He did not have long to speculate. Before the eight had come within thirty feet of each other, there came a rumble of hoofbeats from the north, and then the spectacle of four richly garbed riders cresting the rise. The white horses looked like ghosts beneath the sickly sun, and their riders wore the white and gold raiment of the ancient Deryni lords. As the eight watched the riders draw nearer, Kelson heard a whispered exchange between Wencit and Rhydon and glanced aside to see Wencit’s face gray with fury, Rhydon’s untouched by outward emotion.

But then the four newcomers were dismounting: blind Barrett, the physician Laran—and young Tiercel de Claron helping the Lady Vivienne from her mount. The white horses stood like statues as their riders gathered momentarily before them and adjusted their golden mantles. Blind Barrett’s emerald eyes swept the waiting eight imperiously as he and his colleagues came within a few yards.

“Who has called the Camberian Council to this field of honor?”

Wencit, with a look of pure loathing at Kelson, stepped forward and dropped to one knee, his chin dipping stiffly in grudging salute. His voice was controlled but edged with suspicion as he spoke.

“Worthy Councilor, I, Wencit King of Torenth, a full Deryni of the blood, claim Council protection and arbitration for a Duel Arcane in challenge against that man.” He pointed toward Kelson, his accusing finger like a lance. “I claim the Council’s protection against treachery for myself and my colleagues: Duke Lionel”—the duke knelt, bowing his head—“the Earl of Marley, and Lord Rhydon of Eastmarch, who was once of your company.” At the speaking of their names, Bran and Rhydon also knelt, and Wencit continued.

“We stipulate that this shall be a battle to the death, we four against the four others who stand before you—and that the circle be not broken until all of one side have perished. To this do we pledge our powers and our lives.”

Barrett’s emerald eyes turned slowly from Wencit to Kelson. “Is this likewise thy desire?”

Kelson, swallowing nervously, knelt also before the Deryni lords.

“My lord, I, Kelson Haldane King of Gwynedd, counted a full Deryni by thy reckoning, do affirm my acceptance of the challenge laid down by Wencit of Torenth, that no more blood be spilled between us in war. I also claim thy protection against treachery for myself, for my Lord Duke Alaric, for Bishop Arilan, and for Monsignor McLain.” The three likewise knelt. “We do reluctantly agree that this shall be a battle to the death, the four of us against the other four who kneel before you—and that the circle be not broken until all of one side are dead. To this we pledge our powers and our lives.”

Barrett nodded, then tapped the end of his tall ivory staff against the grass once. “So be it. Now, to the victors, what fruits are proposed? Have the lords of both thine armies agreed to abide by the outcome of this contest?”