I'm dedicating this chapter to ammmmanda, yet another perceptive reader that has recently joined the E & D story. I know that a few of you will already be familiar with her writing, but for those poor unfortunates among you who are not, please give Twisted Kingdoms a look. Amanda's heroine is no sword wielding dragon killers, but she is no less brave, and you will be captivated by her as she faces the world's many adversities.

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The earth of the plains was dry. The long grasses rolled away to every horizon; a rippling expanse of pale yellow. The only variance in the colour was in the thick wiry leaves of the solitary, low-spreading, cherossa trees, and the scattered clumps of flower grass. Even those, in the high summer months, were barely more than brittle stems and brown pods, tight closed and waiting for the rains.

Engineer Tomova sat in the high saddle of the juddra and gently guided the lumbering creature along the road that pointed straight at the northern horizon. Maddock, with Dak beside him, watched the landscape move slowly by from the double seat behind the Engineer. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that it would have been quicker to walk. The low rise that marked the lip of the valley where Dredar lay was still far away, the wavering outlines of the farm's watchtowers, tiny and stick like.

The occasional madriel would raise its head on one side of the road or the other, and once a lone female prowled to the road's edge and stood between two of its guiding ascension markers, her eyes bright as she watched them pass.

The juddra plodded on, indefatigable and uncaring of the beast's threat.

When they did finally reach the farm's outskirts and crested the final hill, the whole strip of the valley was laid out below them like a map; a deep swath of green in the dryness of the surrounding plains. The road that they had been following from Klinberg wound down among the valley's field terraces, where it crossed the river by a simple stone bridge. On the bridge's far side, a magnificent cherossa tree grew in the centre of the farm's square, where some wagons were being loaded. Two masdon stood by the side of the river, cooling their hooved feet in the water and occasionally dipping their heavy heads down to drink.

To the east of the square, amidst the domed oast houses where the kernik seeds were dried, stood the building that housed the water engine, and beyond its dam lay the kernik orchard itself. The scene there looked idyllic enough, as the young men, women and children of the farm paddled their small coracles from the jetties, out to the trees where they tethered them and clambered up into their branches. Maddock knew, though, how hard their work was. It was humid beneath the trees, and their bark was rough. Anyone climbing among those branches would end the day with arms and legs scratched and grazed. Worse still was the sap that oozed from the tree as the seed pods were broken away, which would cover their hands in a sticky tar that could not be washed away in the cold water of the orchard. Only at the end of the day could the stuff be removed by a brisk scrubbing with hot water and washing salt, which would leave the workers' hands red and raw.

Maddock watched as one of the pickers, the sack slung across his back full with seed pods, rowed his coracle to the wooden pier that wound among the thick trunks of the kernik trees on stone piles, to where a boy with a hand cart waited.

"Is it not beautiful, father?" said Dak.

"Too quiet for me," said Engineer Tomova. "But I can see why your mother was loving the place."

"It must be wonderful to be living here, I always thought," said Dak.

"There's the new pen for the hamabirds," said Maddock.

He pointed at the valley's far slope, where the stone and wood houses of the farm's inhabitants had been built into land that was too steep to terrace for crops. Behind them, where the land levelled out onto the planes, an area had been fenced off, and from where they sat they could just make out the new flock in the pen as large dumpy shapes against the pale yellow grass.

"There is something occurring down there," said Engineer Tomova, pointing with a thick finger at the farm square.

On the north side of the square sat the farm's tavern, with a wide veranda running along its lower story, and a balcony above. Tables and benches were set out on the veranda, and the frames and trellises around its sides were thick with olap vine, which climbed to the balcony and covered it with thick growth. One of the tables had been pulled out from the veranda's shade and there were men seated on either side of it. Lined up in the square behind the group were a company of swordsmen, and the soldier standing in their centre held a banner. The flag was burgundy in colour and the breeze barely rippled it, so its crest was not visible, but Maddock didn't need to see it to identify its owner.

There were four male madriel lying in the shade of the square's cherossa tree, their saddle blankets the same dark burgundy as the banner.

"Tithe collection," Maddock said bitterly.

"Ah," said Engineer Tomova. "Let us go down and see what is to do."

He tugged the reigns attached to the juddra's collar, and they began their plodding descent into the valley.

