His council nodded agreement. Duncan stood in his stirrups and called to the ominous black figure.
"Morgarath," Duncan called, "although we believe you have forfeited any rights you may have had as a knight, go ahead and make your challenge. As you say, let fate decide the issue."
Now Morgarath allowed the smile to creep over his entire face, no longer trying to conceal it from those who watched him. He felt a quick surge of triumph in his chest, then a cold wash of hatred swept over him as he looked directly at the small, insignificant-looking figure behind the King.
"Then, as is my right before God," he said carefully, making sure he used the exact, ancient words of challenge, "and before all here present, I do so make my challenge to prove my cause right and just to:" He couldn't help hesitating and savoring the moment for a second. "Halt the Ranger."
There was a stunned silence. Then, as Halt urged Abelard forward to accept the challenge, Duncan's penetrating cry of "No!" stopped him. His eyes glittered fiercely.
"I'll take my chance, my lord," he said grimly. But Duncan threw out an arm to stop him from moving forward.
"Halt is not a knight. You cannot challenge him," he called urgently. Morgarath shrugged.
"Actually, Duncan, I can challenge anyone. And anyone can challenge me. As a knight, I don't have to accept any challenge, unless it is issued by another knight. But I can choose to do so. And I can choose whom I challenge."
"Halt is forbidden to accept!" Duncan said angrily.
Morgarath laughed thinly. "Still slinking and hiding then, Halt?" he sneered. "Like all Rangers. Did I mention that we have one of your Ranger brats as a prisoner? So small, we nearly threw him back. But I've decided to keep him for torture instead. That will make one less sneaking, hiding spy in the future."
Halt felt the blood draining from his face. There was only one person Morgarath could be talking about. There was an ominous calm to his voice as he spoke.
"Turn him loose now, Morgarath, and I'll let you die quickly. Otherwise:"
He left the rest of the threat unspoken. But Morgarath saw the pale face and recognized the barely restrained anger in his old enemy. Obviously the Ranger brat meant something special to Halt. Then, instinctively, he recognized the truth. The boy was Halt's own apprentice!
"You really should have taken better care of your whelp, Halt," he said casually. "After I've finished with you, I'll see to him personally."
Halt felt a red surge of rage and hatred for the vulturelike figure before him. Hands reached out to stop him, but he shoved his horse forward, facing Morgarath.
"Then, let's get to it, Morgarath!" he said. "I acc-"
"Halt! I command you to stop!" Duncan shouted, drowning him out.
But then all eyes were drawn to a sudden movement from the second rank of the army. A mounted figure burst clear, covering the short distance to Morgarath in a heartbeat. The Lord of Rain and Night reached for his sword, then realized the newcomer's own weapon was sheathed. Instead, his right arm drew back and he hurled his gauntlet into Morgarath's thin face.
"Morgarath!" he yelled, his young voice cracking. "I challenge you to single combat!"
Then, wheeling his horse a few paces away, Horace waited for Morgarath's reply.
33
W ILL AND E VANLYN NEVER LEARNED WHAT IT WAS THAT caused the wave of uncertainty in the Wargals who surrounded their small group. They had no way of knowing that it had happened at the moment when Morgarath realized he had been tricked into exposing his army to Duncan's cavalry.
The two captives and the four Skandians all noticed the sudden uneasiness and hesitancy in the twenty or so Wargal warriors who had been left to guard them. Erak glanced quickly at his men, sensing an opportunity. So far, they had not been disarmed. The odds of four against twenty were too much, even for Skandians, and the Wargals had only been told to detain them, not disarm them.
"Something's happening," the Skandian jarl muttered. "Stay ready, everyone." Unobtrusively, the small party made sure their weapons were free and ready for action. Then the moment of uncertainty turned to real, palpable fear among the Wargals. Morgarath had just signaled a general retreat and those at the rear didn't distinguish themselves from the front line troops for whom the order was intended. Over half of the Wargals guarding them simply ran. One sergeant, however, retained a vestige of independent thought and he growled a warning to his section-eight in total. As their companions struggled and fought to make their way into the jam-packed entrance to Three Step Pass, the remaining eight black-clad troops held their position.
But they were distracted and nervous and Erak decided that the opportunity wouldn't get any better than this.
"Now, lads!" he yelled, and swept his double-headed ax in a low horizontal arc at the sergeant. The Wargal tried to bring his iron spear up in defense, but he was a fraction too slow. The heavy ax sheared through his armor and he went down.
As Erak sought another opponent, his men fell on the rest of the Wargal troop. They chose the moment when another mind command went out from Morgarath for his men to withdraw and form a defensive position. The confusing orders in their minds made them easy targets for the Skandians and they fell in short order. The others around them, intent on escaping to Three Step Pass, took no notice of the brief and bloody skirmish.
Erak looked around him with some satisfaction, wiping his ax blade clean on a cloth he'd taken from one of the dead Wargals.
"That's better," he said heartily. "I've been wanting to do that for days."
But the Wargals hadn't left their group unscathed. As he spoke, Nordal staggered and sank slowly to one knee. Bright blood stained the corner of his mouth and he looked hopelessly at his leader. Erak moved to his side and dropped to his knees.
"Nordal!" he cried. "Where are you wounded?"
But Nordal could barely talk. He was grasping his right side, where the sheepskin vest was already heavily stained with his blood. The heavy sword he favored as a weapon had fallen from his grip. His eyes wide with fear, he tried to reach it, but it was beyond his grasp. Quickly, Horak scooped up the weapon and put it in his hand. Nordal nodded his thanks, and slowly let himself drop to a sitting position. The fear was gone from his eyes now. Will knew that Skandians believed a man must die with his weapon in hand if his soul were not to wander in torment for eternity. Now that he had his sword firmly in his grasp, Nordal was not afraid to die. Weakly, he waved them away.
"Go!" he said, finally finding his voice. "I'm:finished:get to the ships."
Erak nodded quickly. "He's right," he said, straightening up from beside his friend. "There's nothing we can do for him." The others nodded and Erak grabbed first Will and then Evanlyn and shoved them along in front of him.
"Come on, you two," he said roughly. "Unless you want to stay here till Morgarath gets back."
And, moving together in a tight little group, the five of them shoved their way through the milling crowd of Wargals, all trying to move in the opposite direction.
Morgarath was stung by the impact of the heavy leather glove on his face. Furious, he turned to stare at the challenger who had ruined his plan. Then he allowed that thin smile to spread over his face once more.
His challenger was no more than a boy, he realized. Big, certainly, and muscular. But the fresh face under the simple conical helmet couldn't have been more than sixteen years old.
Before the startled members of the King's council could react, he replied swiftly.
"I accept the challenge!"
He was a second ahead of Duncan's furious cry: "No! I forbid it!" Realizing he was too late, he sought desperately for a way to prevent this one-sided contest. He forced himself to laugh scornfully at the black-clad figure.