"Not even your glorious majesty!" the elder said stiffly.
"Then I proclaim they be tried by arms," she said regally. "Prince Buckbee, you shall serve as Royal Champion, and so shall Sir Dragonfly."
The two named guard officers bowed at this, vowing to champion their queen and prove they were on the side of right, law, and justice. The old cleric frowned and scowled at the dandies who were cheering on the two noble lords, but otherwise did nothing else. Gord and his friend were bound to fight their duels.
"We need proper clothing and our arms," the young adventurer suggested to the sneering Prince Buckbee.
"You will be properly attired soon enough, man-ling, and given good Poochaunian weapons to try defending yourselves with."
This was not what Gord wished at all. "I demand to use arms of my own choice, and my choice is the sword and dagger I wore when you attacked us!"
The queen and her entourage had departed, and the strange hall was nearly empty. All the Poochauns were probably arraying themselves in festive attire in light of the coming tournament. Panloron remained, possibly to see to the fair treatment of the two accused. Prince Buckbee and Sir Dragonfly were assailed with flts of laughter at Gord's demand for his own weapons. Hop had asked for his own sword, too, and both men stood in angry puzzlement when the sprltelike beings made light of these reasonable demands.
"Come, follow me," the silver-haired cleric said. "I will show you the source of their amusement, and you will understand then, I think." Neither officer objected as Panloron led the two men to a pair of huge doors in the hall. Poochauns standing guard at each side came to attention as the old priest approached. At his signal the valves were swung inward to reveal what lay beyond.
Gord and Hop saw a vast expanse of broad, tangled grass that extended upward just above the heads of the Poochaun and his prisoners. There was a path leading through this thicket of head-high growth, and the cleric began to walk slowly along this track. The pair of humans followed, and were soon standing on a high bank that allowed them a view of the area below. There, half-hidden in the tall savannah, were weapons of gigantic proportions.
"A storm giant has been here?" Gord asked aloud, then cut himself off abruptly. Hop stood in shocked amazement too. The swords, daggers, and belts they saw were their own arms — grown to monstrous proportions!
"Why have you enlarged our gear?" Hop asked.
"Enlarged? Oh no, human, no such thing has been done. Quite the contrary — you and your companion have been made small to fit the accommodations of fair Avalondria." the cleric said matter-of-factly. "Now you see why you must accept the arms that we will supply to you for the trial by combat."
Gord didn't feel any different, but he was only a foot tall! No wonder the glowworms were monstrous, the tree's interior so vast. The young adventurer turned and looked at the growth behind. It appeared to be the most titanic ipt ever to grow on Oerth — the largest tree in the world! What startled him even more were the windows, walkways, oriels, pentlces, stairways, and turrets that were built on or hewn from trunks and limbs. "This cannot be the same ipt that stands in the middle of the glen!" he said in disbelief.
"The very same." Panloron said with dignity and pride.
"Impossible!" Hop retorted as he too surveyed the mountain-tall growth that blocked the sky above them from view. "We saw no such construction. Even at a distance in moonlight these works could not escape the eye."
"Of course they could, human. You are in a slightly altered place now, just as are all Poochauns when they are within the Realm of Avalondria. In your own world these will be seen by you as bumps, whorls and holes. Your vision will not see through to the true realm beyond."
"Let's go back and get the clothing and weapons promised to us," Gord interjected practically. He could see the citizens of this tree-realm peering down at them from windows and balconies, and many of these watchers were female. The young thief was growing tired of being on display.
Later, when night had fallen — the time interval seemed endless to the two captives — Hop and Gord mock-fought each other in order to accustom themselves to the long, slender swords, leaf-bladed daggers, and bucklers that the Poochaun guards had grudgingly supplied on Panloron's command. They had also been supplied with garments of Poochaun sort — hose, close-fitting doublet over blouse, silken sash, knee-high boots — and with martial equip-page. "What about long spears and bows?" Hop had asked one of the soldiers.
"In trial by combat you will use noble weapons." was the haughty repry.
After their rigorous practice session, Gord advanced the subject of exactly how to approach the coming contest "We are in a bad predicament, Hop. and in my opinion we will be in worse straits still if we should defeat and slay the champions their queen has appointed."
"Must we then allow these skinny spritekins to skewer us?" Hop retorted hotly.
"Of course not! But somehow we must win without killing or even seriously hurting them, and in a manner that does not humiliate either them or their monarch."
"Impossible! They are winged, too. Our only hope is to fight for our lives, and as fiercely as we can."
Minutes dragged by. They dozed, resumed their fencing, rested, ate a light meal of strange wafers, a milky liqueur, and other things also odd but nonetheless delicious. Finally Poochaun soldiers came to take them to the field of combat.
Moonlight and shadows made the place seem very eerie. Both Gord and Hop could see with new vision. Panloron explained that this was from the drink they had quaffed. The pale moonrays seemed as brilliant as the beams of the sun, shadows were deep purple swaths in which the glowing, golden forms of the Poochauns cavorted and flitted. If colors were distorted and different nothing else was right either. Being reduced to such a small size made adjustment difficult. Smooth ground became rough when one was shrunk to a mere twelve inches high. But as distracting as all of this was. it was also immaterial. They must battle the two champions and win. Whether they were slain in combat or merely defeated made no difference, for death was sure and certain either way.
"Hop," Gord said in the cant of thieves, "can you understand me?"
The mountebank looked surprised but nodded and replied in kind. "Yes, but speak slowly."
"Hold your man — Poochaun — off as long as possible, don’t try to wound or kill him. Understand?"
