This chapter is dedicated to linahanson, not only for her reads and helpful comments but also for her commitment to. One of the co-founders of the Adventure Community who have dedicated themselves to finding tales of wonder and adventure. (WP forbids me to post a link here, but search for AdventureCommunity under users, and you'll find it).  There's also some adventure going down in modern day Egypt. If you haven't already, check out Lina's book, Cursed Times - What Now?

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There was nothing in the bottom of the defile that ran beneath the walls of the fortress-bailey except for dry crazed mud, sparse grass and the bones of some unfortunate creature. Whatever it was must have become trapped there and drowned sometime during the fallows, when the deep sided chasm would have been half filled with water. Tahlia balanced along the defile's edge, her arms outstretched, thinking about nothing more than the feeling of the warm stone beneath her naked feet, the fragrant scent of the dry grass around her, and the sound of the droning, ticking insects living within it.

In the muddy pit where the cleft beneath the walls deepened, and was shadowed by the lowered bridge of the fortress-bailey gatehouse, something slithered. The scrubby grass beside the dark pool rustled as some small creature fled from its threat. Tahlia ignored the noises and concentrated on her balance until she reached the bridge, where its end rested in a stone footing.

A road curved away from the bridge to a crossroads, where a single tall ascension marker stood. After the crossroads, the road ran north, over the horizon to the border of the Order's lands at the river Rhebus. Beyond that lay the Clan lands, that she knew to be a harsh place of crags and thrusting rock, rising to the mountains, whose heights were permanently snow-capped and swathed in cloud. She knew little else about them, other than the fact that they were governed by the Order of the Heights, who had once been the closest of allies but were now the bitterest of enemies.

The east road crossed the open plains to the town of Trehlsvale, and beyond lay the decadent disorderly remnants of the Provinces that Klinberg had once guarded. The road west was little used, but still kept in good repair by the Engineers. It had once been bordered by a broad area, where the grass had been cut back so as not to impede the passage of Klinberg's armies. More than two centuries had passed since the Predation war had ended and now it was the borders of the northern road that were marked by the passage of troops.

Tahlia followed the road's edge and stopped at the crossroads, from where she could see a solitary masdon cart approaching from the north; one of many bringing in the first of the summer's tithe. The sight made her a little sad because it reminded her that first summer was coming to an end. Second summer always seemed too short to her, and she had always preferred first summer, from the time of its slow reawakening at the end of the fallows, through to its languid calm months where the days seemed endless.

Of course, the second summer of that year would be dominated by the High-tourney, but despite her brother's growing enthusiasm, Tahlia could not muster any excitement for it, even with Grifford's assertions that their father would surely be standing for the position of Grand-commander. As she watched the masdon cart draw itself slowly towards the crossroads, Tahlia toyed with the idea of being the daughter of the Grand-commander of Klinberg. She played out the possibilities in her head, as she had done so many times before, and as before, could see no way that it would make the slightest difference to her life, other than to put more restrictions on her freedom.

She shrugged to herself. She wasn't much worried. First summer may have been ending, but another would soon come around, followed by countless more. She smiled to herself and ran across the road, its hard surface suddenly jolting at her heels before they found the softer earth again on the far side, with its swish of dry grass at her ankles. From there she ran on, still following the line of the fortress-bailey wall, towering on her right.

At that point the great-bailey hub was narrow, and as she ran close by the line of ascension-markers denoting its edge, she passed a small lake lying a short way beyond them where a sub-pride lay sleeping. One big male lay in the greatest shade beneath an old cherossa tree, head outstretched with his long horns curving towards the sky, while the other males were forced to find more meagre shelter from the sun. One or two of the females, lying among the longer grass on the outskirts of the group, raised their elegant heads to watch her pass. The females did not possess the darker ridge of fur along their necks, or the long curved horns of the males, but they were still the Prides' huntresses. Tahlia felt some smugness in the knowledge that, in the deep grass of the great-bailey, they were infinitely more deadly than the males.

