“I assume, by your statement, that you consider yourself a civilized man,” Kelson said carefully. “On the other hand, the brutal killing of scores of helpless prisoners hardly seems calculated to demonstrate any high degree of civilization.”

“No, it was not,” Wencit agreed amiably enough. “But it was calculated to demonstrate the extent to which I would go, if necessary, to ensure that you carefully consider the proposal I am about to make to you.”

“Proposal?” Kelson snorted contemptuously. “Surely you don’t think I’m of a mind to bargain, after the brutality I have just witnessed. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

“Oh, not a fool,” Wencit laughed. “Not the son of Brion Haldane. Nor am I so witless as to underestimate the threat you pose to me, even though you are contending outside your class. It is almost a pity that you shall have to die.”

“Until that is an accomplished fact, I suggest that you turn your words to other topics. Say what you have to say, Wencit. The day grows later.”

Wencit smiled and bowed slightly in the saddle. “Tell me, how is my young friend, Lord Derry?”

“How should he be?”

Wencit clucked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head. “Now, young Haldane, please give me credit for a little intelligence. Why would I have ordered Derry’s death? He was the token I had hoped to play for the recovery of my Lord Bran’s family. I assure you, the archers acted wholly without my orders and have been punished. Is Derry alive?”

“That is not your concern,” Kelson answered curtly.

“Then, he lives. That is well.” Wencit nodded. He smiled lightly, glancing down at his gloves, then looked up at Kelson again. “Very well, what I have come to say is this: So far as I am concerned, there need be no great battle between our respective armies. Men need not die in masses for us to settle our differences.”

Kelson’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Just what did you have in mind as an alternative?”

“Personal combat,” Wencit replied. “Or, to be more specific, personal combat on a group level: a duel to the death by magic, Deryni against Deryni. Myself, Rhydon, Lionel, and Bran against you and any other three whom you may designate. I would assume that Morgan and McLain and perhaps your royal uncle would be your logical choice—but of course, you are free to choose whomever you wish. In ancient days, such combat was called the Duel Arcane.”

Kelson scowled and glanced at Morgan, then at Arilan and Duncan. He was suddenly uneasy at Wencit’s proposal, and the notion of another Duel Arcane filled him with dread; the one with Charissa had been bad enough. There was a trick involved, there had to be. He must discover what it was.

“Your advantage in such a contest is obvious, my lord. You and yours are trained Deryni; most of us are not. And yet, even with these advantages, it does not strike me that you are the sort of man to risk so much on one battle. What is it that you neglect to tell me?”