Quicksilver's Knight

by Christopher Stasheff

  Quicksilver just stood there, her sword raised on guard, staring at him for half a minute. Then she nodded. "You are right—I would. Take up your sword."

  CHAPTER 11

  Geoffrey grinned and reached for his sword.

  "Nay!" Cordelia stepped in front of him, hands outspread to shield her brother.

  Geoffrey colored. "Cordelia, I scarcely need..."

  "Oh, do you not?" Quicksilver grinned with delight. "Must the parfit gentil knight be protected by his slender sister? What fun!"

  "It has nothing to do with him," Cordelia retorted, "and everything to do with the welfare of your people. Care you naught about your men and women?"

  "Leave our welfare to ourselves," Minerva snapped. But Quicksilver frowned. "This is the trap your brother used, to tempt me into single combat and captivity! Do you think I will fall into it again?"

  "Yes," said Cordelia, "because it is still true. Be mindful, damsel, that if you and your band fight Geoffrey now, I shall fight by his side, as shall my betrothed."

  Alain grinned and drummed his fingers on his sword hilt.

  "Do you think I fear you?" Quicksilver sneered. "Even the three of you together?"

  "You should." Cordelia pointed at Quicksilver's sword, and it twisted itself out of her hands. She shouted in anger, then turned to glare at Cordelia.

  "We are witch-folk," Cordelia said, "and of no common breed. You stand against two of the most powerful magicians in the land."

  "Sister," Geoffrey said, "I think that I should tell you .. ."

  "It will not avail." Cordelia held up a hand to stop him. "This has passed beyond you now, Geoffrey. It is my affair, and hers."

  "What, sword against sorcerer? Should I therefore quail and be craven?" Quicksilver glanced at her sword, and it flew back into her hand.

  Cordelia's eyes widened, but that was nothing compared to the roar of amazement that rose from the bandits amazement, with an undertone of dread.

  "That is what I meant to tell you," Geoffrey said. "She may be self-taught, but she has learned her lessons well."

  "I own it will make the match more interesting." Cordelia paled, but stood her ground.

  Quicksilver met Geoffrey's eyes and shrugged. "It cannot hurt to let my band know now, for you will remove me from my command of them if I lose." She turned and faced her troops. "Aye, I am a witch! But you know yourselves that there has been scant need of magic in our battles. It is my tactics and your skill that have won us our place! All I have ever done with magic is to make an arrow fly more truly, or a quarterstaff to strike with greater force!"

  "Sister," said Jory, "I never knew."

  "None of you did, save Mother and Father." She spoke a little more gently to him. "They taught me that above all else, I must hide my powers. Now, though, I face a witch, and if I fight for you, it must be with witch's tricks!"

  Geoffrey couldn't take his eyes off her. She stood proud and tall, head flung back, hair tumbling in the breeze; she almost seemed to glow. The sight held her outlaws spellbound...

  Spellbound. She was a projective. "Can she not know what she does?" he breathed to Cordelia.

  "Easily," she retorted, "for there is not a one of us does not dream of holding men so, by sheer force of beauty and brilliance of personality."

  The outlaws let loose a huge shout of approval that turned quickly into cheering.

  Quicksilver stood facing them, eyes glowing with pride. Then, as the cheering began to slacken, she turned to Cordelia, raising her sword to guard in both hands and falling into a fighter's crouch. "Have at thee, witch!"

  "And at thee," Cordelia returned, "but with magic alone, and no steel." She glared at the sword, and it tried to wrench itself out of Quicksilver's hands. But she was ready this time, and gripped it firmly, glaring at Cordelia with a hard grin, and the sword blade began to quiver. Cordelia frowned, and the sword twisted—but it twisted back, then began to quiver again.

  Is their power so evenly matched as that? Geoffrey thought.

  It is, Fess assured him, but only in telekinesis.

  He was transmitting in the Gallowglass family mode, an encrypted form of thought that he had designed for Rod, so Quicksilver did not hear him—but Cordelia did. She smiled slightly, and the sword kept quivering—but suddenly, grasses began to twine themselves up Quicksilver's leg.

