This chapter is dedicated to CocoNichole. What do you fancy? Zombie apocalypse or Amazonian Urban Fantasy? CocoNichole has both, with her Chew Chronicles (Not just zombies, but zombies and were-zombies and cyborgs (Oh my!)) Or you could try her Encante trilogy, starting with her Wattpad Featured story Sun Kissed. I can promote this story using only two words.

Shapeshifting. Dolphins.

Need I say more?

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Commander Kralaford tugged on his second high boot and began tightening its buckles.

"I still don't know why you won't tell me."

His wife was by the open bedroom window, sitting propped on the ledge while eating her breakfast from the plate that she held cradled in her hand. She had found it more convenient of late to have her breakfast brought to their room. It was easier than making the journey down to the ladies' solarium, but she was no longer comfortable sitting up in bed to eat so she would often take her meals standing, or sitting at her dresser.

"You will have to see your son's choice for yourself. I would not wish to spoil it for you."

She picked up a morsel of food from her plate; a section of thick karabok rib, encrusted with the red and orange socro she had recently taken a liking to.

"Just tell me if he has made a good choice. Is the beast strong and healthy?"

Sir Kralaford finished with his buckles and stood.

"It is certainly strong."

Tahlessa smiled and took a bite from the spiced meat.

"And?"

His wife shook her head as she chewed.

"If you are so interested in your son's steed," she said, once she had finished and swallowed. "Then you should have accompanied him yesterday when he went to make his choice.

"You know why I did not."

Tahlessa sighed. Then she dropped the rib she had been chewing onto her plate and put the plate on the ledge beside her.

"I understand your reasons, and you know why I do not agree with them."

Sir Kralaford walked to the window and stood beside his wife, his hands resting on the stone ledge where she sat. He looked out at the sky to the east, where the pale outline of the Khensis moon hung in the brightening blue sky.

"You, of all people, know what my own father was like. Not a day went by when he did not criticise some choice that I made, or some action that I took. He was always there at my shoulder."

Sir Kralaford felt his wife's arm encircle his waist, felt the rounded shape of her stomach pressed against his side.

"You are not your father, Kral. Grifford needs you. He needs your regard."

"I should not need to give him my constant endorsement for him to understand my regard for him, Tahlessa. He is not a child."

"But he is! Do you not see? You can put a sword in his hand and strap a rail-shield to his arm, but he is still little more than a boy, though he will soon be a man." Sir Kralaford looked down at his wife, to see the familiar earnest look in her eyes. "I fear that if he continues as he is, he will be a man that will not be much liked. You see how he is? He has no friends and solves all his arguments with his fists."

"Arguments he always wins."

"He does not win the arguments, Kralaford; only the fights that follow," said Tahlessa, sudden anger raising colour in her cheeks. "Are you proud of him for that?"

"Of course not. He must learn discipline and control over his anger. Just as I did."

"It is more than discipline that he lacks."

Sir Kralaford looked out over the plains again.

"I know. I will speak to him."

"When?"

"Today. I will go and see his choice of steed and I will talk to him."

"Thank you," said Tahlessa, taking her plate from the ledge beside her.

"Do not worry any more about our son."

His wife picked up a section of rib and examined its fiery coating.

She sighed.

"I only wish that I could."

* * * * *

Grifford pulled off the thick helmet, which was already beginning to stink with his sweat, and threw it to the grass. It rolled a few metres before coming to rest at the dais of the drinking troughs where his sister knelt, leaning over with her head submerged in the ice cold water. Had the helmet not rolled so far, he would have taken great pleasure in venting his anger on it by kicking it across the training-grounds, but he was still hampered by the rest of his armour and exhausted from his morning's training. Instead, he pulled the thick gauntlets out of his belt, where Master Chen had tucked them after removing them for him, and threw them at the helmet. Then he got to work on the buckles holding the rest of the hated armour in place.

As he began working at the first of them, Tahlia jerked her head from the water, spluttering and blowing. She shook her head, scattering droplets of water over the dry grass and the back of her hunting tunic, which was crumpled and sweat soaked. She had already removed her own training armour and it was lying scattered about the base of the trough.

