"Of Sir Mandorallen the bastard we have all heard," a swarthy knight in black enamelled armor sneered, "but who is this red-bearded ape who so maligns his betters?"

"You're going to take that?" Barak asked Mandorallen.

"It's more or less true," Mandorallen admitted with a pained look, "since there was some temporary irregularity about my birth which still raises questions about my legitimacy. This knight is Sir Haldorin, my third cousin-twice removed. Since it's considered unseemly in Arendia to spill the blood of kinsmen, he thus cheaply gains reputation for boldness by casting the matter in my teeth."

"Stupid custom," Barak grunted. "In Cherek kinsmen kill each other with more enthusiasm than they kill strangers."

"Alas." Mandorallen sighed. "This is not Cherek."

"Would you be offended if I dealt with this?" Barak asked politely.

"Not at all."

Barak moved closer to the swarthy knight. "I am Barak, Earl of Trellheim," he announced in a loud voice, "kinsman to King Anheg of Cherek, and I see that certain nobles in Arendia have even fewer manners than they have brains."

"The Lords of Arendia are not impressed by the self bestowed titles of the pig-sty kingdoms of the north," Sir Haldorin retorted coldly.

"I find your words offensive, friend," Barak said ominously.

"And I find thy ape face and scraggly beard amusing," Sir Haldorin replied.

Barak did not even bother to draw his sword. He swung his huge arm in a wide circle and crashed his fist with stunning force against the side of the swarthy knight's helmet. Sir Haldorin's eyes glazed as he was swept from his saddle, and he made a vast clatter when he struck the ground.

"Would anyone else like to comment about my beard?" Barak demanded.

"Gently, my Lord," Mandorallen advised. He glanced down with a certain satisfaction at the unconscious form of his senseless kinsman twitching in the tall grass.

"Will we docilely accept this attack on our brave companion?" one of the knights in Baron Derigen's party demanded in a harshly accented voice. "Kill them all!" He reached for his sword.

"In the instant thy sword leaves its sheath thou art a dead man, Sir Knight," Mandorallen coolly advised him.

The knight's hand froze on his sword hilt.

"For shame, my Lords," Mandorallen continued accusingly. "Surely ye know that by courtesy and common usage my challenge, until it is answered, guarantees my safety and that of my companions. Choose your champions or withdraw. I tire of all this and presently will become irritable."

The two parties of knights pulled back some distance to confer, and several men-at-arms came to the hilltop to pick up Sir Haldorin.

"That one who was going to draw his sword was a Murgo," Garion said quietly.

"I noticed that," Hettar murmured, his dark eyes glittering.

"They're coming back," Durnik warned.