Meilin’s heart pounded, and she squeezed her reins tightly. How had so many warriors managed to encircle them? She tried to stay calm, tried to remind herself that battles were won with the mind. The Amayans had a huge tactical advantage. Meilin guessed there were seventy warriors, with possibly more still out of sight, closing in from all directions. None were mounted, but many had arrows at the ready. Even if Meilin’s group tried to ride through them, there was no way to escape unscathed.

Three warriors broke from their pack to address Barlow. The man in the middle touched his fist to his chest. “I am Derawat.”

Barlow mimicked the gesture. “Barlow.”

“These lands are under the protection of the Ravens. You have no place here.”

“We seek no place here,” Barlow replied. “We will not remain and will take nothing. We are going to the high country.”

“We saw you coming from afar.”

Barlow nodded. “We were not hiding. We mean no harm.”

“You will surrender to us, so that we may judge you,” Derawat said.

In an instant, a huge grizzly bear appeared beside Barlow, a shaggy brute with a hump on his shoulders. The Ravens retreated several paces, weapons clutched warily. The bear reared up to an imposing height, and Meilin felt a pang of jealousy when she considered how Jhi compared.

“We will not surrender,” Barlow said sternly. “We are free people going abroad. We have done you no harm. If you insist on trouble, we insist on trial by combat.”

The three leaders of the Amayan group conferred. Derawat announced the verdict. “You will choose a champion, as will we. You will compete in our way. If you win, you may pass. If you lose, you are ours.”

“Agreed,” Barlow said. With a burst of light, his grizzly vanished.

A group of Ravens broke off to form an escort. Tarik rode forward to confer with Barlow.

“How will this work?” Tarik asked.

“If we lose, we belong to them. They can enslave us or kill us as they choose.”

Everyone considered that in silence for a moment.

“What is the competition?” Tarik asked.

“Depends on the tribe,” Barlow replied, eyeing the Amayan warriors. “Some prefer single combat between humans. Others want spirit animals to fight. Some contests are to the death, others to submission. I’ve never dealt with the Ravens before.”

“Sour luck,” Monte grumbled. “Many Amayan tribes are peaceful and fair-minded, even generous. We planned our route to avoid the most dangerous ones and only touched the fringe of Raven lands. They must have spotted us when we crossed the valley.”

“Any objection to me handling the fight?” Tarik asked.

“It’s best to wait before we choose our champion,” Barlow suggested. “They sometimes set strange limits, or use odd weapons. I’m not bad in contests of strength. In a straight brawl between spirit animals, Jools is hard to defeat.”

“Very well,” Tarik agreed. “We’ll wait.”

The Amayans led them to a village in a meadow not far off. The dwellings were made of hides supported by wooden frames. Meilin noticed multiple fire pits, but no flames and no smoke. The warriors led the riders to a clearing in the middle of the village.

Derawat indicated a circular patch of dirt. He walked over to a vat just beyond the circle and dipped his knuckles into black sludge. “Two combatants enter the circle. Spirit animals must be dormant. The first to land ten strikes wins. Hard or soft, ten touches ends the contest. I will fight for the Ravens. Name your champion.”

Meilin watched with wide eyes as Barlow, Monte, and Tarik leaned together to confer. Should she intervene? Derawat looked quick and wiry, perfect for the type of competition he had described.

“This is a matter of speed and precision,” Barlow said. “Not my strong suit.”

“I bet I could do it,” Monte said.

“Let me,” Tarik said. “Even without Lumeo’s help, I have experience with close combat, often with sharp weapons, so I’m used to avoiding blows. I’m quick with a long reach.”

“Okay with me,” Barlow said.

“I’ll face him,” Meilin announced.

The three men looked so taken aback that Meilin tried not to feel insulted. They had never seen what she could do.

“He’s a large opponent,” Tarik began, trying to be polite.

“I wouldn’t offer if this contest weren’t made for me,” Meilin said. “I’ve been schooled in Zhongese combat arts my whole life. It’s my specialty. If any of you attempt this, the outcome is far less certain.”

Her companions looked at each other awkwardly. Tarik folded his arms and squinted.

“An answer?” Derawat asked.

“One moment,” Barlow replied. Turning back, he said, “Absolutely not. She’s too young.”

“I’ll do it before Meilin!” Rollan broke in. “At least I’ve been in some scrapes before.”

“Meilin,” Tarik said gently, “you may be right, but we haven’t had the chance to assess your talents.”

“I could show you, but I would rather surprise him,” Meilin said. “Trust me.”

There came a cry from above, and Essix dove down to land on Meilin’s shoulder. Meilin tensed. She’d never had contact with the falcon.

“Essix votes for Meilin,” Rollan said, his voice stunned.

Meilin watched the falcon soar away, hardly able to believe Essix had endorsed her. How did the falcon know about her skills? She hadn’t even realized the bird had been aware of their discussion.

Tarik gave a curt nod. “I won’t argue with that. Win our freedom, Meilin.”

“You sure the bird wasn’t voting against her?” Barlow mumbled.

“I agree with Rollan’s interpretation,” Tarik stated firmly.

Barlow walked over to Derawat. “Our champion is Meilin.” He stepped aside, extending a hand to introduce her.

Meilin came forward, and Derawat recoiled. “Is this your trick to avoid the competition? Only the lowest coward would hide behind a child.”

Barlow glanced back at Tarik, who nodded. “She’s our champion,” Barlow said, his voice betraying his uncertainty. “We’re not hiding. Defeat her if you can.”

Derawat’s eyes blazed. “This is an insult! You claim the least of you can match the best of us! I will not show mercy. You must honor the outcome the same as if I faced a grown opponent!”