What amazed Dak the most, was the unbridled ferocity of the arenas, and she could understand why her mother had been reluctant to let her witness the contests for herself in previous years.
"I am glad that we are here," said her father, as though evaluating her thoughts. "It is time that you were seeing the tourney for yourself."
Dak and her father had both dined substantially at the Hammer and Flame, but that had not prevented him from acquiring a large bag of baked gem larakkos, which now sat, half empty, on the bench between them.
Though she could understand her mother's reluctance to expose her to them, Dak could also see why she had enjoyed the contests so much herself. Once she had got over the initial noise and brutality in the ring below, she found that, as she watched each of the bouts, she started to detect a certain satisfying rhythm in the contests. She began to view them as though each were a badly made machine, with poorly constructed parts, which could fail at any given moment. She even started to speculate if it were possible to detect the flaws before the machine broke in a cataclysmic fashion. Maybe an experienced Lance-master or Madriel-master would be able to, but the skill was beyond her.
Each bout she had watched that afternoon began with the usual charge across the ring, followed by the sliding of deflected metal as lance and rail-shield connected. After that, each fight would be unique. There was always a similarity in their rhythmic beating and grinding, but there was a subtle difference in their mechanics. Some bouts were short, others long and complex, but they all ended in a similar manner. Eventually, unforeseen and unexpected, some component would fail, a part would weaken or shift, and the badly made machine would break itself.
Her father would always applaud loudly and stamp his feet in approval when this happened, and Dak would join in out of politeness. One thing she began to consider was the fact that, in the breaking of the intricate machines, it was never the parts constructed by the Engineers that failed. Lances would break, of course, but that was what they had been designed to do, so the breakage was no failure. To Dak's mind, it was always the parts of bone and flesh within the machine that would cause its failure.
The karabok horn sounded once more, and the doors to the readying halls swung open.
"Here we are!" said her father, beaming as the first knight rode into the arena.
The crowd roared its approval of Sir Xanrath, who held his lance aloft to acknowledge them. His armour was fine, polished to a dull sheen. The knight who rode from the second readying hall received similar greeting, but Dak estimated that its level was not the equal of the adoration received by Sir Xanrath.
"Does Sir Draimar not have the popularity of Sir Xanrath, father?"
"He is popular enough, but he is not being Lord Morath's son."
Dak nodded.
"Now watch, daughter. This will be a splendid fight."
So Dak sat back to watch the workings of another machine as it prepared to destroy itself.
The horn sounded again, and the two madriel gouged the earth with their armoured claws, propelling themselves forward in a spatter of dampened earth. They passed each other once, twice and then three times. Lance thrusts were precisely deflected as each knight tested the other, and their madriel turned together like pinioned counterweights. As the two knights made their fourth pass, Dak heard the usual sliding squeal of metal as lance was deflected by rail-shield, but then that noise was followed by the crack of shattering metal. Sir Xanrath's lance exploded against Sir Draimar's shoulder-plate, rocking him backwards as their beasts slid by each other. He kept his saddle, but as his steed turned at the inner perimeter, she heard Sir Draimar bellow his fury at being struck. His steed also roared its rage across the arena and immediately bunched its hind legs and launched itself towards Sir Xanrath, power winding upwards with the sound of agitated metal.
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Engines & Demons - The Undestined
Science FictionGrand-commander Morath is dead, and the fragile peace between the Order of the Plains and their former allies in the northern mountains is close to breaking. The knights of Klinberg, riders of the madriel pride, are preparing themselves for the Hig...