Grifford leapt down the terrace's steps, the scabbard of the training sword slapping at his leg. The downward chain-carriage journey had given enough respite for him to catch his breath after his run to the barrack blocks, but he was soon breathing quickly again as he raced back through the Enclosures. When he reached the Infirmary, he found his father already stationed in front of the main entry, his rail-shield on his arm and sword held loose by his side. He had set his helm on the ground beside him.

Grifford came to a halt. He inclined his head swiftly.

"Father, I..."

"Did you get consent to carry that sword from the fortress?"

"No, father. I did not have time. I wish to stand vigil with you."

"And so you disregarded barrack rules. Did you even think of asking for my approval before coming here?"

"No. I thought it would please you."

His father regarded him for a short while, then moved to one side of the doorway.

"Stand there," he said, pointing with his sword to the ground at the opposite side of the door.

Grifford did as he was bidden.

They stood together in silence.

"Sir?" said Grifford, after the quiet has stretched on for a short time.

"Yes?"

"How is mother?"

"Doctor Fos assures me that she is in good health."

The silence continued. In the herb garden, the bugs clicked and chittered.

"You understand that this will be no easy thing," said his father. "You are not required to be here."

"I want to be here, father. It is important."

Somewhere within the Enclosures, a madriel roared in defiance, and a Madriel-master roared back in response.

"Doctor Fos tells me that our vigil may only be short. You and your sister's was an ordeal of nearly ten hours. Of course, I was a younger man then."

From the corner of his eye, Grifford saw his father glance over at him.

"I will be fine, father."

"You have great confidence."

"Yes."

Grifford stood stock still, his chin raised and his eyes focused on the Infirmary gate at the far end of the herb garden.

He did not see his father smile.

"Tell me about your madriel training," his father said. "I hear it is not progressing too well?"

"I do not like the way Master Chen teaches. Will you not ask Master Sprak to assign a more capable Master?"

"Master Chen has been chosen by Sprak, and he is the Master you will be taught by."

Silence again. Grifford thought he heard a low cry from over the Infirmary wall behind him.

"Why do you think you are struggling with your steed's training?"

"I do not know."

"Master Chen tells me you are having trouble because your animal does not have a high regard for you."

"So?"

"You must earn your animal's respect, and he yours. Has Master Chen not told you this?"

"Yes, but..."

"But you chose to ignore him because you believe yourself to be a superior authority on training madriel."

Grifford responded with silence.

"When we last spoke on this matter, you assured me you would excel at training your steed, and now it seems that you are blaming your teacher for your own failings."

"But Master Chen..."

His father silenced him with a gesture of his sword.

"Learn to listen to those who know better than you, boy. As you grow older you can choose to disregard what you are told as experience dictates. Until that time comes, listen and learn well."

"Yes, father."

"Overconfidence can be the undoing of the most promising of knights."

"Yes, father."

There came a distant echoed squawking as two red crak tumbled together down the bastion wall above them, grappling together over some morsel of food. The two arguing birds disappeared from sight, and the silence returned. Grifford could feel the usual brittleness in it.

"While we have this time, I wish to talk to you about a matter of importance," said his father, breaking the discomfort.

"Yes, father," said Grifford cautiously. "What is it?"

"I hear you have been brawling again."

Grifford lifted his eyes and looked away across the Enclosures.

"Yes."

"Would you care to supply me with a reason for the fight?"

"No."

"But you will," said his father. "If you wish to remain standing there by my side."

Grifford scowled down at his feet.

"I suppose that you know who I was fighting with," he said after a few seconds glowering.

"Yes."

"They are speaking untruths about you. Lies that the squire Tasker has put into their heads."

"About myself and his father?"

"Yes."

"And what is the nature of the lies," asked his father, though Grifford suspected that he knew their nature well enough.

"Tasker claims that when you and his father were ordered to guard the pass at Wessvall, it was you who fled and left its defence to him."

His father showed no surprise at his words.

"And do you believe his lies?" was all that he asked.

"No. I do not want to, but..."

"Yes?" said his father, and his voice was as sharp as the sword he still held by his side.

"It is just that I remember Grandfather Kralken telling me something about it. I was only small, and my memory is not clear, but he..."

When Grifford looked up and saw his father's eyes, he stumbled into silence.

"Go on, boy," his father said, his look as unyielding as the rock on which Klinberg stood.

"He never spoke in details, but I think he blamed you for our defeat."

The hardness in his father's eyes remained for a few seconds, but then seemed to break and be replaced by a look of sadness. He turned away and looked up into the cloudless sky.

