M'Lady Witch

by Christopher Stasheff

  Cordelia gave a harsh little laugh. "'Tis no great news to me, brother. I have seen the looks she gives you when she thinks Alain does not see."

  "And that you do not see, either?"

  "Oh, no! She cares not if I see. Indeed, she would prefer that I did." Cordelia's lips thinned. "No doubt she thinks that I believe you to be my puppy, and will be quite wroth with her for seeking to steal your affections. But I know you well enough to doubt that could happen."

  Geoffrey looked up, offended. "Be not so certain, sister! I, too, may fall in love."

  "You may," Cordelia said acidly, "but not with such a thing as that. Nay, Geoffrey, speak truly: I know you have felt lust for her, but has there been the tiniest shred of love?"

  Geoffrey relaxed in an easy grin. "Oh, nay! I know what she seeks, and may well find—but no more, I assure you." Then he sobered, frowning. "But if she orders men to make a false home for her, what is she truly?"

  "A commander," Cordelia said slowly, "though I think she is not a lady born."

  Geoffrey nodded slowly. "I have that feeling, too," he said. "I cannot say why, for she counterfeits well. No doubt 'tis a host of small signs that I am not aware of consciously—but they are there nonetheless, and I read them without knowing that I do. She is not nobly born."

  "Yet she may be a telepath." Cordelia looked up at him, feeling a sudden pang. "Oh, Geoffrey, my brother, be wary, I pray you! For I do fear for your safety!"

  For a moment, he looked grim. Then he gave a soft laugh, and gave her a brotherly squeeze. "Do not fear for me, big sister. I have learned in a hard school, and have been taught by experts."

  But Cordelia did not return his laughter. The statement had an odd echo; it reminded her of something she had once heard their older brother Magnus say, shortly before he left home. She tried to give Geoffrey a glare, but her heart wasn't in it, and she gave him a reluctant smile instead. His own answered her. She sighed and looked back at the campsite. "Do you watch these two, brother, while I step aside a moment."

  "Surely, sister. And what shall I do if they arise and walk?"

  "Be sure they do not walk toward one another," she answered drily, then turned away to step in among the leaves. In a few seconds, she was surrounded by the rustling susurrus of greenery, and projected her thoughts. Fess! Are you near?

  A shadow moved from under the trees, and the great black horse stepped forward, nodding. I am, Cordelia. What do you wish of me?

  "Oh, Fess, it is so good to see you!" Cordelia rushed forward, throwing her arms around his neck—but carefully; that was hard metal beneath the horsehair, not flesh. He was the companion of her childhood, the dream horse that many young girls imagine. She had been six before she fully understood that he was not really a living creature, like herself—but she had always thought of him as her friend and, in the depths of her being, still believed him to be a living, animate consciousness.

  And, suddenly, she found that she was relaxing, letting the pressure and stress of the last few days evaporate, trembling as she clung to the great horse. Fess sensed it through sensors imbedded in his artificial horsehair. "What troubles you, Cordelia? Perhaps it were best that you tell me."

  She lifted a tear-streaked face. "Alain had come a-courting—except that he did not court, he commanded me to marry him! Dearly though I had dreamed of that moment all my life, I could not bear to have it come in so undreamlike a fashion!"

  "I know of this," Fess said, his tone thoughtful, "and of his quest with Geoffrey, though I confess I do not truly understand it."

  "Ohhhhhhh ... Geoffrey!" Cordelia stamped her foot. "He has taken it upon himself to turn my callow swain into a proper lover, to teach him the right and proper way of courting a maid—and corrupting him betimes, I doubt not!"

  "Only Geoffrey?" Fess was picking up undertones that she hadn't intended.

  "There is also a witch of alluring enchantments," Cordelia said, seething. "She has preyed upon their kindness—and, aye, their randy lust—and prevailed upon them to escort her to her home, each mounted upon a horse. I have only my broomstick. Fess, will you carry me?"

  "Surely," Fess told her. "I would not miss this for the world."

  Cordelia reflected sourly that everybody but herself seemed to find the whole episode monstrously entertaining.

  They breakfasted on quail and pheasant, then saddled their horses (of course, Alain insisted on saddling Delilah's mount). Geoffrey had only a raised eyebrow when the great black horse strode into the clearing. Alain looked up, then looked again sharply. He turned to Cordelia with a look that was an amused accusation.

