"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, stooping forward sightly, spreading his arms to either side as if he would grapple with Wuthra and throw his huge opponent, but with his long, skinny legs, his brown hair stringing freely to either side of his face, and his wide eyes staring silently above the cloth gag, the overall effect would have been comical if the stakes hadn't been so high.
Then Wultha lunged. The northman struck with surprising speed, reaching out with a hamlike fist to try to catch Keane by the back of his neck. His other hand swung wide, and then both of the trunklike limbs smashed together with a force that could have snapped Keane's spine-if he had been between them at the moment of impact.
But to the astonishment of Alicia and everyone else, the teacher somehow ducked under the blow, rolling backward and bouncing to his feet before the baffled Wultha realized that his opponent had escaped his grasp. Angrily the huge warrior wiped his hand across his nose again, shaking his head like a great bull trying to ward off an annoying swarm of flies. He pawed at the gag in annoyance, then dropped both arms and leaned toward Keane.
The magic-user crouched again, balancing on the balls of his feet. Wultha crept closer, and Keane circled away, trying to stay in the center of the ring. Once again Wultha lunged, sweeping those huge arms like scythes through the air… and once again, he clasped his empty hands to his chest as Keane rolled, to the side this time.
Alicia caught her breath, chafing at the gag that prevented her from shouting her approval. A sobering thought reached her: All Keane had done so far was to avoid a pair of blows, either of which could have ended the fight, and his life, in an abbreviated second. Furthermore, there seemed to be no way that he could hope to do anything else.
Indeed, as if reading her mind, the magic-user hurled himself from the side against Wultha's legs, kicking the brute sharply in the knee. Keane bounced away, landing heavily on his back, while Wultha's eyes glittered with delight. If the blow had bothered him in any way, he didn't indicate the fact.
Instead, he threw himself toward the gasping form of Keane, and the wizard desperately rolled to the side. Alicia felt the ground shake from the force of Wultha's landing, but the northman's target managed to evade the blow by inches. Quickly Keane sprang upon Wultha's back, but the northman jumped lightly to his feet and shook himself. Once again the magic-user soared through the air, though he landed in a roll and quickly rose into a wrestler's crouch-or at least, a caricature of a stance that might have been taken by an accomplished fighter.
Wultha shook his head in further annoyance, once again wiping his nose and sniffling. The great barrel chest worked like a laboring bellows-a bellows that did not draw enough air. The northman growled, the sound strangled through the clotting pressure of his cloth gag.
The hulking wrestler lumbered forward with all the force of a charging bull, and when Keane ducked toward the right, Wultha's course veered. A collision seemed imminent.
But Keane's dodge proved to be a ruse, and his following dive to the left was further propelled by sheer panic. Grunting his outrage, Wultha dove into empty air, stumbling forward into the ring of his comrades, who formed the perimeter of the fight. Three cursing warriors went down from the force of the brute's uncontrolled plunge.