"Your grandfather believed that I should have stayed and held the pass with my life, despite Sir Jesker's abandonment. I held the pass for as long as I could, but we were outnumbered, and the Free-clans knew those lands better than us. On their javac, they could use passes that we did not know of to outflank us. If you want the truth of it, we could not have held the pass, even if Tasker's father had remained, but together we could have held it for a time. Long enough for news to reach our armies in the valley. Long enough to save many lives."

"Tasker's father was a traitor."

His father shook his head sadly.

"Sir Jesker was no traitor. His only fault was his arrogance, and the confidence he had in himself was immense. He had been that way when we were squires, and still was when we fought our first tourney and earned our lances together. It cost our friendship when I rose to fifth echelon before him."

"Why?"

His father shrugged.

"A wound to his pride. His actions at Wessvall were born of that same pride. He resented the duty our Grand-commander had given us and believed, like many, that the Free-clans offered us no threat. He thought it unfair that, as he guarded a high empty pass, his fellow knights were gaining fame and glory in the real battle to the south, not to mention ransom-wealth."

"So he disobeyed his orders."

"Yes. I argued with him, but his mind would not be changed. He took his troops back south and left me to guard the pass, and so the actions of a single man made a ruin of all our efforts."

Grifford nodded his head, remembering Master Hepskil's account of the battle.

"I cannot believe we were beaten," he said.

"Battles are often delicate things. Fear is often the greatest of enemies, and on that day our troops saw only that we were beset on both sides and panic can spread quickly through even the most seasoned troops."

"But knights of Klinberg have no fear," said Grifford confidently.

His father smiled grimly.

"I wish that were so. To fear is to be human, and the challenge is to face your fear. That is the real duty of a knight."

Grifford frowned.

"I do not understand."

"You will one day, once you have earned your lance and faced an enemy across a battlefield. Needless to say, our knights fought with due honour and sacrifice, but Sir Jesker's disobedience had led us to a place that only the strength and leadership of Pride-commander Morath could free us from."

Grifford nodded, but frowned in thought.

"Tasker claims that it was you who convinced Grand-commander Morath to consign his father to the Templars. It is another reason that he hates you."

His father nodded.

"That much is true. When Sir Jesker stood before the high-seat for judgement, the last of his honour deserted him and he denied abandoning the pass, despite all the testimonies against him."

"But why? If his guilt were so clear?"

"I believe that his own esteem in himself would not let him face what he had done, and something inside him broke that day. He was found guilty of treachery and would have been sentenced to the Pride, but I still remembered our past friendship and pleaded leniency with Lord Morath. I managed to convince him that Sir Jesker's actions were not those of a traitor, only of an arrogant fool. Instead of death, he was consigned to the Templars, but only on condition that he be sent over the Pilgrim's way and exiled to the Search."

Grifford nodded solemnly.

"Tasker tells it differently, and his friends believe him. I hate them."

"That is no cause for fighting. You must rise above your hatred. Their words cannot harm you."

"It is not you who has to listen to them."

His father shifted the weight of his rail-shield on his arm.

"Has Tasker made his accusations before witnesses?"

"Only Gefry, Marcin and Brefoir."

"Then he cannot be judged for false pronouncements. It would be your truth against theirs."

"I know."

"I could talk to the boy. Make him understand the truth."

"No. I will deal with Tasker"

"There are more ways to find resolution than with a sword," said his father. "Or your fists."

"I cannot think of any in this case."

His father sighed.

"A son should not be made to fight a battle of his father's making, and hatred should not be a cause for conflict. It is such loathing, carried over from the past, which currently takes us towards war."

"You are talking about Commander Galder," said Grifford. "And his dead sons."

"Yes. Though I cannot blame a man for loving his sons, nor for his anger at their loss, Sir Galder's hatred goes beyond reason. He desires only revenge for their deaths, but further conflict will only bring further hatred."

"Would you wish the same if you were in his place, father?"

His father looked at him, his brows lowered in thought. The sun had climbed to its highest point in the sky. Another low cry came from within the Infirmary enclave behind them.

"It takes a man of intelligence to lay hatred aside for the sake of peace," he replied after a while. "And I hope that I shall never be placed in Commander Galder's position."

Grifford watched his father, but when no further comment came he went back to staring at the fortress, focussing on the very highest point of the keep.

"Do not stare at the sky, boy. You will damage your sight."

"Yes, father."

A third, louder, cry came from beyond the Infirmary wall. Grifford and his father continued their vigil.