Clay and Jon's bout was still underway, but as the expert Ser Rodrik had said, things were turning against Jon.
Though his weapon was shorter, Jon's attacks were swift and tricky, but his lack of strength put him at a disadvantage.
Though Clay had been forced into perilous situations several times, he had usually managed to steady himself, while Jon found that his strength was beginning to fail.
With every slash or thrust Clay made, Jon had to expend a great deal of strength to block if he did not dodge. Clearly, Clay overwhelmed him in strength.
After another fierce clash, both retreated a short distance. Jon looked ruefully at the small chips in his shortsword.
As a bastard, he had little in savings, and even having a shortsword forged meant gritting his teeth and steeling himself.
Holding his blade across his chest, Clay panted lightly and wiped the sweat hanging at his temple. He keenly noticed the slight trembling of Jon's sword hand and the involuntary movements of his fingers.
He's out of strength, Clay thought.
Leaning forward, he raised his sword and charged. Just as he brought it down, a sword of visibly finer workmanship than Jon's shortsword interposed itself between them, and someone said:
"You've won, my friend from White Harbor." The voice was equally young.
With someone intervening, Clay took the opportunity to withdraw his sword and step back. Defeating his host's child on his own grounds was hardly wise, though he felt that, given the Starks' nature, they might not mind such things.
"Robb, you don't need to do this. I can beat him!" Jon was somewhat displeased with his brother.
Clay was a little surprised. Was this tall, slender, brown-haired young man before him Robb Stark?
"All right, go change out of those dirty clothes first, or Mother will scold you again." House Stark's young heir smiled and patted his brother's shoulder.
Though Jon was somewhat reluctant, he knew his own physical condition well, and he was not a sore loser. He gave Clay a slight nod, then left with a guard.
Seeing the bout end, the spectators voiced their disappointment at not having seen enough, but soon dispersed in twos and threes.
Only the two families' guards remained in the yard, along with Robb and Clay standing together, and Ser Rodrik, who was approaching.
"Ser," Robb greeted him, and Clay did the same.
An appraising look showed in Rodrik's gray eyes. He looked at Clay and said gravely, "Lord Eddard is waiting for you in the hall. Come with me."
Robb wanted to follow, but Rodrik merely said, "Robb, your mother is looking for Bran. He's climbed some tower again, and no one knows which. I suggest you go help her."
Robb gave a helpless, wry smile and cast Clay an apologetic look, then pulled on his wolfskin cloak and hurried away.
Rodrik led Clay through Winterfell to House Stark's hall.
It was probably the largest building apart from the main keep where House Stark lived. The spacious hall could hold eight long tables and accommodate even five hundred people.
On the dais in the hall, Clay saw an ordinary-looking middle-aged man, but he knew very well that this was one of the seven most powerful men in the entire kingdom: Duke Eddard Stark, Warden of the North.
Before Rodrik could introduce him, he placed a hand over his chest and bowed. "My lord duke."
Eddard waved a hand, and Ser Rodrik bowed and stepped aside. Only he and Clay remained on the spacious dais, and he looked the young man who had just defeated Jon up and down.
He had certainly inherited House Manderly's customary height and burly build. After a moment's silence, Eddard asked kindly:
"Which man of White Harbor is your father?" He did not ask Clay's name first.
"Wendel Manderly, my lord duke."
"Hmm... Wendel. Hm? You're Wendel's son?" As Warden of the North, he naturally knew the circumstances of his vassals. After a moment's thought, he recalled who Wendel was, then immediately realized Clay's identity. This was House Manderly's third-generation heir!
Rodrik also looked surprised at Clay's words. He was on good terms with Wendel, but had never expected the Manderly lad he had taken for a member of a cadet branch to be his old friend's child.
Clay took the letter bearing Earl Wyman's seal from inside his clothes and placed it on Duke Eddard's table.
Duke Eddard was somewhat puzzled, but picked up the letter nonetheless. He recognized Earl Wyman's distinctive seal at a glance, and his trust in Clay's identity grew.
After reading the letter, Eddard Stark understood Earl Wyman's intention. He wanted Eddard to send word to all the nobles of the North and vouch for Clay's identity.
There was nothing objectionable about that. When questions of succession arose, it was common for vassals to ask their liege to do such a thing. But this concerned the heir to House Manderly, one of the North's most powerful houses, and Eddard's sense of honor demanded that he proceed with the utmost caution.
"Clay Manderly, sorry for the trouble, but please stay in Winterfell for a few days. I will send a raven to White Harbor to confirm your identity." It seemed the old man had mentioned his name in the letter.
Does it have to be so much trouble? Clay frowned slightly, but he had no grounds to object and could only nod.
Seeing that Clay showed no hesitation, Duke Eddard drew a slight smile onto his stern face and gestured to one side.
"You've already met Rodrik. Let him show you around Winterfell over the next few days. I heard him say you brought your younger sister as well? That's perfect. Get to know Robb, Sansa, and the others."
Clay's first impressions of both brothers, Jon and Robb, had been quite good, so naturally he would not refuse. He knew his conversation with the Warden of the North had ended, so he bowed and followed Rodrik out of the hall.
As soon as they stepped outside, Rodrik said, "Wendel talked my ear off about you so many times when he came to Winterfell. Looking at you now, you seem to have inherited all your mother's looks, though that build certainly makes you a proper Manderly."
Clay looked at the knight, who was already showing his age. It seems Father was telling the truth. He really is very close to Rodrik. He remembered what his father had told him before he left.
"Ser, before I came, my father told me to give you a bottle of wine. He said it was to settle the gambling debt he owed you."
Rodrik froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. Now he had no further doubts about Clay's identity, because the gambling debt was a secret between him and Wendel alone, unknown to anyone else.
He grunted. "Good of him to remember. I thought he was hiding in White Harbor and refusing to come out over a bottle of wine."
The old knight was clearly in a fine mood, and he laid an iron hand on Clay's shoulder.
"Lord Eddard is right. You young people ought to get to know each other better. Off you go. Have breakfast first, then bring your sister and find us in the training yard."
As Winterfell's master-at-arms, he was responsible for training House Stark's younger generation. He was the one who had taught Jon his swordsmanship.
With a smile, Clay headed toward his lodgings. He had to wake his sleepy little sister Wylla.