Quicksilver's Knight

by Christopher Stasheff

  "While you forced the postern," Geoffrey inferred. "Aye. We had brought a light skiff with us, and rowed across the moat to the little gate, a dozen of us, six men I trusted and six of my bodyguard ... five of whom still live—"

  Geoffrey saw the tear in her eye, and pushed her past the remorse. "No battle can be won without risk," he said softly, "and to spare others from the grief and pain of a tyrannical lord is worth the gamble of a life."

  "Aye." She lifted her head, giving it a shake. "'Twas nobly done! And while I ruled, the price bought good worth."

  "There was no guard upon the gate?" Geoffrey pressed. "Aye, but he stood back and waited till we had chopped through it. Then he shot his arbalest, and one of my women died." Her face hardened. "'Twas wrong of me, I know, for he did no more than his duty—but I was afire with rage. He drew a battle-axe, but I feinted once; he swung, and I lunged, stabbing home. We kicked his dead body out of the way and ran in, lightfoot, staying against the walls, running silently in the darkness. The guards were too busy howling insults at my brothers and firing their crossbows at shadows to look down and see us. We came to the gatehouse undetected, but found the windlass guarded by a poor old lubber of a porter. He gibbered with fright when my sword touched his throat, and my women let the windlass go. The drawbridge fell down as my men cranked the portcullis up. Too late, the guards realized they had been invaded, and made the further mistake of charging against us, leaving my brothers free to lead all my men over the drawbridge and into the courtyard. There they fell upon the guardsmen from the rear, where they strove to wrest us out of the gatehouse—and we who had been the quarry suddenly became the hunters, falling upon them with steel and arrow. They were caught between two forces, and threw down their weapons with cries for mercy."

  "Did you give it them?"

  "Aye, for that time—though I held trials of the Count's men all that next day, finding who had beaten and despoiled the peasants and who had not. Two of those guards were hanged, along with five of the Count's army."

  "Few enough, for the men of a tyrannical lord."

  "Few indeed. The rest had friends among the villagers, and would not see them wronged—so they refrained from wronging others. Then I gave those who remained the choice of enlisting with me, or of exile. Most chose to stay; a score chose to go. I sent them with the Countess, and her son the new Count, to go where they wished. Then I entrenched myself in the castle and sent my brothers out and about the county, to put government to rights and see justice done. I cut the taxes in half and discharged corrupt magistrates—I knew them all by name, after all—and declared that no woman should be abused, most especially not by her husband, and that the workman was worthy of his hire."

  "Your words have the sound of victory won, and enjoying its fruits," Geoffrey said, "but your tone is one of vigilance."

  Quicksilver shrugged, her hands on her thighs, eyes downcast. "I have held myself, and my men, ready to fight any lord who may come against us—for I know that those born to rule will not abide an upstart squire's daughter to live without challenge. And, too, I had no knowledge of where the Countess had gone with her son."

  "She went to Runnymede," Geoffrey said, "to Queen Catharine and King Tuan—and therefore no lord has come against you with his army, but only one knight, alone."

  "One knight—who, Rumor says, is worth a whole army by himself," Quicksilver said bitterly. "If I had not been so chary of my outlaws' lives, and so wary of your magic, I would have tried the truth of that rumor."

  "But it might have been true."

  "It might," she said, though it pained her. "It might, and my band of rogues and stalwarts dead. No, better to gamble my own freedom than their lives. But it is still better to chance my own death than your attentions!" Her hand reached automatically for the sword that wasn't there, then clenched in frustration.

  "Rest easy," Geoffrey told her. "I am not one who takes pleasure from a woman's pain, no more than you delight in the torments of those who have not hurt you."

  "Of those who have not, no," she said judiciously, "though I confess I take pleasure in seeing the suffering of those who have wronged me."

  "Then you have not tyrannized the peasants?"

  She frowned, unsure about the change in subject. "Ask among them, if you can disguise yourself so that they do not know you come from Their Majesties. I have."

  "What?" Geoffrey demanded. "Gone among them in disguise?"

  "Aye, and though they have many grievances, my rule was not one of them."