* * * * *

The afternoon sun fell heavily through the slow drifting dust motes, filling Council-master Hepskil's chambers with its drowsy warmth. Tahlia had taken her usual place at the low oval table in the centre of the room, which was littered with thick books, rolled up papers and an assortment of plates, jugs and cups. The other children had seated themselves in the odd mismatched chairs that circled the table in muddled rows. Her brother had taken his accustomed place away from her at the back of the room, and he sat there in his usual grim silence, his chin resting on his fist as he stared out of the window.

Master Hepskil sat in front of the class in a thickly padded, comfortable chair. He was still a large, imposing figure, despite the passage of time that had turned muscle to fat and made him stooped and unable to walk without the aid of the heavy staff that leant against the back of his chair. On the wall above the chair was the head of a huge beast, its glass eyes starring cross-eyed down at the room from beneath a wide bony brow, its mouth set open in a snarl, showing long yellowed canines. Council-master Hepskil had hung his cloak from one of those teeth, and it swung slowly in the breeze from the open windows that did little to relieve the mugginess in the room. The old knight's weapons were mounted on the wall around the beast's head, accumulating dust; his lance and rail shield were crossed above, and his massive curved sword rested below.

Tahlia, as always, sat in rapt attention as she listened to the Council-master. She loved his tales of the past and would become absorbed by every detail in them; from the oldest histories about the taming of the first beasts and the Wars of Conquest, to the later catastrophic struggle with the Predation that had occasioned the forming of the Orders. Then there was the sad tale of the heresy of Lord Kasparus and the murder of Admiral Harper and his family. The stories of the dark times and bitter rivalries that followed filled her with sorrow, but also with annoyance at the Orders' many acts of stupidity.

That afternoon's lesson lacked the excitement of previous days, though some of the children still listened attentively while others, like her brother, looked bored. The lesson concerned Naddaran, once the First City of all the Provinces, where the Admiral and his predecessors had lived, and where the treachery of Lord Kasparus had ended in its horrific act of bloody murder. Master Hepskil had started by describing how the city had declined as the Orders fell into war, and had then gone on to explain how Naddaran had begun to re-establish itself as a neutral trading city. Now he was describing how the tree-lined avenues were once more thronged with people, and the water-plaza that surrounded the Admiral's Sanctum-fortress was filled with newly built warehouses. How the broad canals and surrounding lakes, once navigated by pleasure boats, were now crowded with barges carrying goods in and out of the city.

Tahlia listened intently as Master Hepskil spoke. She was entranced by his descriptions of the great city, and the power and peace it had once maintained during the Admirals' rule.

Master Hepskil paused and shifted his bulky body into a more comfortable position.

"Council-master!" said Tahlia, raising her hand.

"Yes, child?" replied Master Hepskil as he leant forward to pour himself water from the stone jug which sat on the littered table in front of him.

"I have a question."

* * *

At the back of the room, Squire Gefry, sitting in front of Grifford, leant to the boy sitting beside him and whispered in his ear.

"Just the one?"

The other boy sniggered.

Grifford scowled, raised his foot, and kicked the back of the squire's chair, making it squeak across the stone floor. Gefry gave a yelp of surprise.

"Do you have a problem, Squire Gefry?"

"No, Master Hepskil," mumbled the squire, casting a frightened look over his shoulder at Grifford.

"Good," said the Council-master.

He settled back in his chair and regarded Tahlia.

"What is your question, child?"

"Why can the Ecclesiastical Senate not stop the wars?"

"That is a little off the path of today's lesson, Tahlia."

"I was only wondering because you mentioned that the Senate administration is still housed in the Sanctum-fortress in Naddaran."

"I did, indeed. The Courts of the Ecclesiastical Senate did once have the authority to mediate the Orders' disagreements. They could pass judgement on territorial disputes, asset rights and so on, but their power came directly from the Admiral, the chosen hand of Fortak."

"So without the authority of Admiral Harper, no one took them seriously?" asked an eager looking boy sitting beside Tahlia.

"Something along those lines, Xantir, yes. The Senate still has authority over temple law, but the Orders have long since relieved it of its military jurisdiction. Without that, there is little they can do to compel the Orders to make peace."

"But why are we always at war?" asked a girl at the far end of the table. "Will there be no end to it?"

Grifford raised his head from his fist and gave a derisory snort.

"Do you have something to add, Squire Grifford?" asked Master Hepskil.

The other children in the room turned to look at him expectantly.

"It is obvious, is it not?" said Grifford, challenging their scrutiny.

Master Hepskil reached for the bowl of garrola fruit that sat on the table edge in front of him.