Hop looked doubtful but nodded assent again. "Until Sir Dragonfly strikes me," he said, "for at that I shall kill the popinjay without mercy."
"We have made a clear space for you humans to stand in, see?" one guard said as he pointed out an area where the Poochauns had been at work removing vegetation and smoothing the earth. "We are a very fair people, you know," he added seriously.
"We can't fly," Gord pointed out. "Will Prince Buckbee and his fellow champion be constrained to remain afoot?"
"Certainly not! To prevent the Poochaun to utilize his natural prowess is ignoble and villainous!"
"I thought as much," Gord said dryly.
The contest was heralded by tiny horns of silver — tiny in Gord's mind, at least, for in his present condition they appeared to be normal-sized trumps. A noble stood and proclaimed the titles of the queen, who Gord and Hop discovered was named Lifayvia. After receiving due homage, she proclaimed the event a Royal Trial by Combat, and again the noble spoke. After the charges against Gord and Hop were stated, the two Royal Poochaunan Champions strode forth to stand and bow before the queen. Their homage complete, the pair took wing in a dizzying display of aerobatics that made Gord's stomach knot. If they used aerial tactics, he and Hop would be dead in no time. Suddenly the two Poochauns swooped back to the ground, and the guards thrust Gord and Hop forward. The fight was on.
The young thief didn't intend to make this a long and noble duel filled with chivalrous acts. Poochaun-tan bards, if there were such beings, would sing of his glorious death if he tried to fight Prince Buck-bee in terms the spritekin expected. The sash at his waist had a barely detectable lump in it — his secret weapon. Gord had earlier found a fist-sized stone and tied it into the cloth. As soon as he and Hop had paid their homage to Queen Lifayvia and compliments to their sneering opponents, the young thief acted.
Prince Buckbee sprang into the air, drawing his sword as he did so. Gord didn't bother with sword, dagger, or even the buckler strapped onto his back. Instead, he quickly undid his sash. He had folded it so that it made one turn around his waist. A quick tug, and he had about eight Poochaun-sized feet of silken sash whirling in his hand.
"What knavery this?" the prince cried, looping and darting to attack the man who spun a sash carelessly over his head.
"No knavery, Dear Buckbee, just human ingenuity!" The Poochaun ignored the retort, intent upon bringing the combat to a quick end by spearing his adversary in a dive-and-impale maneuver. The circling sash forced him to swoop so as to come in a beellne at head height to accomplish his tactic. As he did so, the young thief instantly tilted the plane of the spinning sash. The stone at its end didn't immediately strike the zooming Poochaun, but a portion of the sash that held it enwrapped his arm. The spin then brought the stone in contact with the underside of Prince Buckbee's jaw. He went out like a light. The force of his flying charge continued long enough for his sword to graze Gord's left side. Then the Poochaun thudded to the ground.
"Hang on, Hop!" Gord saw that the mountebank was lighting furiously with the spritekin called Sir Dragonfly. He had been hit at least twice by the Poochaun, but from the looks of it the wounds were no worse than the little cut Gord had suffered. This made no difference to Hop. He was determined to slay or be slain now!
"Foul, foul!" the herald shouted. "Single combat! Stop that human from assisting his co-felon!"
Ignoring these urgings and a threatening response from the soldiers around the field, Gord managed to get close to his friend. Ducking to avoid a slash from the airborne Poochaun, the young thief thrust the end of his twisted sash into Hop's left hand, shouting, "Use it like a flail! There's a rock in the end, and you can entangle—" Then he was grabbed by a pair of the Poochaun soldiers and carted away bodily.
"If you try to aid your fellow human again." they warned him sternly, "you will be brought down by archery, and the arrows used will be lethal!"
"I did naught dishonorable," Gord replied, "but I will not dispute your commands at this time."
Hop had taken Gord's suggestion. As soon as he managed to get the sash spinning rapidly with his left arm, the mountebank flung his sword into the air toward the buzzing Sir Dragonfly and used both hands and arms to wield the silken flail then. The Poochaun tried to cut the device, but this attempt brought him within range of its clublike head. Before he could flutter up for another try, the stone-bearing end of the cloth enwrapped his ankles. Hop jerked back, falling over in his effort Sir Dragonfly was yanked down by the force and fell atop the mountebank. In a moment they were entangled in a wrestling match that the slender Poochaun could not win.
The contest was over, and the queen was furious — at first Her champions had been ignominiously defeated. The humans were proven right by their victory! This was a humiliating day for Queen Lifayvia. But the cleric and others of her subjects spent time calming her, suggesting that perhaps some higher power had taken a hand in the matter.
"Two of the noblest of your subjects, glorious majesty, could not be so defeated, unless another, someone of your majesty's stature, took action to aid these two men. It was, undoubtedly, meant to be," the cleric assured her and added, "Other than bumps and bruises — and Sir Dragonfly's sprained wing — both noble warriors are unhurt, my glorious queen."
"Enough, enough! I am no longer wroth," Queen Llfayvia said. Then she gave a tinkling laugh and actually smiled. "Those two bold warriors of mine did look most foolish as they crashed to dirty their fine garments!" she exclaimed in merriment. "We are glad they are not worse injured than they are, for surely their foes could have killed them had they so desired. In fact, we are most amused and also grateful for the sparing of Poochauntan lives."
Although a few of the males looked sullen and angry at her words, the majority of the Poochauns cheered and clapped at their Queen's acknowledgment She raised her hand for silence, and a hush fell.
"We now proclaim a revel in honor of the victors in Royal Trial by Combat, the Righteous and Honorable Gord and Hop! Fete them with noble Poochaunlan merriment! All of Avalondria is theirs until the cock crows morning!"