Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 22i

The crowd rose to its feet, their eager cheers resonating around the arena as the two knights rode into the jousting ring. Their dark untried armour shone cleanly, and the newly painted crests on the small bosses of their rail-shields, untouched by sword or lance, caught the sun in a bright gleam.

Their armoured steeds seemed calm under the noise of the crowd, but High Madriel-master Sprak, watching from the second level of the observation tower, could tell from the stride of one of the animals that its body held an ill controlled tension. As though to confirm Sprak's assessment, the madriel gave a deep roar, which echoed from within its metal helm, and brought its head down sharply to gouge two deep scars in the dampened earth of the arena with its armoured horns. Its rider calmed the beast with a word, and Master Sprak smiled malevolently. It was the training of the beast that was insufficient it seemed, not that of its rider. There were words to be had with the Madriel-master responsible.

Both knights crossed the perimeter circle together and raised their lances in salute, causing the cheering of the crowd to rise again. All six of the new arenas were filled for the opening bouts, and the air vibrated with the noise. The excited cheering was interspersed with the loud cries of the food and ale vendors among the common seats.

On the level of the tower below Master Sprak, where the judges observed the contests and where the countless clerks kept a record of everything won and lost, a proclaimer from the herald service stepped down onto the pulpit that jutted out over the arena.

"Knights and ladies of Klinberg! Good people of its lands! Please give silence for the reading of the stakes!"

The crowd fell silent and the herald unfurled a roll of paper, which he brandished in front of him with practiced ceremony and purpose.

"Today being the first day of contests in the eight hundred and thirty ninth year since the founding of Naddaran, it has fallen upon me to present Sir Khaled and Sir Jathik, and their steeds; Lepessis and Fejun..."

Master Sprak tapped his fingers impatiently on the table as the herald droned on below.

"Have I missed anything, Sprak?" said a voice behind him.

"Nothing, of course," replied Master Sprak, his eyes not leaving the jousting ring below. "Just this pompous idiot being charmed by his own voice."

He pushed the other chair from underneath the table with his foot. High Lance-master Tzarren put his tall cup of crimson ale on the table and sat down with his back rigid, rested his arm on the table besides his drink, and propped one worn boot up on the low parapet that edged the level of the tower.

"What do they fight for? Has he said yet?"

"A few patches of ranch-land downriver. Some of Morath's old territory."

Master Tzarren nodded.

"Rich pickings for the new blood this year."

"They had better be worthy of it."

Below, the herald had finished, and withdrawn. At a signal, given by three quick blasts of the tower's karabok horn, the contest began and the crowd grew quiet.

* * *

The beasts in the arena began to stalk each another, keeping outside the line of the ring's perimeter. The two knights held their lances high and their rail-shields close to their sides as they gave their beasts leave to roar their challenges across the jousting ring, and to beat at the earth with their armoured horns.

The karabok horn emitted one final blast, the two armoured beasts stepped over the boundary of the inner circle, and the contest began. The animals crouched with their bellies close to the ground, armoured limbs tensed with stowed energy as they continued to circle around one another, their growls becoming low, aggressive and feral. The madriel and their riders stopped in a brief moment's stillness. Then, at a mutual signal, the energy of their pent limbs was released to throw their great weight of muscle and armour forwards. Thick clods of damp earth scattered behind them as they closed with each other, both riders lowering their lances and raising their rail-shields, gripping them loosely in anticipation of the first powerful strike.