," said the soldier, turning back to Tahlia. "Let's see about getting you back to where you are supposed to be. Who is your father?"

"Pride-commander Kralaford!" she said proudly.

"Commander Kralaford, you say," said the soldier.

He had a glint in his eye that Tahlia did not much like.

"It is all right," she said. "I can find my own way now."

"No, no," said the soldier. "We can't have the daughter of Commander Kralaford walking around the Encampment unescorted and lost. I will take you back to the fortress."

The soldier turned to the man behind him.

"Take over, Rollo. I will take charge of this young lady and meet you back at the Service tent in a half hour."

The soldier saluted and led the rest of the men away down the crowded avenue. The Unit-leader did not release her arm. She felt utterly trapped. Somewhere out in the vast spread of tents were people, and things much worse, who wanted her dead. Her head spun, the memory of her time in the tent and the patches of conversation she had overheard were hazy.

...and by tonight it will not matter. We will have her brother...

"I have to see my father!" said Tahlia suddenly. "He is probably still at the battle-grounds."

"Then to the battle-grounds we shall go."

The soldier led her down the avenue, keeping a grip on her arm that was, though by no means painful, still tight enough to dissuade her from making a sudden run for freedom.

"So," said the soldier, breaking her thoughts. "Is it customary for a young lady of the Order to be carrying a knife about in her pouch?"

"What!"

"The knife. I saw you slip it into your pouch."

"Well, I rather think that is my business and not yours."

"True enough," replied the soldier, and to Tahlia's surprise, said nothing more.

They carried on in silence.

Tahlia tried to look back over her shoulder, scanning the surrounding stalls for signs of pursuit. Surely the creature could not follow her. Its skin could not conceal it in daylight. But the soldier still gripped her firmly by the arm.

She felt her heartbeat slow as each avenue they entered grew wider, until they reached the main artery of the Encampment, which led to the arena-field. Once there they turned, to Tahlia's relief, to where the tall observation tower loomed over the battle-grounds. It seemed the soldier was taking her to her father after all, and not back to some strange dark tent, where there were people who meant her harm.

Her feeling of relief, however, disappeared when they reached the field and the soldier led her towards the pavilions of the Pride-commanders, their coloured sides rippling, and their standards snapping in the breeze. Ahead, she saw the burgundy pavilion with the standard and crest of Sir Galder outside, and her heart jumped at the realisation that they were heading directly for it.