There were four troughs in all, arranged around the tall centre pillar, where the icy water flowed from stone channels. The troughs were shaped like the four petals of a lodall flower, narrow where they touched the base of the pillar, widening in the centre and then tapering at their ends.

Tahlia leant her elbows on the trough's edge and pressed her hands against the sides of her head, her eyes tight closed.

"Hello, sister," Grifford said as he finally managed to loosen the buckles on his arm and pull the thick vambrace over his hand.

Her head whipped around and he was met with an uncharacteristic scowl.

"Well, that was a farce!" she snapped.

"Did your training not go well?"

Grifford set to work on the buckles on his other arm, silently cursing his fingers, which had gone numb where he had been gripping the training stick through the thick gauntlets.

"Mistress Battista is in a complete dream! I swear her head is full of clouds!"

"Master Chen is a fool! He had me doing the same thing over and over again!"

"She had me calling that creature's name over and over and over!"

"He had me running about, beating my stick on the ground, and all the brute did was lie there!"

"She said I was not focussing properly! Absolute nonsense!"

Tahlia slapped at the cold surface of the water in the trough, causing another rainbow scatter of droplets to patter into the dust, and over Grifford, who was still busy working on his buckles.

"I think it must cause Master Sprak some considerable amusement to have selected such an incompetent teacher for me," she said.

"I will complain to father," said Grifford. "He will not like Master Sprak's choice in Master Chen."

"Well now you will have your chance," said Tahlia, pointing. "Here he comes."

The training-grounds had grown busier since they had entered the arenas with Master Chen and Mistress Battista. Field-hands hurried back and forth, wheeling carts that buzzed with flies. Some young squires were being led by their Lance-master towards the battle-grounds, and a group of Field-hands were being taken by their Madriel-master out towards the great-bailey.

A few older madriel lounged in the shadows of arena walls. Master Chen's small lithe steed lay stretched and asleep beside the arena where Grifford had spent the morning. Mistress Batista's lay on her back beside the next arena, rear paws stretched out behind her and fore-paws in the air, claws extended and scoring the breeze.

Their father was approaching down the central avenue that ran through the arenas, riding Hakansa, who made a straight steady path through the busy grounds. The younger beasts being ridden about the avenue all lowered their heads as they moved from his path. The older steeds of the Masters and Mistresses were less openly deferential, though none dared to challenge him by meeting his fiery gaze.

Hakansa stopped by the arena where Master Chen's steed still lay, and their father dismounted. He ran his fist roughly through the fur at his madriel's neck, issued a quick word of command that the two children did not hear, and pushed open the door of the arena, before disappearing inside. Master Chen's steed had raised his head from the grass and was looking cautiously to Hakansa, but the Pride-alpha showed no sign of wanting to take his place in the shade. The smaller animal's head dropped back, though his eyes remained open and watchful.

"What is father doing here?" said Tahlia.

"It is obvious, is it not," replied Grifford. He was working on the buckles that ran down his side. He kept his voice nonchalant, but as he worked he could not help raising his head to continually glance at the closed arena door.

Hakansa showed a similar interest in the door. He turned and lowered his head, placed his muzzle as close as his horns would allow to the door's base, and gave two loud snorts. Then he padded across to the second arena where Tahlia had spent the morning.

Grifford stripped off the fore and back plates of his armour, then turned to the trough to plunge his hands into the chill water. He poured a twin handful over his back before sitting back down on the trough's dais to remove the thick armour that still covered his legs.

Hakansa had finished his inspection of the second arena door and had turned towards them, head still lowered to sniff at the earth. His heavy black paws made barely a noise as he approached.

"I think he is coming to say hello," said Tahlia.

"I seriously doubt that," replied Grifford.

He looked up from his buckles and was, as always, struck by the power and the grace of his father's steed. Hakansa was not the largest beast of the Pride; that honour went to Pride-alpha Lakalla Sawak, the steed of Commander Zembulla. But Hakansa was, to Grifford's eye, the most impressive of beasts, with his night dark horns, black face, and orange eyes. Grifford realized, looking at those eyes, that his own steed possessed the same bright orbs. Well, one of them, at least, was the same.