  But Delilah stared, taken aback.

  She recovered her poise quickly, though. "Truly, so great a stallion would be beyond my feeble horsemanship. I marvel that you can ride him, Lady Cordelia."

  "I do prefer stallions," Cordelia said.

  "To ride, of course," Delilah said, with an insinuation that made Cordelia blush, though she didn't understand why. She covered by reaching up for pommel and cantle, setting her foot in the stirrup, and swinging up to hook a knee around the horn of the sidesaddle.

  "How athletic," Delilah purred. "Surely I could never do such wonders. I have no skill in this. Alain, would you help me to mount?"

  "Gladly, Lady Delilah." Alain gave her a small, courtly bow, then set both hands about her waist and lifted her up to the saddle. Delilah squeaked, and if Alain's hands lingered a little longer than was strictly necessary, who was there to blame him?

  Only Cordelia.

  So it came about that they rode toward Delilah's home—a witch, a warlock, a Prince, and another whom Cordelia thought to be more truly a witch than herself.

  CHAPTER 10

  Smoke exploded in the roadway in front of the four. The real horses shied with whinnies of alarm, and the riders fought to hold them down. Alain grasped the bridle of Delilah's palfrey before his own mount was fully under control, and managed to calm both.

  Fess, of course, stood solid as iron, observing the situation with interest.

  The smoke blew away to reveal a woman, quite young but unbelievably ugly, leaning on a staff. She had a huge, curving nose, lantern jaw, small eyes like a swine's, and a sickly pale complexion. Worse, her face had five large warts, and her hair was dun-colored, sparse, and stringy. She was clothed in a murky gray robe, her hood thrown back, with six hulking men in livery of the same color behind her. Each wore a small shield on his arm and brandished a sword.

  Cordelia stared, as amazed as she was revolted. Surely such ugliness could not be real—especially in one so young! "Avaunt, damsel!" the ugly woman cried. "You escaped my clutches yesterday, but you shall not escape them now!"

  "Sister!" Delilah gasped, alarmed. Then joy lit her face, and she cried, "Lord Roland would not have you, then!"

  "He would not, even for all our father's lands and fortune." The witch's eyes narrowed. "Mayhap my dowry would move him, though, if he knew you were dead, no longer to beguile him. I shall see that you are!"

  "Nay, sister, I beg you!" Delilah cried, shying away. The hag went on inexorably. "Then, when all the lands have come to me, and Roland, too, I shall bring down the King and Queen with my magic, and rule as sovereign over a dukedom in my own right, with no hindrance from the Crown!"

  Cordelia could only stare, unable to escape the feeling that she was watching a stage play.

  The hag raised a knife, poised for throwing, and Delilah screamed.

  "You shall not!" Alain shouldered his horse between Delilah's palfrey and the hag. His eyes blazed with anger, and he surely had cause, for it was his own mother and father whom the hag had threatened, as well as Delilah. "Bid your men lay down their swords, or they shall die by mine!"

  The witch threw back her head with a high, wild cackle. "One man, against six?"

  "Nay." Geoffrey smiled, drawing his sword and urging his horse up alongside Alain's. "It will be two against six. The odds are, I will admit, unequal. If you could find four more men, we might call t
hem even."

  Cordelia noticed that he didn't mention his sister. Good—it was always wise to keep a secret weapon in reserve.

  Of course, knowing Geoffrey, he probably didn't think he needed one—and what was really galling was that he was probably right.

  "Out upon them, men of mine!" the hag shrilled. "'Tis for me to slay my sister!"

  The thugs answered with a shout and charged forward. They were all big men, six feet or more, broadshouldered and muscular—but Geoffrey gave a shout of glee and rode into them. They stepped aside adroitly and slashed at him as he went by, but he caught the blows of the two on his right on his sword and lashed out with a kick that knocked the left-hand man's hilt from his grasp. He howled and fell back, clutching his hand.

  The right-hand men turned as Geoffrey swerved around them, then leaped to pull him from the saddle. Geoffrey slammed a punch into one's jaw, using his hilt as brass knuckles. The man shouted with pain as he fell back; then his eyes rolled up, and he lay still. His mate was doubled over from a kick in the belly, making strangling noises.

