When they came flying round a bend in the road and saw a horde of men dressed in metal, they were surprised and pulled back on their reins, forcing their horses to slow to a walk. The man at the head of the group spotted us and moved forward, the others followed him.
Count Balistan Pargaid in person. The Nightingale’s face looked tired and angry; all trace of that mocking smile had disappeared. I also recognized two of the count’s companions.
The first was the warrior who had met us at the gate—Meilo Trug, I thought he was called. A black silk shirt, a leather jacket, and not a trace of armor. And also his sword—a bidenhander exactly like Mumr’s, with a golden oak leaf on the black handle. Kli-Kli had said that Meilo was a master of the long sword. Lamplighter gave Meilo’s sword an appreciative glance, but he didn’t say anything.
The second was my old friend Paleface. He hadn’t changed, except that his face still hadn’t healed up after the magical burn. Rolio spotted me and glared as if I owed him a hundred gold pieces. I smiled amiably. There was no response.
I was delighted and indescribably relieved not to see Lafresa in their group.
“Well, I swear on my sword, this is getting really interesting now. Count, are you and your men just out for a ride, too?” Oro Gabsbarg asked in amazement.
“Baron, I am glad to meet you. Arrest those people!”
“On what charge?” asked Alistan Markauz.
“Ah, so you are in this gang, too, milord? I wonder what the king will say when he finds out that one of his men has committed common theft?”
“Go gently, count, or we shall cross blades,” Alistan said sternly, lowering his hand onto the handle of his sword. “I expect to hear your apologies.”
“Apologies? These are my apologies! I accuse all these people of stealing my property and killing my men. Arrest them, baron!” Balistan Pargaid’s voice rang out triumphantly.
“Alas, milord,” Oro Gabsbarg laughed. “I am not in command here and can do nothing to help you.”
“What difference does that make, darkness take me? Are you in command of this detachment, lieutenant? Good! Tie these scoundrels up and hand them over to me. Or at least do not interfere and my men will do it themselves!”
“I regret,” Alia Dalli said from under her helmet, “that they are my guests and under my protection. I have no intention of handing them over to your bullyboys, count.”
“How dare you? I am a count, and will not be spoken to in that manner by some ignorant young puppy.”
“And I am the Marchioness Alia Dalli, milord!” She took off her helmet and looked at the startled Balistan Pargaid with a furious glint in her eyes. “You are not at home now. You are in my country! And you have just insulted me. Be so good as to apologize.”
Balistan Pargaid broke out in red blotches, but he apologized. I don’t think he was actually frightened—Milord Alistan had said that this weasel handled a sword like a true nobleman—but he knew there was no point in making the situation any more difficult.
“Excellent,” the girl said with a nod. “Then I shall not detain you any further. Good day to you.”
“But these people have mortally offended me. They must pay for it.”
“Not today. Good-bye.” Alia turned her horse away to indicate that the conversation was over.
“These people have insulted my lord,” Meilo Trug suddenly hissed. “In his name I demand the Judgment of Sagra! In the name of steel, fire, blood, and by the will of the gods!”
The effect of these words on the warriors of the Borderland was like an exploding powder barrel. I even heard Milord Alistan’s teeth grind together. Had this Meilo said something important?
“I heard you, soldier,” Lady Alia said with a nod. “Do you accuse one particular person of the crime or all of them?”
The shadow of a smile flickered on Meilo’s lips and he was just about to answer when Balistan Pargaid intervened:
“All of them! He accuses all of them!”
The smile on Meilo’s face turned sour, as if the count had just committed some stupidity without realizing it.
“The answer has been heard,” the marchioness said hurriedly. “You will be given the chance to prove your lord’s case.”
“We will do it here and now!” Balistan Pargaid intervened again.
“No, according to the laws of Sagra, the owner of the land on which the challenge was issued must be present at the judgment. We are now on the lands of my lord and father, and for the court to be held we shall have to go to Mole Castle, where the rules of combat will be announced.”
Combat? Did she say combat? I definitely did not like the sound of that.
“But…,” Balistan Pargaid began in annoyance.
“You can withdraw the challenge, that is up to you,” Alia Dalli said imperturbably. “The rules do not forbid it.”
“No, we will go with you, milady.”
“As you wish, milord. I wish to remind you that if your men dare to attack my guests before the duel, there will be very serious trouble indeed,” the girl replied.
She did not offer the count and his men her protection.
We continued on our way, with the marchioness’s men keeping an inconspicuous eye on the count’s men, who were observing them. The count rode beside Oro Gabsbarg without speaking. Paleface’s glance gave me an unpleasant, cold feeling in the back of my neck.
“Marmot,” I asked. “What is the Judgment of Sagra?”
“I don’t know. If Arnkh was here, he could explain the laws of this country to us.”
“The Judgment of Sagra? I’ve heard something about that business, lads,” said Lamplighter. “The court of the goddess of war … It used to be very common among the warriors of the Border Kingdom. When some questionable decision was made or a warrior’s honor was insulted, then the Judgment of Sagra decided the matter. A duel, in other words. The lad with the big ears has challenged us to a fight, and no warrior in the Border Kingdom would deny him the right to do that.”
“Is it a duel to the death?” asked Marmot, glancing sideways at Meilo Trug.
“That all depends on what the man who challenged us says to the lord of the land. If he says to the death, then to the death it is.”
“You talk about it so calmly, Mumr,” I said with a crooked grin. “That Meilo has turned out to be very cunning.”
“It could have been worse,” Lamplighter replied philosophically, taking out his reed pipe.
“How could it?”
“If the count hadn’t interfered, then his servant could have chosen any opponent he wanted. But then Milord Pargaid said he accused everybody.”
“And now this … what’s his name?” asked Marmot.
“Meilo,” I prompted him. “So now this Meilo will have to fight all of us?”
“No, it will be decided by drawing lots. No need to be so nervous, Harold. You’re not involved in this business.”
“Why?”
“The Judgment of Sagra is only for soldiers. You, Kli-Kli, and Miralissa aren’t soldiers.”
“I’m not a soldier?” exclaimed Kli-Kli, ablaze with righteous indignation. “Why, I’m a better soldier than any of you! I even know what the combat pension is!”
“All right, Kli-Kli, well done. Just calm down, will you,” Honeycomb said in a conciliatory tone.
“Hey, goblin,” called a soldier with a gray mustache, who had heard Kli-Kli’s howling. “Sing us your song.”
“And why not? Right away!”
And he did sing it. In fact, he kept on going for a good ten minutes.
“A good song,” Dalli’s man croaked approvingly. “Plenty of heart.”
“Well then? Am I a soldier?”
“Sure you are!” he said quite seriously.
