This dedication goes to belladonnafox, a recent and most veracious reader. I'm not normally a reader of Urban Fantasy, so my first steps into her work was quite tentative, but my initial apprehension was soon cast aside. 'Guardians - Book 1. Magic rising' is very much a grown up member of the genre. It is dark and intelligent, and the Juxtaposition of its fantasy and more mundane elements are a joy to read. Please do check it out.

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Grifford kicked the wooden wall of the training-arena for the third or fourth time, then slumped down into the long grass that surrounded it. The sun was well clear of the horizon, and he had been waiting since before its top edge had begun to show, just as Master Sprak had demanded. His early presence had not been in deference to the High Madriel-master's wishes, however. He had simply been eager to begin his training.

No one had come or gone from the training-grounds for two hours, and it was only when the air began to grow warm and the shadows started to shorten, that he saw anyone at all. First, a group of Field-hands rode through from the direction of the Enclosures, and each one looked at him quizzically as they passed. Grifford glared back defiantly. A few Madriel-masters came and went, but none came over to him or said a word to acknowledge his presence. Then there was a growling and discontented hissing as some young madriel were driven down the fenced causeway that ran through the centre of the training-grounds. Grifford could not tell, through the causeway's close set railings, if any of them was his beast.

"Hello, brother!" said a bright voice.

He turned swiftly to see his sister standing demurely behind him. She was not wearing one of her usual newly dishevelled dresses, but instead had on a tunic, with trousers tucked into tall boots. She also wore a hunting tunic, though not the accompanying corset.

"Where have you been?" he snapped.

"Sleeping and having breakfast. Why?"

"Master Sprak said we should be here at sunrise."

"No, he did not."

"Yes, he did."

"No, he did not. He said we should be here at first light, which according to the rules of the Enclosures, as I am sure you will remember from your lessons, is the time the sun rises high enough over the first arena wall so that its light touches the ground inside. Today, that is seventeen minutes past nine. I know, because I checked."

His sister gave him her brightest, most annoying smile.

"You have not been waiting here for three hours have you!"

"Might have."

"Oh you idiot boy! And l bet you have not even eaten breakfast. Well it is lucky that I brought some for you."

She patted the pouch hanging from her belt.

"Come and sit down. You cannot train your beast on an empty stomach."

She went to sit in the shade of the nearest arena, and Grifford, bereft of any good argument, went and sat down beside her. As he did, he silently cursed the words of master Sprak, which had almost certainly been intentionally deceptive. Tahlia handed him a hunk of bread and a squashed wrapping of ghat cheese, and then unstrapped her water bottle and dropped it in his lap. He picked up the bread and ate.

While Tahlia broke off a nearby grass head and began to pull the green seeds from it to see how far she could flick each one, Grifford opened the cheese wrapper. He looked inside, grimaced at its mangled contents, and threw it down. He continued eating the bread in silence.

"Are you looking forward to training your beast?" asked his sister.

"Of course I am," replied Grifford, around a mouthful of bread.

"Me, too! I wonder what it will be like. Mother says training is different for every beast because every one is different."

"I expect so."

"Well we will find out soon enough. Look!"

Grifford looked.

A Madriel-master and Madriel-mistress were approaching along the training-grounds' wide avenue. They halted their steeds beside one of the nearby arenas.

"Finally!" he growled.

"Come on, brother, no time for breakfast!"

Tahlia swung her arm and knocked the bread from his hand.

"Our beasts will not train themselves."

* * * * *

"You boy!"

Madriel-master Sprak's roar was accompanied by a spray of kernik bread crumbs, which pattered over the table in front of him.

"What are you doing here?"

Maddock stopped in the doorway. The outside world at his back was light and warm, and in front of him was the cool gloom of the Enclosure's refectory, smelling of sweat and pipe smoke. The tables and benches lining each side of the room were filled with Madriel-masters and mistresses, come before their morning training to eat a breakfast of cold meat and bread. Some looked up at the sound of the High Madriel-master's voice, others simply grinned and continued eating.

"Well! Don't make me get up and ask you again!"

"Sorry," said Maddock, finding his voice. "I was told to report to Master Dramut; he's to start my training. Field-master Grellik said I should..."

"I didn't ask for your life story, boy!" shouted Sprak. "Dramut!"

Master Dramut had already risen quietly from his place at one of the tables, and picked up the scarred stick that had been resting on the bench beside him.

"Your new recruit is here, Dramut. Make sure he learns well."

"As always, High Madriel-master," replied Master Dramut. He took the last piece of bread from his plate and tucked it away inside his tunic.

"You know which beast I've got marked down for him!" Master Sprak took another bite of kernik bread. "Looks like the boy's not the size for anything else."

Sprak laughed at his own joke, spraying crumbs over the table once more as Master Dramut led Maddock back outside.

"So you think you will make a good Field-hand?" he said as they emerged into the welcome sunlight.

"Yes, sir," replied Maddock. "Then a Madriel-master."

Master Dramut tutted and shook his head.

"You must learn to crawl before you can run, boy. Master Sprak would have you crawl first."

They passed from the quarters of the Madriel-masters and mistresses, and entered the Enclosures.

"What do you know of the Pride, boy?"

"What do you mean?"

"How does the Pride function? What is the thing that every male madriel craves?"

"Dominance?" replied Maddock uncertainly, remembering what little information he had heard around Dredar's tavern tables.