  Meanwhile, Alain had spurred to meet the other three, who charged him, shouting, swords waving over their heads. He swung his horse dancing aside a split second before they reached him; they went barrelling past, trying to slow, to stop themselves, thrown off balance for a minute.

  That was long enough. Alain slashed downward, knocking one man's blade out of his hand. The man shouted with pain and leaped backwards, swinging his shield up to protect his head. Alain turned to his next assailant.

  But while the boys were occupied with the henchmen, the hag rushed at her sister, waving her staff and shrieking something unintelligible, pointing at something overhead, something invisible, but whatever it was, Delilah reeled in her saddle, crying out in pain and terror.

  Alain looked up in alarm, shouted, and charged the hag. She whirled on him with a scream and threw something invisible—but her aim was off; she hit the shield of one of her own men, and an explosion erupted right underneath the nose of Alain's steed. The horse reared, whinnying, terrified; Alain shouted and fought to control the beast.

  Fireballs? Cordelia thought dizzily. It was not how a true witch would throw a fireball—it would come streaming from her fingers.

  Yes, Fess's thought answered hers, and a true witch does not use lycopodite; I catch the telltale aroma of modern explosive. He was, of course, equipped with sensors of every type, including the olfactory—in his case, a chemical analyzer.

  And, suddenly, Cordelia realized the name of the game.

  The hag was a fake; her magic was that of technologywhich meant that she was a Futurian agent. She was there to create a situation from which Alain could rescue Delilah, which would bring all his protective feelings to the fore. Then she would hail him as her savior. A very romantic situation indeed—and one which just might result in his falling in love with her. It would certainly give her the motive she needed for showing her gratitude, in ways which would send his head spinning.

  Well, Cordelia could certainly take care of that. A fake witch was no match for the real thing.

  Cordelia glared at a rock by the side of the path, and it shot up off the ground to clip the "witch" on the shoulder. She cried out in fright, spinning away, then turned in fury. "I do not know how you did that, sister, but you shall die for it! Avaunt!" She charged at Delilah again, but this time with the staff poised as a lance, to knock her from the saddle.

  "You shall not," Cordelia cried, and Fess stepped in to come between Delilah and her "sibling."

  But Delilah cried, "Oh, spare me, sister!" and threw her arms wide. Her left fist backhanded Cordelia in the stomach with all the power of a trained fighter. Cordelia doubled over, gagging, realizing that it had been no accident ...

  But Fess was still dancing to head off the witch, who leaped aside with a shout of victory—and her staff cracked into Cordelia's head. Dimly, she heard Alain shouting her name as she reeled in the saddle, the world swimming about her. The day seemed to darken, and she knew she was going to lose consciousness ...

  Be of good heart, my lady. A new and strange voice echoed inside her head. Hold to wakefulness; she shall not prevail.

  Then there was a renewed clamor of swords ringing. Cordelia lifted her head as her vision cleared ...

  And saw Forrest, the bandit chieftain, standing between herself and the hag, parrying her blows with his quarterstaff, knocking her rod from her hand. She screamed, falling back, crying, "Aid me, men of mine! A rescue, a rescue!"

  Two of the men stumbled toward her, but they were bare-handed, swords gone, only their shields left. The other four lay unconscious on the ground.

  Alain rode down on them, eyes narrowed, not disposed toward clemency.

  The hag screamed and stumbled away toward the trees, her men backing quickly behind her—but Forrest followed in hard and fast, battering on the shield of the right-hand man, while Alain followed closely at the left, slashing with his sword.

  Dizzily, Cordelia wondered where her brother was—and her vision cleared just in time to see the look of outrage on Delilah's face.

  Forrest, Cordelia guessed, had not been part of her plan. The hag turned and fled with a scream of despair. Her men stumbled after her.

  Alain gave a shout of triumph, swinging his sword high, kicking his horse into a gallop.

  Delilah let out a scream of terror and slumped in her saddle.

  Geoffrey was at her side in a second, and Alain whirled about, wide-eyed in alarm, then turned his horse and galloped back to her side.

  The witch and her henchmen disappeared in among the trees.

