The Border Kingdom warriors laughed—in a single day’s march they had grown fond of Kli-Kli’s jokes and songs.
How naïve they were! They hadn’t yet experienced the charm of a nail in their boot or a tub of cold water in their bed.
The empty region was behind us now, and we passed a little village at least once every hour. But, unlike our villages in Valiostr, they were surrounded by stockades and they had watch towers with archers on them. Every peasant in the Border Kingdom can swap his plow for a battle-ax at a moment’s notice when he needs to repulse an attack by the enemy.
“How’s your health, Harold?” asked Paleface, drawing even with me on his horse.
“Just fine, thanks. How’s yours, Rolio? Have you recovered after that skirmish with the demons?” I replied.
“So you…,” Paleface said slowly, and grinned. “I don’t recall ever telling you my name.”
“You were never that strong on etiquette. I had to find out for myself.”
“All the more reason for you to be concerned about your health.”
“Oh, I’ll take good care of myself. Very good care. What brings you out on such a long journey?”
“A problem by the name of Harold. The way you stole that Key was very clever. I found that impressive, believe me.”
“I feel flattered, on my word of honor.”
“Well then, I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“I hope not.”
Paleface was not likely to try anything here. There were too many men around; he’d never get away with it if he tried to dispatch me to the light now. The moment I suddenly fall off my horse and start bleeding, they’d slit the killer’s throat for him. And naturally, he didn’t want that. So I could expect him to wait until I was alone before he tried his tricks.
We spotted Mole Castle easily from the distance—a huge gray bulk with walls rising up forty yards into the sky and twenty square towers set in a full circle.
The walls were bristling with ballistas and catapults, the wide moat was filled with running water; anyone who tried to take the citadel by storm would have a hard time of it.
When we stepped onto the drawbridge, the walls towered up above us menacingly. I raised my head and the men on the top looked like little beetles. The mighty gates of oak, clad with sheets of steel, quickly opened wide in invitation and the portcullis was raised, but in an attack, only the mightiest of battering rams could ever have broken through that barrier.
About twenty soldiers were on guard duty beside the gates. The head of the watch greeted Lady Alia and we rode into the castle. I found myself in a short tunnel with its walls studded with loopholes for archers.
Standing by the wall like a predator ready to pounce was a huge crossbow engine that fired forty bolts at once. And hanging on chains up under the ceiling there were basins that the defenders could fill with tar and hot oil. Yes, Algert Dalli’s home was certainly a tough nut to crack, not to be taken easily.
We rode into the courtyard of the castle, but to call it a yard was a joke—it was the size of a large town square.
“Milady Alia,” one of the soldiers said, bowing, “your lord and father is expecting you.”
“Thank you, Chizzet,” said the marchioness, jumping down off her horse. “Follow me, noble gentlemen. And those who seek judgment, too. Chizzet, arrange accommodations for our guests.”
Naturally, a plain ordinary thief was not invited to an audience with Milord Kind Heart, and, to be quite honest, I didn’t even suggest it. Milord Alistan, Baron Oro, the elves, Count Pargaid, and Meilo followed Lady Alia, and the rest of us set off after Chizzet, who had promised to find beds for us.
We were given rooms in the Tower of Blood, as the inhabitants of the castle called it. Good rooms, with beds, rushes on the floor, and windows overlooking the courtyard.
Eel told me that a citadel of this size could hold as many as six hundred people at once. A huge swarm of people. Kli-Kli, who never slept in a bed, laid out his blanket on the floor and ran off to stick his curious nose into every corner of the castle. Ell turned up and told us that the duel would take place the following morning.
“To the death,” he added in a steady voice.
That immediately spoiled my good mood. But there was more to it than that. If we lost, then the Key that had been recovered with such difficulty would go back to Balistan Pargaid—that was the law of the Judgment of Sagra.
“And what if we leave under cover of darkness?”
“Leave the castle, Harold? The Judgment of Sagra is sacred to the warriors of the Borderland. We either win or we lose the Key. There is no third way.”
“I’ll smash that fancy popinjay’s head open in person!” Hallas threatened. “Have they decided who’s going to fight in the duel?”
“The lots will decide that. Come with me, Milord Algert is waiting for us.”
“Can I come with them?”
“You’re not involved in the drawing of lots, Harold.”
“But can I come?”
“Yes,” he said with an indifferent nod.
The hall to which the count led us rivaled the castle’s courtyard in size. There were quite a number of people there—all wool and steel, swords and shaven heads. Every man in the kingdom seemed to have gathered together. Kli-Kli was running about, getting under people’s feet, amusing the soldiers, but as soon as he saw us, the performance came to an end, and the jester joined our group.
“Where did you get to?” I asked quietly.
“I was touring the local sights. By the way, they have carrots in the kitchen.”
“Congratulations.”
Miralissa, Egrassa, and Alistan were already there, and so were Balistan Pargaid and Meilo Trug. Oro Gabsbarg clutched a beer mug in his huge paw of a hand. When he spotted me, the baron nodded solemnly.
Alia Dalli was standing behind a short man with broad shoulders, whose cheeks were covered with a two- week growth of stubble. Like all the soldiers in the castle, this man had a shaved head and was dressed in chain mail and coarse soldier’s trousers. He was toying thoughtfully with a dagger that had an expensive handle of ogre bone. Count Algert Dalli the Kind Heart, unless I was very much mistaken.
We walked up to the table at which his lordship was sitting.
“And so, you have not changed your decision?” Milord Algert asked Meilo after looking intently at each of us in turn.
“No, I demand the Judgment of Sagra.”
“Very well. All that remains is to choose an opponent. Bring in the straws!”
“Hey, Garrakian! Catch!” said Meilo Trug, throwing a copper coin to Eel. “I think I owe you that.”
Eel caught the copper and calmly tucked it under his belt.
“Thank you. A bit of extra money always comes in handy.”
“You suggested that I ought to be whipped. I shall pray to Sagra to meet you in combat.”
“Whatever is your pleasure,” Eel said, bowing imperturbably. Hallas muttered angrily to himself and gave Trug a dark look.
And then a soldier came in with the straws sticking out of his fist.
“Whoever draws the short straw will face this man for the Judgment of Sagra tomorrow morning,” said Algert Dalli. “Let me remind you that you are free to refuse to take part in the draw, but by doing so you acknowledge your guilt.… I can see that no one wishes to do that. Draw lots, and may Sagra be with you!”
Ell was first. He reached out boldly and drew a long straw.
Egrassa. A long straw.
My heart was pounding as loudly as if I was drawing lots myself.
Milord Alistan. A long straw.
Honeycomb. A long straw.
Hallas. A long straw. The gnome looked disappointed. He had really wanted to take part in the duel. He