"I would be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter," he said.

"The other Orders cannot be trusted," said Grifford. "They are greedy and want our lands and our wealth."

Then it was Tahlia's turn to give a mocking snort.

"Your brother is not completely wrong."

His sister frowned, and the other children sitting around the table seemed similarly surprised.

Master Hepskil began to peel the garrola fruit with a short bladed knife.

"The heresy of Lord Kasparus was an inconceivable thing," he said as he worked. "For a Grand-commander to execute such an act, destroyed the tacit unity between the Orders, and successive events have done nothing to heal the rifts. Put simply, as Squire Grifford stated with such eloquence, the Orders can no longer trust one another."

"But why did the Oracles not warn of Kasparus's treachery?" asked Tahlia. "How could they not know what he planned? And with the Admiral gone and all his heirs dead, how will Fortak return to us? And why..?"

Master Hepskil raised his hand to stop the flow of questions.

"Those questions are the source of much theological debate, and you would be wisest to direct them to Communicant Heronique in your next lesson with her."

"I have asked her already," said Tahlia. "Her answers made no sense."

Master Hepskil smiled as he sliced off a curl of garrola.

"The words of Communicants seldom do."

He put the fruit in his mouth.

"Anyway," he said as he chewed. "I have allowed myself to be diverted from today's subject, and have tarried too long on issues that we can discuss another time. Now I believe we had reached the stimulating topic of trade goods."

Master Hepskil sat back into his chair, with his knife and the peeled garrola fruit. The children sighed and settled back into theirs.

"No goods pass through Naddaran's gates these days that the Association of Allied Traders do not profit from," he began. "There are very few merchants, even this far north, that do not hold an Association licence, which does have advantages for our own trade. Our exports of tragasaur hide and kernik flour are finding new markets. We also have some supplies of ghat wool from the highland areas in the north. Now the interesting difference between our own ghat herds and those that dwell higher in the mountains is..."

And so the lesson went on. Grifford went back to watching the specks of madriel in the great-bailey far below, and his mind drifted away from Master Hepskil's words.

What did trade matter to the Order anyway? Once he was a knight and won his assets, the common people there would pay him what he was owed and be thankful for his protection.

He would not be spending his time bartering over things like a common merchant.

* * * * *

"I really feel that I must protest!" said the portly man sitting behind the table, though his voice lacked any confidence. He was flanked by two men in the uniforms of clerks, each with a set of counting beads.

"I am merely here to collect what is mine," said the knight who sat in the chair opposite. He was dressed in travelling clothes of a fine cut and rich design, and a light hooded cloak was slung over the back of his chair. His hair was sun faded and streaked grey, and his eyes were pale and cold. He was also flanked by a number of clerks, similarly equipped with counting beads, and with stacks of opened books, filled with columns of figures, arrayed on the table in front of them.

"Have you any reason to contest my right?"

"No, no of course not," said the man hastily, "But, Commander Galder, there is no need to come under arms."

The farmer gestured at the row of swordsmen lined up behind the knight.

"These," said Sir Galder, as though noticing the men for the first time. "My soldiers are merely accompanying me north. As you are doubtless aware, we are currently under a new threat of attack."

"Yes, I am aware," said the farmer pointedly.

A younger knight, who had been lounging in the chair beside Sir Galder, leant forward in his seat, his face losing its air of lazy good humour.

"You should learn some manners, farmer," he said. "And show more gratitude to my father."

"Nathalle!" growled Sir Galder.

The young knight's mouth twitched in irritation, but then he picked up a tall cup that sat on the table beside him and took a drink to compose himself.

"If we could get back to the business at hand," said Sir Galder.

He motioned to a clerk, who pulled one of the ledgers towards him.

"At the last year's collection, your contribution of kernik flour was one hundred and twenty five sacks," said the clerk. "This year we have only one hundred and sixteen. Why is that?"

"Yes, why is that?" repeated Sir Nathalle.

"Not all of the year's seeds are dried, Commander," said the farmer, addressing Sir Galder. "You know the trees are being harvested late because you have taken our workers away for soldiers."

Sir Galder gave no response.

"We are still picking, even now," the farmer went on, a hint of petulance creeping into his voice. "We are already having to pay the Growers for extra labour. Even so, we'll be lucky to finish the harvest before the rains come."

"It is necessary," said Sir Galder. "So where are the rest of the seeds?"

