The Beast of Maug Maurai, Part One: The Culling by Roberto Calas Page B

Somewhere in the west a streak of light arced across the sky, burning
for a moment, then fading to nothing.
    Maribrae’s touch pulled him away from
the black swirling sea, away from the ungraspable sophistication of the
universe. Away from the power of those stars. Back to the cool stone balcony of
Tower Duleun. To the simplicity of the castle called Daun Sanctra.
    “I love you Mari,” he whispered.
“More than Roebi loved Ynnebelle.”
    “And I love you, Jastyn.” She stroked
his face. “More than that.”
    The smell of perfumed herbs upon her
neck was more powerful than he had remembered. In her eyes he could see the
night sky, the scattered stars spilling onto her nose and cheeks in reverse,
white skies and dark stars. Her lips parted in a look of such vulnerable
beauty, such heartbreaking innocence, that he had to fight off tears. There was
expectation there. A query. He took her chin in his hand and kissed her then,
closing his eyes and falling into the sweetest darkness he could imagine.

Chapter 11
     

The Eastern Front, the border between the kingdoms of Laraytia and Gracidmar,
is a shore of violence; wave upon wave of enemies pound forward at high tide,
only to be chased back by the Laraytian Standards at low. There are no clear
delineations of territory. Mines in the Green Mountains become battle-mines.
Slaves dig for precious metals as soldiers fight around them, the daily treasures
going to the army that owns the mine at day’s end.
     
    -- Elendyl Bask, Warrior Poet
     
         Grae and Hammer presented
themselves at the tiny castle’s gate and were told that Sir Jastyn was on the
upper tiltyard. One of the guards pointed it out to them, on a hill about a
quarter mile from the castle.
    At the tilting field, two mounted men
faced each other, thin lances held high. Both wore tilting harnesses and
high-beaked tourney helms. As Grae watched the two chargers sprang toward one
another. One of the men, dressed in a white tabard, set his lance on his
shoulder as he rode so that it pointed upward in the Laraytian Lancer style.
    The horses’ hooves rumbled upon the
field, divots of grass kicking up like splashed water. A moment before the two
men came together the man in white lowered his lance crisply. The spear struck
and shattered with a crack that echoed across the field. The man’s opponent
took the blow on the grand guard upon his shoulder and crashed back against the
cantle of his saddle. And then the two were past, their horses slowing with
quick jumps and lowered heads.
    A squire near the fence noticed Grae
and Hammer and ran to their side. He took their names and bustled out onto the
field toward the two jousters.
    “Which one do you suppose is Sir
Jastyn?” asked Hammer.
    Grae shrugged. “I’ve never met him.”
    As they waited, a woman wearing day
lilies in her braided hair walked forward and leaned against the fence a few
paces from them. She placed her elbows on the beam then reached out with one
pale arm. A dozen bracelets jangled as she pointed to the knight in the white
tabard.
    “Jastyn is there,” she said, not
looking at either of the soldiers. “The boundlessly handsome one on the left.”
    Grae nodded to her “My lady…” he
paused as he spotted a song charm on her forehead, held in place by a delicate
circlet of silver. “Maiden,” he said, correcting himself.
    Hammer spoke to cover the fumble.
“Are you Sir Jastyn’s songmaiden?”
    “I am many things,” she said. “But at
the moment I am surprised. Brig Barragns has outrun our expectations. By a day
at least.”
    “My apologies, maiden. Duke Mulbrey’s
Chamberlain had a change of heart and sent us early.”
    “A change of heart is a splendid
start,” she said. “That is the Chamberlain’s most deficient part.”
    On the field, the squire spoke with
Sir Jastyn, who looked toward the fence and nodded. The knight dismounted and
removed his helmet, gave it to the page. The boy set the helmet down gently and
helped