  Geoffrey wondered if her disguise had really been all that good. "They found you fair, then."

  "Do not you?" she demanded, with a vindictive smile. Geoffrey stared, then realized the pun and reddened. He was appalled at himself—no woman had been able to embarrass him for years. He forced a leer and said, "Most fair, indeed—but I speak of your conduct, not your face."

  "I know you speak not of my face," she said tartly. "As to my peasants, be mindful that I grew up among them—that as a squire's daughter, I was ever in converse with them. I know their grievances far better than could any lord who was born to his title. Mind you, I have dealt severely with those who seek to prey upon their weaker neighbors—and many men in my villages must smoulder with rage because I will not let them use the women as they would. To them, no doubt, I am a tyrant—but not to any good husband nor respectful swain. I doubt not there are many women who resent my seizing power, and decry me for an unwomanly rogue, but I do not seek to silence them."

  "Here is no tyranny, then, nor any great oppression—but you are an outlaw, and have fought against the duly appointed nobility. I fear we must go to the Crown for judgement, no matter how wrong it may seem. Will you give me parole, or must I bind your hands?"

  CHAPTER 7

  "Only while you sleep," she assured him.

  "'Tis better, then, that you do not sleep," said a voice behind them.

  Geoffrey spun about.

  Three tall young men stood lounging at the edge of the clearing by the stream. They were broad-shouldered and handsome, with open faces that would normally have been friendly—but at the moment, their hands rested on the hilts of the swords by their sides, and their faces were grim.

  Geoffrey studied them for a moment, then said to Quicksilver, "Your mother bore a handsome family."

  "Lord Geoffrey," she said, "these are my brothers Leander . .."

  The young man in front, with the broadest shoulders and darkest hair, nodded politely.

  "...Martin..." Quicksilver said.

  The young man on the left, with the reddish hair, forced a smile; then it vanished.

  "And this, I take it is Jory." Geoffrey nodded at the young man with the fair hair, on the right.

  "You have a good memory," Quicksilver said.

  "And we have a sister," Leander said. "We wish to keep her."

  Geoffrey could fairly feel the tension thrumming through him, the mounting delight at the prospect of battle. "This is a family affair, then."

  "Well, not quite." Leander made a beckoning circle with his hand, and the leaves beside him rustled as foresters stepped forward, some with arrows nocked, some with swords or axes in hand, most with nothing but quarterstaves—but Geoffrey could tell from the way they held them that they were skilled in their use. Even across the little brook, a score of men stepped forward—and the Amazons stepped up to circle protectively around their leader.

  "Why, how is this, lady?" Geoffrey demanded, not looking at Quicksilver but at her brothers. "You agreed that it would be war between us two and us two only, and that your freedom would be forfeit if you lost."

  "I did indeed!"

  "But we did not," Leander said with a wolfish grin. "We find that we cannot abide the thought of our sister in chains, and verge on frenzy at the thought of her hanging."

  Geoffrey winced at the picture that conjured up, but he held his ground. "Have you forgotten the purpose of our bargain?"

  "To spare our lives?" Leander drew his swo
rd. "We will chance it."

  "But I will not!" Quicksilver darted between them. "Nay, forfend! If I must fight this man again, I shall—but myself alone!"

  "Sister," Martin said, "it is we who should protect you, not you who should guard us. Nay, I think there shall be no need of fighting, for certainly this knight is wise enough in the ways of war to know a losing battle when he sees one."

  Geoffrey nodded acknowledgement. "I have such wisdom—but I see no such sight."

  Martin was taken aback for a moment; then he laughed. "Surely you do not think you can best our whole band!"

  "With sword and strength alone, no," Geoffrey said, "but with magic, yes."

  "No!" Quicksilver cried in panic. "You gave your word!"

  "My word is void if yours is not kept."

  "I have kept it!"

  "But if we break your word for you, it is nonetheless broken." Leander nodded at the Amazons. "Take her in among you, ladies. I do not wish her near our fight."

  Geoffrey's face went blank as he began to concentrate on the magical moves he was preparing.

  "Have you not a sister?" Leander said, his voice low. That broke Geoffrey's concentration and set him aback. "Aye—I have. Surely you know of that, if you know who I am."