"A common conception, but utterly wrong," said Master Dramut mildly.

Maddock could think of nothing else to say.

"What every creature in the Pride craves is to know its position. This will be the key knowledge in your training. Remember it well because to be a Master of madriel is to be part of the Pride, and to be accepted as such. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Maddock, even though he didn't.

They arrived at one of the larger pens, its low fence enclosing a gradual slope of grass, littered with rocks and the trunks of dead trees.

"Have you eaten, boy?"

"No."

Master Dramut took the hunk of bread from inside his tunic, broke it, and handed him half. Then he leant on the side of the pen and Maddock peered over the top.

At first the space inside seemed to be empty, but then he spotted a single male madriel, asleep inside the shade of a hollow tree trunk.

"That's yours, boy."

"Don't I get to choose?"

Master Dramut laughed.

"Of course not. High Madriel-master Sprak is the one who makes the choices around here. You had better learn that quickly."

Maddock looked once more at the madriel.

"He's so small," he said.

"That's because he's the runt of his litter."

"Runt?"

"Yes. But still he survives, which at least says something for his resolve."

As if it knew that it was the subject of their conversation, the small male opened sharp brown eyes and looked across at them from its place in the shade.

Master Dramut finished chewing his bread and wiped his hands on his tunic.

"Follow me, but pay close attention to this one thing." The Madriel-master held his clenched fist in front of Maddock's face, the bony index finger raised. "While you are with me you are safe in a pen with any madriel, but set foot in one on your own and you will be a dead boy. Understand?"

"Yes," said Maddock.

Master Dramut opened the pen's gate and went through. Maddock followed, and the Madriel-master closed the gate behind them.

The runt pulled itself from the shade of the tree as they climbed the hill, its nose down and its haunches raised. Even to Maddock's untrained eye it seemed weak; barely half a metre tall, with long scrawny legs and narrow shoulders.

Master Dramut held up his hand.

"Now watch carefully and stay back."

Then he stepped up the slope, onto the flat area in front of the jumble of rocks and wood where the runt waited, lips pulled back and a low growl coming between its small canines.

"The first lesson," the Madriel-master said, as beast and man stood regarding each other. "Is for the young to learn their place in the Pride." He unslung the scarred stick from his back and the runt's growling rose a notch. "Watch carefully, Field-hand Maddock."

At the sound of his voice, the runt leapt forward with a lightning pounce, swiping at Master Dramut, who leapt deftly aside. They regarded each other once more and began to turn about one another in a small circle. Then it was the Master's turn to attack. He moved forward as though to strike, but when the small male rose on its wiry hind legs to meet him, Dramut sidestepped the swipe of its claws and turned to tap the beast lightly between its shoulder blades with his scarred stick.

The runt turned quickly and its claw came round so fast, Maddock thought that blood was certain to pour from the Master's outstretched, ravaged hand, yet the hand was pulled swiftly away and remained whole and unbloodied.

The two circled again, both seeming more cautious this time.

"The beast has the advantage of claw, horn and tooth," said Master Dramut as he circled. "But the animal must be bettered by one means or another."

The runt pounced again, but its inexperience brought its failure. Master Dramut turned swiftly aside, moving his training stick under the beast's front legs to pull them upwards. Then he encircled the animal with his other arm and hauled it off the ground.

"Whatever you do," he said calmly, as the animal struggled. "Be careful to watch his back legs and keep them away from you, else he'll claw your stomach out."

The runt struggled on for a while and then became still, its sides rippling in and out as it breathed heavily in Master Dramut's grip. Slowly, he carried the seemingly calm animal to the fence and released it into another smaller pen.

"Over the next years, you and your beast here will form a bond like no other, but before that happens, your madriel must understand one thing." Master Dramut raised his bony finger again, and then pointed with it at Maddock's chest. "You are the one in charge. Assert yourself when your beast is young, and when it is full grown it will remember its place."

Master Dramut leant with his back on the gate of the smaller pen, his hand resting near its securing catch.

"So, are you ready, boy?"

Maddock straightened his back and made sure his weight was balanced. He spread his feet a little more until he was happy. He looked at the animal behind the gate as it paced back and forth, sniffing at the gap beneath. It may only have been a runt, but it was still a dangerous animal, with teeth and claws and horns. He took a slow breath and held his arms to either side, ready to grapple the beast as it flew from the opened gate.

"I'm ready," he said, though his mouth was dry again.

"Good," said Master Dramut. "You'll be needing this."

Maddock had not noticed him leave the fence, but the Madriel-master was now standing next to him and was holding something towards him. It was a shovel.

Maddock looked up at the elderly Master.

"You didn't think you'd be wrestling madriel on your first day did you?" he said. "Take it. There's dung to be cleared up before the rest of the litters get back from training."

Maddock took the shovel, and Master Dramut reached back behind the fence and handed him a bucket.

"When it is full, empty it into the hand-cart by the gate."

Maddock, who was more than used to the process of clearing up dung, simply scowled.

Master Dramut walked back down the slope of the pen and then out through its gate. As he closed it behind him, he called back up.

"Make sure you clear everything out of the gulley down there, boy. Get up to your knees in it if you have to."

And with that he left, his scarred training stick slung once more over his shoulder, and Maddock was left alone in a field of shit, his first lesson begun.