Grifford was woken by the sound of marching feet. He was out of bed and at the window of his dormitory, while his fellow squires were still mumbling their confusion and peering around the still darkened room. Squads of soldiers were passing along the narrow street below the window, their long shadows thrown up against the walls by rippling hand-lights. Some were still buckling on swords or buttoning tunics, as though just roused from sleep.

Grifford jumped down from the window and went to his bed to sit and pull on his trousers. Other squires had roused themselves now, and some were talking excitedly while others went to the windows to peer out. As Grifford was buckling up his boots, the door of the dormitory opened and the dim glow-light came on. A tall figure was silhouetted in the brighter light from the corridor outside.

"Where is Grifford?" said a stern, familiar voice.

"Here," said Grifford, pulling the final buckle of his boots closed.

The figure stepped into the room, and the light caught the grizzled features of High Lance-master Tzarren.

"Come with me, boy," he said. "Quickly now."

"What is happening, Master?" asked one of the older squires.

"The rest of you are to stay here," said Lance-master Tzarren, ignoring the question.

Grifford pulled on his tunic and went to the door. Master Tzarren nodded his approval and motioned with his head for Grifford to follow. He led him along the corridor, where soldiers were being posted at the other dormitory doors, then down through the entrance chamber of the barrack block.

"What is happening, Master Tzarren?" asked Grifford.

"Your brother has been taken from the fortress."

"Taken! What do you mean?"

"Taken, as in someone has taken him. Your mother woke this morning to find him gone."

Grifford felt his heart beat heavily at his chest, and his stomach tightened.

"Who took him?"

"We do not know. Kamantha is missing as well."

"Who?"

"Kamantha; his nursemaid."

He led Grifford from the dormitory block into one of the narrow streets that wound through the rest of the barracks. Ahead, a squad of soldiers dressed in the uniform of his father were passing through one of the heavy wooden gates that, when closed, would barricade the road.

"With the other Pride-commanders' consent, your father has ordered that the Encampment be searched," explained Master Tzarren as Grifford looked around at the passing soldiers.

"But why would someone take my brother?"

"Your father sent me to make sure you were safe, so I do not have any further details."

"What about Tahlia. Is she all right?"

"As far as I know. The young ladies have been confined to their rooms. This way."

Master Tzarren led him up the road after the soldiers.

"Where are we going?"

"To your father. He is at the battle-grounds."

Grifford felt complete incomprehension at Master Tzarren's news. Such a thing as this was surely impossible.

"But how exactly was Kralmir taken?"

"I hate to constantly admit to my lack of understanding of what has occurred, but I have no choice but to do so. Your mother was sleeping in her rooms last night with your brother and his nursemaid, and this morning the two of them were gone. That is all I know."

Master Tzarren led him through the gate.

"Your brother's kidnap was not the only grave incident that has occurred. Someone attempted to poison Hakansa last night."

"Who? How?" spluttered Grifford indignantly.

"Whoever made the attempt escaped, but he was foiled by someone of your acquaintance."

"Who?"

"A certain Field-hand by the name of Maddock."

"Him!"

"Him indeed."

"Did he see who did it?"

"We do not know; he is still unconscious. Hakansa, unsurprisingly, did some work on him. Now come on; they are inspecting everyone leaving the fortress. We had better get to the chain-carriage in good time or it will take all morning to get to the arena-field."

The old Lance-master quickened his stride up the hill, following the marching soldiers, and Grifford ran to keep up, his brain reeling.

It seemed that his father, whose duty it was to protect his children, had failed.

* * * * *

Pride-commander Kralaford Layne felt as though his anger, and the frustration of inaction, were like twin blades slicing away at his insides. He sat astride Hakansa at the edge of the arena-field, and could sense his own frustration echoed in each of his steed's violent snorts of breath, but he made no attempt to calm the beast. The whole of his efforts were centred on himself.

Someone had taken his son, and he was using the entirety of his will to stop himself from giving his word of command to Hakansa and riding out in pursuit. Only his rational self was keeping control, holding him there while his knights had ridden, because he knew that a headlong pursuit in ignorance would not return his son to him. He had done all that he could. He had given his orders, and his knights had gone to begin the task of searching every farm, ranch and homestead within his divide, as were those of his fellow Pride-commanders. The great-bailey, and the grasslands beyond, had been left to the huntresses.

The tone of the anger inside him changed as he remembered his wife's act of open disobedience, but he could not find his way to blame her for it. Part of him, centred behind the anger, was simply thankful that Tahlessa had returned to herself again. It had been good to see the old fire of determination back in her eyes, despite the dire nature of its cause, before she had turned her back on him and ridden Kless out of the arena-field with her hunting sisters.

Commander Kralaford became aware that he was banging his fist on the pommel of his saddle, and stopped himself. The two fifth echelon knights who sat their steeds behind him showed no sign of noticing their Pride-commander's aggravation, though their steeds were as tense as Hakansa. He forced control upon himself, but it was hard to remain still while the field about him was in such a state of activity. The Madriel-masters, and their Field-hands, were rounding the Pride and bringing them in for their waiting knights, so there was a constant stream of riders entering the arena-field to receive their orders.

Sir Bevrik, astride Peksul, both attired in light riding armour, pushed his way through the throng, followed by a band of his knights. His fellow Pride-commander's face was empty of its nominal good humour as Peksul stopped beside Hakansa.

"I am riding out to High Patton," he said simply. "I will conduct the search of my divide from there."

Sir Kralaford nodded in mute reply.

Sir Bevrik leant from his saddle and placed a hand on Sir Kralaford's shoulder.

"We will find your son," he said. "And when we have those responsible, they will have some questions to answer."

They were interrupted by a bright clad messenger, who pushed his steed through the crowds to Sir Kralaford's side.

"Sir!" he said, saluting. "I have news from the sentries north of the Encampment."

"What is it?"

"A waggon, Commander. It left by the north road about two hours ago."

"What sort of waggon?"

"A zule cart. The guards took it to be one of the merchants'."

"And they made no attempt to stop it? Or search it?"

"They had no orders, sir!"

Sir Kralaford turned Hakansa to look to the north.

Sir Bevrik turned his own steed, though there was nothing to see except for the tents of the Encampment, blocking the view of the plains beyond.

"Maybe their departure was an innocent one," he said.

"In the depths of the night? When the Tourney is not yet done?" Sir Kralaford was banging his fist on the pommel of Hakansa's saddle again. "And when have you known a merchant cart to travel alone?"

"They will not get far in a zule cart."

"Unless it is not their intended means of escape."

Sir Kralaford wheeled Hakansa back to face the messenger.

"Ride to the Point," he ordered. "Tell Herald Bernus to assemble six of his scouts to await my arrival. I want his best trackers."

The messenger saluted, turned his steed, and sped away through the throng.

"You two," said Sir Kralaford to the two knights who still sat silently behind him. You come with me."

Before Sir Kralaford could ride from the field, Sir Bevrik urged Peksul in front of Hakansa, causing both beasts to snarl their displeasure.

"Are you sure of this?" he asked.

"Two merchants' carts moving in the night? One delivering to the fortress, and one leaving not three hours later. This is not coincidence."

"Send your men after them, then. You must prepare yourself for your combat with Commander Galder."

Sir Kralaford gave a word, and with a warning growl, Hakansa pulled away from Peksul.

"I must do this. If I cannot protect my own son, what chance have I of defending our Order and its lands?"

"You must return by noon," Sir Bevrik called after him.

"I will return when my son is safe."

With another brutal word of command, he urged Hakansa into the dawn's growing light.