Hakansa raised his head as he approached, and Grifford quickly bent back to his work on the buckles, so he could remove the final pieces of armour from his legs. He could hear Hakansa's deep steady breath, and smell his familiar musk, as he lowered his heavy head to the trough beside the one where Grifford sat. The beast seemed ignorant of the two children, even of Tahlia who was still perched on the trough from which he drank, her heels tapping a rough rhythm against its stone sides as she watched him.

Grifford began to throw the armour that he had removed into a pile beside the trough. He had soon collected all the pieces except for the helmet, which still lay by the side of the other trough, in the shadow of one of Hakansa's horns. Without thinking, he stooped to retrieve it, and Hakansa pulled his head swiftly from the water and gave a deep ferocious roar. Grifford jumped backwards, the tip of Hakansa's horn swiping at the air mere centimetres, it seemed, from his unprotected belly, as the great beast turned to face him. Hakansa gave another roar of warning, water dripping from the fur of his chin and spattering the ground. Grifford, feeling the sound vibrating in his stomach, took another hasty step backwards and tripped over his roughly piled armour.

Hakansa's roar dropped to the deepest of growls as he lowered his head to regard Grifford, who scowled into the creature's bright eyes before quickly pulling his gaze away to focus on a strip of dark pattern on his wide muzzle.

Hakansa took a step forward and lowered his head to sniff at the armour. Grifford stayed still, his legs resting on the pile. After another sniff, Hakansa drew back his head and swung it with another deafening roar. Grifford barely had the time to pull his legs out of the way before the dark horns swept the pieces of armour aside, scattering them across the field.

His father's steed then gave a final warning growl, before he turned and stalked back towards the training-arenas.

Grifford jumped to his feet, and finding nothing else to vent his anger on, kicked a vambrace, the only piece of training armour within range, across the grass where the rest had been scattered.

"Damn beast!" he spat, though not loud enough for Hakansa's ears.

Tahlia, still sitting astride the water trough, was giggling uncontrollably.

"That was not funny!" said Grifford, turning on his sister.

"Yes it was."

And it must have been because Grifford saw, over his sister's shoulder, a group of Field-hands whispering to themselves and looking over at him with barely hidden smiles. Grifford growled and went to step around the trough.

"Grifford!"

Grifford looked around to see his father striding across the field towards him, his face dark under lowered brows.

He stopped ten metres away and pointed to the ground at his feet.

"Here!"

Grifford gave an aggrieved sigh.

"Here we go," he muttered.

"Follow me," growled his father before Grifford had even reached him, then he turned and stalked away across the grounds. Grifford followed in defensive silence until they came to the outer margins of the Hub, where the short cut grass ended and the ascension markers separated them from the longer grass of the territories. They were out of earshot of anyone, presumably, thought Grifford, to allow his father to shout at him as loud as he liked. But when his father turned and spoke, his voice was quiet, though Grifford could detect the familiar straining of anger behind its level tone.

"I am going to ask this question only once, and I want the answer you give to be Fortak's own truth."

Grifford frowned, though it seemed his father took it as a scowl.

"And I want none of your usual belligerence!"

"Yes, father," replied Grifford. It was the safest answer he could give.

His father pointed back towards the training-grounds.

"Tell me why you chose that beast as your steed. Tell me why you made a decision that went against the advice of both this fortress' High Madriel-master and its High Lance-master."

"I do not..."

"And do not dare tell me that you do not know!" snapped his father, his anger barely constrained.

Grifford considered his response, but he could think of nothing that would slake his father's fury. The only true answer he had was the one that he had just been forbidden to give. Instead, he tried to seize on some partial truth.

"He was the strongest of them all."

His father's expression did not change.

"And he seemed special."

"Special?"

"I cannot explain it, father!" snapped Grifford suddenly, his own anger at the morning exploding. "You said I am not allowed to tell you that I do not know the reason I chose my steed, but in truth I cannot explain it. It just seemed right!"

"That is barely a reason, Grifford!"

Grifford said nothing and simply stood and glared at his father, though in truth his anger was only half caused by him.

