'No!' objected Tavish. 'It was-'
The three companions looked around then, before Tavish could finish. Naturally Newt was gone.
'Put the witch to death!' shouted another warrior, and Alicia's heart chilled at the chorus of agreement.
'Horac may well lose his eyes,' said another, who had tended the burned man. 'At least make them suffer the same fate.' He fingered a long dagger, and Alicia sensed that he would be only too willing to perform the mutilation himself.
'Hold!' said Brandon, his voice forceful but his manner, like that of his countrymen, taut with rage. He fixed his stare upon Alicia, and once again the ice crackled in his eyes. 'Explain this treachery-and quickly!' he barked.
The princess sensed a moment of cusp. The success or failure of their mission, perhaps their very lives, would depend upon her response to his demand and to Brandon's acceptance or dispute with her reply. Why, then, was her mind so gods-cursed blank of anything intelligent to say?
'No treachery,' Tavish said smoothly. 'A mistake. The enchantment was performed by one who thought he aided us, who believed us to be in danger.'
'What one?' Brandon turned his eyes on the bard and again Tavish smoothly responded.
'A faerie dragon. Did you witness the great serpent that chased us today, spooking our horses and sending us far off the pass road?'
'Yes.' The companions sensed that, against his more warlike urges, Brandon forced himself to listen.
'Did you wonder how it is that we're alive?' Alicia burst in, exasperated. 'How four riders could have outrun such a creature?'
'There are ways a dragon can be bested,' Brandon countered, his manner patronizing. He paused for a moment, and then admitted, 'Though I have never heard of it being done, nor should I look forward to trying it myself.'
'That was Newt, the faerie dragon!' Alicia resumed, but now, remembering Tavish's example, holding her voice low, her tone persuasive. 'Now he did this to you, in an attempt to give us a chance to escape. You note, I'm certain, that we did not take that opportunity.' Not that we would have gotten very far, she added silently.
Brandon appeared to consider. It was Knaff who next spoke, addressing his prince. 'How many hurts must we suffer before we strike back? Good men slain, by arrows of her father! Now Horac, blinded by their sorcery! Surely you don't believe this preposterous story of a dragon trying to aid them? Where is this beast, if he exists?'
'Newt!' cried Alicia. As she had feared, the little creature did not appear.
Keane startled them all by speaking suddenly. 'Men of the north, I know something of your ways. I ask you, Prince Brandon, to grant me the Test of Strength.'
For a moment, the northmen gaped at the slender mage in astonishment. Then several of them chuckled, making a deep and menacing sound.
'What's that?' Alicia demanded, looking at her teacher.
'Choose a champion from among all your men, and I shall meet him in barehanded combat. If I prevail, you must welcome us as guests into your camp.'
Brandon, they saw, did not appear to share the humor of his comrades. He studied Keane, who still sat cross-legged beside the two women, his fellow prisoners. Finally the north-man prince nodded his head curtly, and two of his men seized Keane's arms and roughly hauled him to his feet.
'Release him,' Brandon ordered.
A knife flashed, and the bonds fell from Keane's wrists.
'Wultha,' said the prince, nodding to the second of the two men who had stood beside him during the council, the one who had cuffed Alicia on the march.
The northman called Wultha smiled, his face a cruel and wicked grimace. He clenched and unclenched his clublike fists, which massed at the ends of two lengthy arms. Each of those limbs was strapped with sinew that looked like the gnarled wood of a weathered oak. Wultha's face was flat, his eyes close-set and small, but his chest was as round as a barrel, and his two legs seemed anchored to the ground as firmly as any stone block foundation. He sniffed loudly and wiped a hand across his nose, which spread flat across his face as if it had once been broken. The giant studied Keane, all but smacking his lips in anticipation of the fight.
He stood a full head taller than the lanky Ffolkman and outweighed his opponent by a factor of twice, or perhaps even thrice. Again he sniffed and spat noisily into the fire.
Now Brandon spoke again. 'What is your name, sir?'
'I am called Keane, of Callidyrr.'
'Very well.' The prince now rose to his feet, as did the other captives. 'I grant you the Test of Strength. If you can best Wultha in bare-fisted combat, you and your companions are honored guests at my fire.'
Alicia stared in astonishment, appalled. She wanted to shout at Keane, to rail at him for his stupidity. But she understood enough of the northman mind to know that such an act would be regarded as degrading and humiliating to the man, and it would do no good to shame her friend, and now her champion, before his desperate duel.
'Wait!' growled Knaff, suddenly alert. 'This reeks of sorcery! What proof they won't use such tricks against us?'
Brandon glared at Keane in sudden suspicion. 'What proof, indeed? This is a matter of strength alone.'
'You could bind my mouth,' suggested Keane, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. Alicia and Tavish stared at him in horror. Any slim hopes they may have held for his ultimate victory vanished at that moment into total despair.
'I have heard that a sorcerer must make sounds to cast an enchantment,' muttered Brandon.
'So have I,' Keane added wryly.
'It is true, my prince,' said a northman, one of the clerics who had tended the injured Horac. 'Both the enchantments of the mage's spellbook and those blessings drawn from the gods themselves require a verbal command by the user, else the power is of no avail.'
'Very well. Gag him.' Brandon spoke decisively, then looked at the women. 'And I will insist that your companions be similarly bound. I know that spells from one can be used to aid another.'
Keane shrugged, the picture of cool unconcern. Then he blinked, as if a thought had just occurred to him, and he pointed at the looming figure of his opponent. 'In the interests of fairness, of course, he whom you call Wultha should be gagged as well.'
'He knows no magic!' objected Knaff.
'That's not the point. We should both be hampered by the same restraints, else where is the fairness?' The tutor voiced his objections to Brandon, not Knaff.
The prince of the northmen appeared to consider the arguments for a moment before turning to Knaff and Wultha. 'The tall man speaks the truth. Wultha, I shall not command you to be gagged, yet if you would fight him, it must be evenly matched. If you decline, I shall appoint another champion.'
Alicia watched Knaff and saw that the old veteran disapproved of his leader's decision but respected Brandon's authority enough to hold his tongue. Wultha, on the other hand, chuckled evilly. He used his massive hands to rend a strip of cloth from his own greasy tunic and held it out toward Keane with mock formality.
'That will do nicely,' the mage said, mocking him back with aplomb. Wultha squinted at the smaller, slender man. Gruffly the bearlike northman pulled the cloth around his mouth while another warrior cinched it tightly at the back of his neck. The princess noticed that the hulking wrestler's breathing came in short, snuffling bursts through his nose. Alicia and Tavish were also silenced by gags.
The northmen formed a great ring around Keane and Wultha, with the fire at one point along the circle. Tavish and Alicia came around the small blaze and sat with Brandon and Knaff the Elder. The princess wanted to stop this grotesque test. Her mind raced, trying to develop a plan with any potential of success, but nothing came to her.
Alicia sneaked a glance at Tavish and saw that the bard, similarly gagged, shook her head in apparent despair. All their hopes rested upon Keane.
A look at the two wrestlers did nothing to fan the flames of those hopes. Wultha loomed over Keane, and even in a bearlike crouch, the northman dwarfed the lanky tutor of Callidyrr. Keane did his best to look formidable,