  She shouted and leaped aside, slashing at the impromptu twine with her blade—and a flock of birds suddenly plunged at her, filling her ears with shrill scolding and buffeting her face with their wings. Quicksilver gave a yell of anger and leaped clear—straight toward Cordelia, her sword swinging down. It swung with the flat of the blade, though, not the edge, so it clanged most satisfyingly as it bounced off Cordelia's upraised palm. It was all Quicksilver could do to keep the blade from flying out of her hands again—and Cordelia swelled horribly, stretching upward, and turned into a giant bear, filling the clearing with its roaring and raising its huge paws to pounce on Quicksilver.

  Her archers couldn't help themselves; with a shout of alarm, they sent a flight of arrows hurtling toward the bear's head.

  They passed right through, of course—the bear was only an illusion, and its head was four feet above Cordelia's. But where Quicksilver had stood, there was suddenly a lioness who sprang at the bear with a roar.

  The bear disappeared, and Cordelia too.

  The lioness landed and whirled about, angry and confused, turning back into Quicksilver.

  "So you do know you are a projective," Geoffrey said softly.

  "I am a shape-changer; what is this 'projective'?" the bandit chief spat. "You might at least be concerned for your sister's safety, knight—and you even more, Sir Alain!"

  Both men stood leaning on one hip, arms folded, watching with interest as Cordelia reappeared right in front of Quicksilver.

  "Oh, if there were any real threat to Cordelia, I would be wroth indeed," Alain said cheerfully.

  "I am a threat to anyone!" Quicksilver snapped, and an eagle flew where she had stood, claws reaching out for Cordelia. But she disappeared even as the bird flew, leaving only a large mushroom behind. The bird tore into the air five feet above the mushroom, though, with a horrible screeching that was answered by a banshee howl—and Quicksilver's sword went spinning up through the air. Minerva dashed to catch it, but Geoffrey was there a step ahead of her, snatching the sword out of the air and saying, in comforting tones, "Fear not. My sister is the gentlest soul alive, unless someone else is threatened."

  "But you are threatened!" Minerva cried indignantly. "No, only Cordelia," Geoffrey returned, "and she likes your chief too much to hurt her."

  Minerva stared at him in confusion, torn between the implied insult and the open compliment, then turned to stare at the mushroom, which had suddenly stretched a tentacle upward to wrap itself around the eagle's leg, then turned into a steel chain and shackle. The eagle screamed in rage and turned into a spear that shot out of the shackle, poised overhead, then plunged straight down. But even as it fell, its form beat and pulsed, then turned into a giant, long-stemmed rose, and the shackle turned into a vase. "Why, even so she is!" Geoffrey cried.

  But the rose was trying to pull itself out of the vase. It quivered and surged, but seemed to be stuck. It sprouted thorns, silver thorns that gleamed wickedly, but still the vase would not let it go.

  "That she is!" Minerva said triumphantly.

  "I have known since first I saw her that she must be touched with care and delicacy, or not at all," Geoffrey breathed, his eyes growing as he watched.

  Then, suddenly, the vase was gone, and Cordelia stood looking down at the rose as it began to tremble. But it caught itself quickly, standing upright alone, then turned into Quicksilver, who stood there, still crouched like a lioness, glaring at Cordelia and breathing hard. "How dare you, damsel, to show me myself as something I do not wish to be!"

  "Lie to me if you wish," Cordelia said evenly, "but never lie to yourself."

  Quicksilver stared, pale
with rage—but before she could move, Geoffrey stepped up and held out a hand. "Come, mistress mine. You have fought and found no gain; the fight is done, and your freedom once again forfeit."

  "I have not been defeated!" Quicksilver cried in outrage.

  "Have you not?" Geoffrey sighed. "Come, then, sister, be done with this ere she is hurt. Use your healer's knowledge and your witch's skill to teach her what she must become, to be all that she can be."

  "Know you no other proofs but those of force?" Cordelia said in exasperation.

  "What matter if I do?" Quicksilver spat. "It is men who decide our fates, men who must be convinced—and the only proofs they know are those of steel and blows!"

  "Not all," Cordelia told her, "nor even most—but I will own that those who do wreak the most harm. Very well, then, I will talk to you in their language." She stared at Quicksilver, who glared back—until, suddenly, her eyes rolled up, and she crumpled.

  Geoffrey caught her, a split second before Minerva and all her band fell upon them with an outraged shout—and slammed full into an unseen wall, then fell back from it in a tangle.