"In oast house three. You will get your payment when they are ready, let me assure you..."

"Take some men and search the oast houses," said Sir Galder to one of his clerks. "Make sure he tells the truth."

The clerk bowed to the knight and strode off towards the oast houses, accompanied by two of the swordsmen.

"Commander, I object to this treatment!" said the farmer, getting to his feet.

"You are in no position to object," said Sir Galder. "Sit down."

"But sir, we will pay our due to you. This treatment is...."

"Sit!" roared Sir Galder.

The farmer sat.

"Now, continue," said the knight to one of the remaining clerks. The clerk pulled another ledger towards him.

"Now, onto the subject of provision to the levies..."

Maddock, Dak and her father had arrived to hear this last bit of conversation. Engineer Tomova had tethered his juddra next to the two masdon by the river, and they were making their way round the square, towards the tavern.

"Feldor's getting a proper licking this year," Maddock whispered to Dak.

As they crossed the square, he looked cautiously about for his father or his mother, but he couldn't see either of them among the farmers gathering on the tavern's veranda. He knew he would have to give them his news if he saw them and he wasn't looking forward to it. His father would be annoyed at the confirmation that he would be permanently losing a worker, and his mother would probably cry at the thought of losing a son.

His news could wait another couple of hours. He wouldn't go looking for his parents just yet.

When they reached the shade of the tavern, Engineer Tomova sat down at one of the empty benches.

"That journey has given me a thirst," he said, looking around for one of the tavern's serving men.

Maddock and Dak watched as Commander Galder continued to harangue the farm's superintendent.

"I am still not understanding why you are wanting to be like them?" said Dak.

Maddock grimaced.

"Not right like them."

"What is that?" asked Engineer Tomova.

"Maddock is going to be a knight," said Dak.

Tomova burst into a loud rumble of laughter.

Maddock looked accusingly at Dak.

"Oh, what a fanciful imagination the boy has."

He ruffled Maddock's hair with one massive hand, while Dak flushed red.

"I am sorry, Maddock. I was forgetting that it was being a secret."

"And it is a secret that you will be doing best to keep to yourself," said Engineer Tomova. "The Order would be accusing you of heresy or some such thing if you were to be making that desire known."

Then he burst out laughing again. Several people sitting around the tavern's tables looked round at the huge noise, as did several of the soldiers and clerks gathered around the two knights.

"You, Engineer!" came Sir Nathalle's irritable voice. "Would you care to share the joke? We are talking business over here."

"It is nothing," called Tomova, sobering quickly. "My apologies."

"Engineer Tomova?" said Sir Galder, looking up at the interruption.

"Yes, Commander."

"I hope you are paying my armour due attention, and not merely squandering your time away at tavern benches."

"It is almost done and will be finished on time."

Sir Galder simply nodded in reply and returned his attention back to Feldor, but his son had not finished with the Engineer.

"And it had better be good," he said. "My father only expects the best quality."

"And I am never delivering anything less."

All signs of joviality had left the Engineer's face.

"And after the tourney, you will make me a set of equal quality."

"Of course I will be happy to be accommodating your request," replied Tomova. "If you are able to be affording my services, of course."

The young knight's mouth twitched as though he were trying to detect insult in the Engineer's words, while trying to form an adequate reply.

"Would you please keep your laughter to yourself from now on," he said eventually. "Important matters are being discussed."

Sir Nathalle turned his attention back to his father, and the farm's superintendent and his ledgers.

Engineer Tomova tapped his daughter's shoulder and nodded his head in the direction of the farm's workshop, which stood on the other side of the square, next to the chandler's building.

"I think I may be finding the company at Barov's to be of a more appealing nature," he said. "And he is sure to be having something with which I can quench this thirst."

He led them from the shade of the tavern's veranda.

"It will be a cold day inYeltov's forge before that boy is wearing a suit of armour that I am making," said Tomova when they had reached the door to Barov's workshop.

"You don't mind working for his father though," said Maddock.

"His father may be as blunt as one of my hammers, but he is at least courteous. His other sons were too, but Nathalle..." He made a gesture over his shoulder with his thumb. "A knight for less than a year and already acting like a Grand-commander. Let us hope this tourney will be knocking some pride out of him."

He peered inside the open doors of the workshop. "Anyways, I am away to find your Uncle Barov. I want to see you back here within two hours."

This last was to his daughter.

"Yes father," she replied as Engineer Tomova entered the workshop in search of its owner.