"There are practiced techniques taught to madriel in the use of their horns in battle, which will be beyond your mutated beast!"

"Then I will teach him new techniques!" said Grifford savagely.

"Oh and you will find it that easy, boy? You have jeopardised your future by ignoring the advice of your betters. The one consolation I have gained from my conversation with Master Chen is that your chosen beast has swiftness in his pace and a distinctive intelligence, but he says it is intelligence as obstinate as your own."

Grifford's jaw tightened as he fought for a reply. He could not find one, so instead chose to attack.

"Was Grandfather Kralken there when you chose Hakansa as your steed?"

A dark frown creased his father's features, as it always did when Grifford mentioned his grandfather.

"Yes, he was."

"And did you take his advice?"

"In that I did, and his advice proved worthy; Hakansa is the finest beast I know and I would not wish to ride any other. I could not have risen to be Pride-commander without him."

"And my steed will carry me just as far!" said Grifford, his face set. "And further!"

His father looked down at him, and suddenly let out a great gale of laughter.

"You do not think I can do it!" said Grifford savagely.

"Stop!" shouted his father, his face darkening with anger once more. "I laugh because I see my son standing in front of me after being berated for his choice in a mutated steed, and he has the audacity to make claims to the position of Grand-commander of this Order. I do not know whether it is audacity that drives your words or if it is courage, overconfidence or simple impudence."

"I will train my steed to fight like no other," growled Grifford. "And I will be Grand-commander one day, whatever you think."

"It takes more than mere skill in the jousting ring to become Grand-commander, boy. That is one thing I did learn from my father."

Grifford frowned.

"Grandfather was never Grand-commander."

"He was not, though he fought in the jousting ring with a brutal skill. Do you know why he never rose to the position of Echelon-prime?"

"Because the Order hated him, and was against him."

His father folded his arms and looked down at him, his brows a severe line of inquisition.

"Who told you that?"

"Grandfather."

"Of course he did."

"Is it true?"

"The Order did not hate him, but it is the truth that he was neither well regarded nor respected. His honesty was admired, but not his temperament. He had very few friends."

"Well, friends are not so important!"

His father fixed him with his dark gaze for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Friends are more important than you think, and it seems you have none at this moment, but that is understandable. It is hard to make friends with your fists."

Grifford simply looked at his father and remained silent.

"You must learn to treat your fellow squires better, for you will all be knights together one day. You will fight at each other's side, and if you are bound strongly together then you can win any battle, no matter how impossible victory may seem."

His father knelt down in front of him.

"And if the knight that fights at your side fails you, then a battle can just as easily be lost."

"Grandfather told me I should see them all as rivals to the Grand-commander's seat."

"That is the way your Grandfather lived, and we both know how his life ended!" snapped his father, and he stood swiftly.

He clenched his fists and looked as though he was going to say more, but thankfully he did not.

"What are your lessons this afternoon?" he asked instead.

"Hierarchical Protocol and Manners."

"How appropriate. I recommend that you pay them close attention. I suggest you listen to Master Engels well and you may learn better how to deal with your conflicts."

"Yes, father."

"Negotiation and empathy can sometimes serve you better than lance and rail-shield. We were fortunate in Lord Morath that we had a Grand-commander who was master of both disciplines, else we would not have had peace these past ten years."

"Maybe it is time for the peace to end."

"If you think that, then you are truly a fool."

His father seemed to be waiting for some kind of response, but when Grifford gave him nothing but a hostile glare, he motioned with his head back towards the fortress.

"Go," he said. "Go and learn something useful."

Grifford turned towards the training-arenas and the distant trough where his sister still sat, and where a Field-hand was picking up the pieces of his scattered armour. Hakansa had placed himself in the middle of the central avenue and lay unmoving and asleep in the sun. Grifford took only two paces before he turned back to his father.

"You talk about respect."

"Yes, Grifford?"

"How important is the respect of a man's father?"

"I am not the best person to ask that question of. I lost what little regard my father had for me long before his death."

Grifford paused, waiting for anything further, but when there came only silence he turned and headed for the battle-grounds and the chain-carriage station, pointedly ignoring his sister's attempts to get his attention from her perch on the water trough.