  Cordelia passed a hand over Quicksilver's face, and the warrior woman blinked, squinting her eyes against the light. "Have I slept?"

  "In a manner," Cordelia said.

  Quicksilver looked about her as though trying to gain her bearings. "I remember a witches' fight ... a rose, and a vase..." She turned her head and saw Geoffrey's face only inches from her own. Her eyes went wide, held for a half a minute, then looked away and saw that he held her in his arms.

  With a howl, she leaped free and stood, breast heaving, glaring from Cordelia to Geoffrey and back. "How did you do that to me!"

  "By finding a certain place to push, within your brain," Cordelia told her.

  "I must learn it!"

  "I will not teach it to one who means to use it for war." Cordelia's tone was iron. "It is healer's knowledge, used to render a person senseless when the healing will cause some minutes of great pain. If you wish to learn it, you must wish to become a healer."

  "Why, so I do," Quicksilver said slowly, "as yourself has seen, when together we tended the wounded. But I will not forswear weapons for that."

  "Nor have I," Cordelia assured her. "But I shall try your dedication sorely, before I give you such a tool for death as the knowledge of life."

  "Oh, will you! And what healing were you doing on me, then?"

  "None, I fear," Cordelia sighed, "but I had hoped to. Brother, I must leave her in your hands—I can do no more."

  "You have done quite enough!" Minerva snapped. "Aye, too much." Quicksilver turned slowly to Geoffrey. "And do you have this knowledge she has used here?"

  "Not I," Geoffrey said, "for it is even as she has said—healer's knowledge. I know where to press within the mind and body for acts of war, but not for those of peace."

  Quicksilver frowned, looking very closely into his eyes. "Why have you not practiced that knowledge upon me, then?"

  "Why," Geoffrey said softly, "I would have you come with me willingly and by your own choice, not through threat of torment."

  Quicksilver froze, still staring at him as the color drained from her face.

  Then she turned back to Cordelia. "Have you tried to heal him, then?"

  "Many times," Cordelia sighed, "though to no avail. I fear that must wait for a lass who is far more woman than I, and not his sister, to boot."

  Alain stepped up to curve an arm around her. "If she were more woman than you, she would imperil a whole country!"

  "'Tis good of you to say so, my love." Cordelia caught his armand held it tight. "But I have never yearned to imperil anyone, only to aid and nurture them."

  "This, in spite of all the havoc you have wrought," he said fondly, and kissed her hair.

  Cordelia shrugged impatiently. "I have a temper." Quicksilver stood rigid, watching this fond play with a face of stone. Minerva glanced at her with concern.

  "It is truly a matter of what one does wish to be," Cordelia informed Quicksilver, "though far more, I suspect, of what one truly is."

  "As you are truly my prisoner," Geoffrey said, touching her hand ever so lightly. She quivered; then her head snapped around to glare at him. "Truly my prisoner," he said again, "though I have sought to be as gentle as I can in showing you that. Come, let us do no more harm to one another, nor to your folk—and let us go to the King and Queen, as you have promised."

  "Aye, I gave my word," she grated, "but if there is a duke in Castle Loguire again, ought I not go to him first? My band and I live within his demesne. Surely 'tis his right to speak sentence upon me before the Crown does."

  A murmur of approval went through the outlaws, but Geoffrey frowned, suddenly anxious.

  "Bravely spoken, and well said!" Alain cried heartily. "'Tis even so—you should present your case before your Duke, and go to their Majesties only if you do not accept his justice!"

  Geoffrey darted a quick look at Alain, and whatever he saw there must have reassured him, for he turned back to Quicksilver and said, "To Castle Loguire, then. Come, bid your band disperse once more."

  "What good will that do?" she demanded.

  "For the sake of form, at least," he said, somewhat exasperated. "It is for form's sake that you wish to go to Duke Loguire, is it not? Go bid them disperse!"

  Quicksilver flashed him a quick look of amusement. "Why, as you will have it, Sir Knight." She stepped forward, held up her hands, and began to proclaim.

  Geoffrey drew Alain aside. "You are sure that this is not the height of folly?"

  "Trust our new Duke Diarmid," Alain said complacently.

  "And trust your own heart," Cordelia said severely. "Brother, if you let this one get away, you will not only be a fool, but also a miserable and lonely one all your days, no matter how many women you cozen into your bed!"