  "I do," Leander said. "Would you let some stranger knight carry the Lady Cordelia off to judgement and certain death?"

  "Nay, of course not." Geoffrey's grin spread slowly, reflecting Leander's wolfishness. "I would die to prevent it, if I had to."

  "And so shall we," said Martin.

  "You shall not!" Quicksilver cried. "You shall live and protect your peasants and your men! I alone have brought down Count Laeg and his knights, and I alone shall pay for it!"

  "No, you shall not," Leander said softly, his gaze still locked with Geoffrey's. "Step aside, sister, for this has gone beyond you now."

  "Beyond me! What ...?" Quicksilver glanced from Geoffrey to Leander and back. "Oh! It has become a test of strength between you, some foolish test of your manliness! A contest, an idiotic contest! Give over! It is not fit that good men should die only to prove their worth!"

  "It is right and fitting," Geoffrey countered. "It is the way of Nature, beautiful lady, by which the strongest is chosen to strengthen the breed."

  "You are men, not horses!" Quicksilver fairly screamed. "Put down those swords! I shall go to the King and Queen at Runnymede whether he brings me or not!"

  "Not if I live," Leander said, and her two brothers gave a rumble of agreement that was picked up and carried around the circle of armed men. Quarterstaves rose, bows bent, and they all edged forward.

  "Only I have drawn my sword yet," Leander said, but Martin and Jory both tightened the grip on their hilts. Geoffrey scowled, and executed the first step in his magical defense.

  The hilt twisted under Martin's hand, and he leaped aside with an oath, then realized the thing that had twisted had come with him.

  The outlaws let out a shout and brought their weapons up.

  The polearms twisted in the hands of a dozen or so, and they cried out, dropping their bows and axes—but the Amazons just clutched their swords more tightly, lips thinned, and moved in.

  "Now hold!" Quicksilver cried with the first signs of anger.

  The Amazons halted, but still glared daggers at Geoffrey.

  "Craven!" Leander snapped. "Dare you fight me without your magic?"

  "Dare you fight me without your army?" Geoffrey returned. "Nay, even all three of you together—so long as you bid your bandits hold their blades, I'll not use my magic!"

  "This is nonsense!" Quicksilver stormed. "If you fight, you fight with all you have! If you fight to see who is stronger, fight with blunted weapons! Fight with swords of lath! But play me no boys' game of limits!"

  "Boys are only little men, sister," Martin returned, eyes still on Geoffrey, "and if we limit our mayhem, 'tis to bring less disaster." He drew his sword. "Nay, make it squirm in my hand now, if you can! I will hold it fast!"

  "Will you indeed," Geoffrey said softly, and the sword suddenly wrenched itself out of Martin's hand and flipped up high in the air, turned over, then stabbed down into the earth at his feet, where it stood quivering.

  Martin blanched, staring at it. Then he looked up slowly, his face darkening.

  "Bid your men stand," Geoffrey said softly.

  "All of you, ground your weapons and stand fast!" Leander called out. "This warlock and I must settle our difference!"

  "Aye, ground them!" Quicksilver shouted. "You too, brother mine! I would not see you slain!"

  "I shall not be," Leander grated, but Martin wrenched his sword out of the ground.

  Geoffrey drew his blade in a single clean motion and stepped forward, on guard.

  "Not either of you! Hold! Put up your swords!"

  "'Tis even as your brother says," Geoffrey told her. "It has gone past you now." With that, he thrust. Leander parried; Geoffrey riposted and thrust again, then again and again, advancing.

  "The young bulls are pawing the ground," the tallest bodyguard told Quicksilver.

  "Nay, Minerva—they are done pawing, and charge at one another to lock horns! Separate them!" Quicksilver raised her voice. "Separate them, all of you!"

  With a gleeful shout, the quarterstaff men hefted their staves and waded in.

  "Hold!" Leander shouted, jumping back.

  "Aye," Geoffrey agreed, and swept the bandits with one quick glare. The staff went spinning from one man's hand and knocked the staff from another's. Both men fell back with a cry, but Stowton shouted, "He cannot disarm us all! Charge him!"

