The monk who was under guard suddenly tore off his hood. Varris’ face glared out. “Help!” he croaked. “Help, my lord! I’ve been betrayed—”

“There are a dozen brothers who witnessed your acts and will swear to them by the mightiest oaths,” said the abbot sternly. “Be still, Brother Varris. If the Evil has reentered your soul, I shall have to set you heavy penances.”

“Witchcraft!” It whispered terribly down the long hall.

“All men know that witchcraft has no power inside the walls of a sacred abbey,” warned Gulmanan. “Speak no heresies.”

Varris looked wildly about at the spears and axes that ringed him in. “I was drugged, my lord,” he gasped. “I remember what I did, yes, but I had no will of my own—I followed this old devil’s words—” He saw Alak and snarled. “Hypnite!”

The Patrolman stepped forth and bowed to the king. “Your majesty,” he said, “Sir Varris-that-was had first choice of blades. But if you wish to inspect them again, I have them here.”

It had been easy enough, after all: two swords with retractable hypodermic needles, only they wouldn’t do you any good unless you knew of them and knew where to press. The flitter’s machine shop could turn one out in a couple of hours.

Alak handed them to the king from beneath his cloak. Morlach stared at the metal, called for a pair of gauntlets, and broke the blades in his hands. The mechanism lay blatant before him.

“Do you see?” cried Varris. “Do you see the poisoned darts? Burn that rogue alive!”

Morlach smiled grimly. “It shall be done,” he said.

Alak grinned, and inwardly his muscles tightened. This was the tricky point. If he couldn’t carry it off, it meant a pretty agonizing death. “My Lord,” he answered, “that were unjust. The weapons are identical, and Sir Varris-that-was had first choice. It is permitted to use concealed extra parts, and not to warn of them.”

“Poison—” began Morlach.

“But this was not poison. Does not Varris stand hale before you all?”

“Yes—” Morlach scratched his head. “But when the next engagement is fought, I shall provide the swords.”

“A monk,” said Gulmanan, “may not have private quarrels. This novice is to be returned to his cell for fasting and prayer.”

“A monk may be released from his vows under certain conditions,” argued Morlach. “I shall see to it that he is.”

“Now hold!” shouted Wing Alak in his best Shakespearean manner. “My lord, I have won the duel. It were unlawful to speak of renewing it—for who can fight a dead man?”

“Won it?” Varris wrestled with the sturdy monks gripping his arms. “Here I stand, alive, ready to take you on again any minute—”

“My lord king,” said Alak, “I crave leave to state my case.”

The royal brow knotted, but: “Do so,” clipped Morlach.

“Very well.” Alak cleared his throat. “First, then, I fought lawfully. Granted, there was a needle in each sword of which Sir Varris had not been warned, but that is allowable under the code. It might be said that I poisoned him, but that is a canard, for as you all see he stands here unharmed. The drug I used has only a temporary effect and thus is not, by definition, a poison. Therefore, it was a lawful and just combat.”