  "I do not doubt the truth of your words," Geoffrey told her. "But it seems I must save her before I can woo herand before I can save her, I must bring her to Diarmid."

  "I did not mean to keep her from escaping prison," Cordelia said tartly.

  "I know that well, sister—but for once, I am not sure of victory."

  "Are you not, then?" Alain said, with a merry glance. "I am not," Geoffrey said grimly. "Her body, I know I can capture—but not her heart."

  "Trust to truth for that," Cordelia told him. "Why, so I do," Geoffrey said, "but will she?"

  Quicksilver changed back into her own clothing, returning the finery to the maiden whose place she had taken with apologies for the sword rents. The girl assured her the damage did not matter, then embraced her in a profusion of thanks. Somewhat dazed, Quicksilver rode out of Aunriddy beside Geoffrey.

  "Surely you are used to the thanks of the people whom you have aided," he said.

  "Well, aye, though never before have I had such an explosion of gratitude," Quicksilver explained.

  "Have you ever before plucked a maiden from the dragon's jaws?"

  "Nay." Quicksilver pursed her lips, considering, then shook her head. "I have not. It has always been at least a day before the deed would have been done, and the women have come to me for sanctuary and shelter. There have been some freed from impending doom by my taking a shire-reeve's house or Count Laeg's castle, but it was never so immediate as this."

  Geoffrey smiled. "Sometimes the heart can be over whelming, even from those whose minds are locked within their skulls."

  "Aye." Quicksilver turned to him with a frown. "Which reminds me, sir, to rebuke you for your bullying!"

  "Bullying?" Geoffrey stared. "I have won your surrender in fair fight!"

  "Is it fair," she said hotly, "when you are a warlock as well as a warrior?"

  "Aye, when I fight a witch who bears a sword and knows the use of it!"

  "But you know the use of the powers of your mind," she countered. "You have been trained in their use, as I was trained to the staff and the sword. Nay, I did not see how uneven was the match till I stood aga
inst your sister! Oh, if only I had been taught as she had, I could have bested her easily!"

  Now Geoffrey did feel anger—not for himself, but for Cordelia. "Oh, could you indeed! Do you truly think your mind is so strong as that?"

  "Stronger than yours," she said flatly. "Fight me mind to mind, Sir Knight, and you will find that though your body may be stronger than mine, your thoughts are not!"

  "When we fought with swords, my greater strength was of little moment; it was skill against skill," he told her. "Naetheless, I am not minded to turn away from a challenge. If you truly think you can overwhelm my mind by strength of thought alone, then strike!"

  Instantly, pain exploded in his head. He reeled in the saddle, furious but even now reluctant to truly hurt herespecially where the hurts would do most harm. Instead, he set up a mad tickling at the base of her skull, against the round pink wall of her mental shield, a mouse to gnaw away at it, even as he snapped his own shield closed. Dimly, he heard her cry out, saw her reel in the saddle—no wonder, for the reaction of her thought being so abruptly cut off must have hurt indeed—though it was a hurt he could not have avoided. He remembered the yoga he had been taught, regulated his breathing and calmed his own mind, dimming the pain till he could think, and could pay attention to the world around him again.

  Quicksilver was pulling herself back together, glaring at him in anger. He felt the bolt of fury with which she lashed him, but it was muted, dulled by his own mental shield. He waited, timing his own thrust for the moment hers slackened, for he must open his shield just a little to strike out...

  Her mind's energy ceased abruptly. He realized she was waiting for an opening, and he gave it to her even as he struck...

  The lash of her own mental bolt was quick and hot, sending a flash of pain through his head—but it was gone as quickly as it had come, for she gasped in shock, shuddering. Well she might—for, fearing to hurt her, he had touched the pleasure center in her brain with a trace of neural energy, only a milliamp or less, but enough to make every fiber of her being quiver with delight...

  Only long enough for his own shield to close—and as soon as the thrust of ecstasy was gone, she was on him with white-hot fury, thoughts lashing all about him, thoughts of all manner of villains that she compared him to, surrounding him with a flow of mental energy that battered his mental shields. But every thought carried the impress of her personality, every bolt was so completely feminine, so totally desirable, that he found himself trembling with the desire to drop his shields and die in ecstasy ...