Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 11i

The service for the Ascension Day of Glok had been surprisingly dull. Now that he had reached his twelfth summer, Grifford was expected to attend all services in the echoing hexagonal vault of the temple's chamber of assembly, and so far he had found the experience to be exceedingly boring. He had hoped that morning's service would be more exciting than others, because Sir Glok had been a knight of high renown, whose adventures during the Wars of Conquest had been filled with deadly battles and heroic deeds. But Chief-communicant Vennar, in his droning voice, had made the hero's life sound more like one of pious monotony until his last day, when his selfless act of sacrifice on Klinberg's hill had led to his Ascension.

Grifford's mood throughout the long morning was made worse by the hunger that gnawed at his stomach. If the hundreds of other worshipers in the sanctum felt any discomfort at the absence of breakfast, they showed no sign of it, so he decided that he would be equally stoic in his manner. His sister sat in silence beside him and showed no sign of complaining, which he thought uncharacteristically strange until he noticed her, from the corner of his eye, sneak some item out from the recesses of her cloak and into her mouth.

He seethed silently, unable to believe that no one else had noticed.

When the long tedium of the service was finally over, he filed with the others out of the temple's high gate, passing through the throngs of the lower echelon families who were awaiting the next service. Once he reached the lower slopes of the temple hill, he found further disappointment in the food the Junior Communicants were offering to break his fast. Water and unbuttered kernik bread was all that was given, but he was starving and he knew there would be nothing else to eat until the evening's feast, so he took it and mumbled the customary gratitudes.

After receiving the meagre food, the knights and their families began the slow procession towards the access-keep, where they would climb to the fortress to spend the day in quiet contemplation, but Grifford held back. His father was deep in conversation with Pride-commander Bevrik, and didn't seem to have noticed his absence. His mother walked beside his father, one arm linked through his, while the other rested protectively on her swollen stomach. Tahlia walked beside her, being unusually obedient. Grifford's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but then he turned away swiftly before he was noticed, having no particular wish to be in their company.

There would be no lessons that day, nor arms or madriel training. For once the rest of it was his own, though he had no idea what he would do with it. He pushed his way back through the crowds that were waiting to enter the temple, thinking he would take a walk along the fortress-bailey's battlements. He liked to walk the battlements on the rare occasions he had time to himself. He would watch the patrolling of the guards and look out at the grasslands of the great-bailey beyond, imagining the day that he would be Grand-commander and it would all be under his authority.

The pleasant reverie of that day was beginning to form in his head, but was broken suddenly by an ill-tempered voice.

"Well, if it is not the coward's son!"

He spun around to see a familiar loathsome figure standing behind him. The boy was tall and wide shouldered, and wore a tunic of Vikas burgundy.

And he was grinning.

"Tasker," growled Grifford in greeting.

As far as he knew, Commander Galder had not returned to Klinberg, so it was a surprise to see his squire on the slopes of the temple hill.

"What do you want?"

"I want to face you in the jousting ring and see you dance around like a fallow's tumble-bush, but that pleasure will have to wait until you have learned to fight."

Grifford felt his fists tighten, turning the bread in his hand to crumbs.

Tasker looked down at his clenched fists, and smiled.

"You still have the temperament of a bull tragasaur, I see, and with it the brains of a borak."

Grifford stood and glared at the older boy in front of him, whose taunts had goaded him since the day they had met.

Tasker put his head on one side and met the glare with a mocking smile.

"My friends tell me you have been giving them trouble," he said.

"Your friends are weak when you are not around."

"That is amusing, coming from you," said Tasker, his smile turning into a sneer. "I have heard that your sister had to intervene when you had a run in with my good friend Gefry just the other day. How does it feel to have the protection of a girl's skirts?"

"Gefry is a coward and a liar, like you and the rest of your friends."

"At least I have friends..."

"Tasker, come away from that boy!"

The amused grin on Tasker's face snapped away at the sound of that new, strident voice.

Grifford turned to find a lady of the Order, elegantly dressed, with perfectly crafted hair, standing a few metres away, looking down at him with eyes which held the most abject hatred. Her face would have been beautiful if it were not for those eyes, and the tightness twisting its features.

"Mother, I was just..." began Tasker.

"Come away! Now!" the woman snapped, and Grifford would have found some amusement as he watched Tasker drag himself obediently to the woman's side, if it were not for the hostility she was still directing at him.

"You should not be here," the woman said coldly. "You should not be here. Why are you here? I was told that you would all be gone!"

The lady's voice was rising, and Grifford was aware of the surrounding crowd turning their attention in its direction.

"Come, mother," said Tasker, placing his hand on the lady's arm. "Do not let the child upset you."

She pulled her arm savagely from her son's touch.

"His family have caused me upset enough..." her voice was rising to shrillness.

Grifford could do nothing but stare at the bizarrely screaming woman in front of him, and did not see the two figures detach themselves from the crowd. He only became aware of them when his view of Tasker's mother was obstructed by an expanse of colourful material.

"Calm yourself, Lavesna," said a lady's soothing voice. "The service will be starting soon. Look, the temple doors are open."

"But that boy..."

"The boy has gone, Lavesna, and we do not want to keep Chief-communicant Vennar waiting."

The lady's voice was already fading.

Grifford looked up at the lady whose excess of gown had blocked his view. He could not remember her name at first, but he recognised her, and recalled seeing her about the fortress, often with a defiant Tahlia in tow. Her wide face, normally stern and unforgiving, seemed unfamiliar as it held a look of some pity.

"Mistress Oleander," he said flatly.

"You had better be on your way, child," she said, not unkindly.

"I am not a child."

Mistress Oleander's stern look returned swiftly.

"Be on your way, Squire Grifford, before you cause further upset."

She turned her bulk promptly and strode away. The rest of the crowd was also beginning to move away towards the open temple doors, and Grifford could just make out the tall form of Tasker's mother in their midst's, her arm linked firmly by another lady.

He did not realise that Tasker was still standing close by until the older boy grabbed him roughly by the arm.

"I will be returning north to Commander Galder's service tomorrow, once this farcical celebration is over," he hissed in Grifford's ear. "But I will be back soon enough. If you give my friends any more trouble, then you will answer to me!"

He released his arm, and with a final smirk, strode away. Before he was swallowed by the crowds as they converged on the temple door, he turned and shot Grifford a look of pure venom. When he did that, the resemblance between him and his mother was suddenly striking.