Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 17i

PART 2

The sun climbed slowly, casting the long shadow of the fortress across the great-bailey hub. The dry brownness of the grass-lands had been restored by the rains to the blazing colours of second summer; the new deep green of the plains stippled with the vivid brightness of flower grass.

The air vibrated with a high pitched whirr as the swarms of nipeflies clouded about the new supply of pollen, and the clear sky was continually painted with scything ribbons as the flocks of widdershins turned and spiralled, feeding on the abundance of tiny insects.

Grifford was in no position to notice the new beauty of the plains.

"Fighting!" shouted High Madriel-master Sprak. His breath on Grifford's face smelt like rancid olap berries. "Brawling like a common Farm-hand!"

Grifford did not meet the Madriel-master's malicious gaze, and instead fixed his eyes straight ahead at the twisted lump of sky metal hanging on the wall above the Madriel-master's table.

His own raging temper, which had been clawing at his brain ever since he had left the training-arena, had subsided and reformed into a cold brooding.

He had awoken that morning, eager to get out to the Enclosures, glad to be outside once more after ten days confined to the fortress, with nothing to occupy him but his lessons and his sister's constant wittering about some new obsession of hers. During those days he had dwelled constantly on how he would recommence his training, which had been suspended, even before the rains swept down from the northern mountains. He was sure he knew what new approach he had to take when he next met his steed in the training ring. He simply had to be more commanding.

His stubborn brute of a madriel had rewarded his new fervour by continued disobedience, though it had, at least, begun to acknowledge his existence.

It was trying to kill him.

Master Chen still held him in disgrace for using his training stick to strike his madriel, and even though he did concede that the beast's new attitude was an indication of some progress, he explained that, due to the way in which the progress had been reached, the next part of his training would be all the harder. Grifford didn't understand. It did not seem as though any part of anything was improving, other than his ability to avoid the animal's belligerent claw swipes.

He had left the training-arena with his impotent anger boiling and seeking a release, and had come upon the three squires near the Enclosures' lower pens. Gefry, at their centre, had been proudly showing off a new tunic.

"Made of the best frax," he had been boasting gleefully. "All the way from the gardens of Albain. My father has contacts with a merchant within the Association who trades the material."

The boys had not seen Grifford as he advanced on them, and only noticed him when he spoke.

"Frax? That is made from flowers is it not?"

Gefry had given a terrified start and spun around to face him.

"I believe so, yes," he had said, a look of forced superiority falling over his fear.

"It makes you look like a girl."

Gefry had scowled.

"It is a finer garment than the rags some are forced to wear."

One of the other squires had sniggered.

"One would think that a Pride-commander could dress his son better."