The females watched her keenly as she passed, but they were seemingly content that she was outside the limits of their territory, and they soon lowered their heads and went back to their dozing.

When Tahlia reached the tall fence surrounding the karabok-fields, she ran through its open gate and across the freshly cut grass, before squeezing her way between two of the tall storage barns that stood in its center. She found the deep earth scent of the barns oddly comforting; better than the wax-polished scrubbed smell of Mistress D'almeria's rooms. She settled herself into the grass, in a position where she could see out between the two buildings to where a group of boys and girls laboured in the field. Their brows and backs were drenched with sweat as they gathered up the long fresh cut grass and tied it into bundles.

A Herd-master was stationed close by, overseeing the work, so Tahlia made sure she kept well back in the shadows. She may have been a Pride-commander's daughter, but she knew from experience that her position would not be enough to stop the Herd-master from dragging her from her hiding place and sending her back to her lessons in tedium.

Happily concealed, she took the skin bag that she wore at her belt and emptied its contents into the grass. There was a pouch of krakla berry juice and a hunk of fruit bread that she had acquired from the kitchens the day before, and best of all, two seed pods from a kernik tree. The pods should have been cracked open and their contents dried and then ground into flour to make a fine, fragrant bread, but Tahlia liked to break open the young pods and eat the sweet seeds straight out of the thick casing. She picked up one of the pods and settled herself further into the grass to watch the activity out in the field.

There was nothing better, she reflected, then relaxing in the cool shade and watching other people work.

* * * * *

Halfway through the morning, Maddock switched jobs with Jathik, but the change in duties did nothing to alleviate his frustration, and his hands were soon scored red from pulling savagely at the binding twine. The one consolation the day would give him was his appointment with Dak that afternoon. He could, at least, pour out his annoyances to her, and she was bound to have sensible words of consolation for him. Being sensible was one of the many things Dak was good at. The thought of Dak brought his anger back because of the bitter memory of the high hopes he had been bursting with when he had first seen her again after so many turns apart.

The other expectant applicants had all started their labours with the same optimism. Even when they had been shown the tall grasses of the karabok-fields and told what was expected of them, they had set to the task eagerly, thinking it a small step towards the start of their training. The days had gone by. First one orbit of Taqi had passed, and then a second, and still they had worked, following the scythes; baling, forking and stacking.

The other children started to get on his nerves, especially those like Jathik who came from the ranches. They claimed that, because they had grown up around felgar, it would be much more likely that one of them would pass the Field-hand's test and be chosen for training. They mocked him for thinking that a farm-boy would even have a chance, but once he understood the cruelty the Order was subjecting them all to, their laughter stopped bothering him.

He was beginning to wonder again how much longer their labours would go on for before the Order admitted its deception, when he saw the rider approaching from the direction of the Enclosures. The madriel was a young male. Its rider could not have been many years older than Maddock, and at first he thought he must be a squire because he rode with a nonchalant ease that he found instantly annoying. Then he noticed that the boy was dressed in the clothes of a Field-hand and had a stout training stick hanging from his saddle. He had a narrow face and a daunting scowl beneath his shock of unkempt hair.

"Morning, Master Grellik!" the rider called in a cheery voice, quite in contrast to his dour expression.

"Good morning to you, Cirric," said the Herd-master as the boy drew close.

Maddock watched the boy with lowered brows. The madriel that he rode was still quite small, with horns that had not even grown past its muzzle, and the ridge of hair running down its back was still light and tawny.

"What brings you over this way?" asked Master Grellik as he broke the hunk of bread that he'd been eating and threw a chunk to Cirric, who caught it swiftly from the air.

Cirric brought his madriel to a halt with a quick word of command and the beast stood sniffing at the air, switching its attention between the boys and girls who had stopped their work to watch the new arrivals.

"I've a message from Madriel-master Dramut."

"Master Dramut, you say?" asked Master Grellik. "And what would he be wanting?"

Cirric looked around the children in the field.

"He wants this lot," he said. "Time for them to be tested."