  A fallen staff leaped into Geoffrey's hand. He spun it like a baton, and all the other quarterstaves twisted in their owners' hands, trying to imitate Geoffrey's. They shouted and dropped their staves, some clutching bruised wrists.

  The archers howled, brought up their arrows, and loosed.

  "No!" Quicksilver shrieked, and leaped in front of Geoffrey.

  The arrows all looped, curving, shooting back to their owners, who yelped with superstitious fright and broke ranks—but one arrow shot straight on to Geoffrey. He caught it and stabbed it into the ground. All the other arrows plunged down and lanced the earth in imitation.

  The bandits crowded back, white showing around their eyes—but Minerva beckoned to her bodyguard and stepped forward, eyes cold.

  Geoffrey didn't even notice. He was looking down at the beauty in front of him. "Thank you for your protection, but I will not see you pierced. Why did you leap to guard my body with your own?"

  "Why ... why..." Quicksilver stammered, and blushed, looking down. Then she spun about to him, chin up. "Why, because I gave my word! That none of my band would harm you! But I did not say that, once yielded, I would stay yielded! If any shall strike you, it shall be me!" She leaped back, holding out her hand, and Minerva slapped Quicksilver's own sword into that hand.

  "You gave parole," Geoffrey reminded her. "You said you would not seek to escape."

  "Aye, but I did not say I would not fight you again! On guard, warlock! This time, our fight shall have a different ending!"

  "It shall indeed!" Minerva gestured and jumped in front of Quicksilver. Six other young women leaped in beside her, their swords raised.

  "Brothers," Leander snapped, "it seems we are done with the ways of honor."

  "Even so," Jory agreed, and stepped in behind Geoffrey. Geoffrey opened his mind to awareness of them, of each tiniest motion they might make, as he kept his eyes on the bodyguards in front of him. The wolfish smile tugged at his lips; it would be a battle royal. True, he must not injure any of the women, at least not seriously—which gave him no compunction about using magic ...

  A shout went up. Geoffrey swung about to see an arrow speeding toward him, knew it was already too close to divert, and was just beginning to duck when...

  ... the arrow turned down and plunged into the earth. It was almost a right-angle turn, not the drop of a smooth trajectory that was just a little s
hort.

  Geoffrey turned to face Quicksilver, blocking a blow from Minerva almost absentmindedly as his eyes met Quicksilver's, and held with surprise on his part—but on hers, thin-lipped with the knowledge that she was unmasked. She raised her voice, crying out, "I bade you hold! I said that none of you should harm this knight!"

  And she had kept her word, Geoffrey realized—for it was not he who had made that arrow plunge to earth. Quicksilver, however, didn't seem to want her band to know that, because she said, "Adroitly done, warlock! But how did you know the arrow had been loosed?"

  "My mind is alert to yours," he answered, "and to those of all your band."

  It certainly would be from now on, for Geoffrey knew better than any that it was not his mind that had deflected that arrow. Still, it had been a great lapse on his part, to let himself be so distracted by the Amazons that he had ignored the rest of the band, and so had missed the archer loosing the arrow. Fortunately, Quicksilver had not.

  Suddenly, he understood much better how she had managed to carve out her own little kingdom here in the forest, and expand it to include the whole county—because Quicksilver was herself an esper.

  That did not mean she was any less a general, of course. She was still expert at tactics, and probably at strategy, too, though her campaign had been cut short before he could be sure of that. Certainly she was magnificent with a sword—but he suspected that she had made more than a little use of magic when she was outnumbered, and exercised it subtly but very effectively in her battles. More than anything else, though, it explained how she could be so effective a leader, why her fire and enthusiasm reached out to envelop her fighters. She was no doubt a projective telepath, at least in a small way, quite possibly in a larger. At the very least, it gave her a great deal of charisma. And she knew that he knew. He probed with his mind and came up against a mental wall—her shields were up—but felt also the questing alertness of another telepath, reaching out to him. He smiled, letting his mind be unshielded on the surface, letting her read not his long-range plans or deeper motives, but at least his current intentions and yearnings...