  Alain and Geoffrey were each chafing one of Delilah's hands.

  The fallen men began to crawl toward the trees at the side of the road.

  "There, now, lady, 'tis done!". "There, they shall not harm you!"

  "Come, you must revive!"

  "Geoffrey, have you a dram of brandy in your saddlebag?"

  "Aye, here, and more!"

  Cordelia stared at the two of them in outrage, feeling very much ignored and forgotten, reflecting bitterly that there were grave disadvantages in being able to take care of yourself. She was quite sure that Delilah could, tooand she was certainly proving it now!

  "My lady, are you well?"

  She looked down in surprise.

  It was Forrest who had remembered her after all, and had stepped up beside her saddle. Cordelia looked down at him, instantly grateful ...

  And saw his eyes glowing up at her, glowing with a gleam that only desire can bring; desire, and perhaps something more ...

  Cordelia's smile of gratitude faltered; she felt as though his eyes were growing larger, larger, and for a moment, his face seemed to be all she saw. She felt a strange tingling beginning deep inside her, radiating outward to envelop her back, legs, and scalp like an aura. "Yes," she gasped, but her voice cracked, and she had to wait a moment to regain control of herself. Then she forced a smile which quickly turned real. "Yes, I am well, thanks to you, brave Forrest. But how came you here?"

  Before he could answer, Alain remembered his courtesies and turned to the bandit. "I thank you for assistance, sir."

  "Aye, most great thanks for your assistance," Delilah purred, far too sweetly. Her eyes glinted.

  Forrest turned to her, his lips parting, no doubt for a retort. Then he saw her face, and froze.

  So did Delilah, for a moment, her eyes widening. Alain, Cordelia, and Geoffrey all sat staring; even they could feel the sudden tension in the air, for the long, long minutes that the two stared at one another.

  Then Delilah turned away with a look of scorn. "Why, he is nothing but a woods-runner, an outlaw!"

  "But a woods-runner on your side, Lady! Or, more aptly ... " Forrest turned quickly back to Cordelia. ". . . on your side."

  "Outlaw?" Alain frowned. "Hold! I know you, do I not?" Then, before Forrest could answer: "Indeed I do! You are the bandit chieftain whom I defeated and sent to my lady!" He turned
to Cordelia. "Lady Cordelia, how is it you have let this man go free?"

  "I did not." She frowned, puzzled, but kept her eyes on Forrest. "I sent him, with his whole band, to Sir Maris. How is it the seneschal has dispatched you, Forrest?"

  "Forrest?" Alain stared. "You know his name?"

  "Indeed," she said indignantly—perhaps the more indignantly because Alain had been fighting for another woman. "I required his name and rank of him."

  "Sir Maris bade me go, and trouble good folk no more," Forrest explained. "He said nothing of bad folk."

  Alain smiled, amused. "So you have seen your way clear to the troubling of such as these?" He nodded after the witch and her cronies.

  "Aye, though I follow good folk." Forrest gazed up at Cordelia, his smile so warm that she felt it with an almost physical pressure.

  Alain's eyes sparked with jealousy. He moved his horse closer to Cordelia's. "Surely milady is indeed `good folk'the best of the best, and the fairest of the fair—far too good for so incorrigible a rascal as yourself to attend upon her!"

  "If I am incorrigible, do not incorrige me." Forrest was still gazing up into Cordelia's eyes. "Will you bid me go?"

  "No-o-o-o," Cordelia said, as though the words were being dragged out of her. Then, quickly: "This pathway through the forest seems to be hazardous; there is no saying what dangers lurk upon it."

  "Well, I can say." Forrest grinned. "I have been through this wood before—and through it, and through it! You speak truly, my lady—there are dangers by the score: monsters, wild beasts of all sorts; wolves and bears are the least of diem. There are ogres, wild men, all manner of dangers! Nay, even with two such doughty knights to guard you, you cannot have too many defenders."

  "Nor I," said Delilah, with an air of hauteur.

  "Nor yourself either, milady." The gaze Forrest had given Cordelia had been warm, but the look he gave Delilah was a sunburst. "Any fair ladies who travel this wood do need protecting—and the fairer they are, the more they need warding."

  "By that token," Geoffrey said, with an edge to his tone, "the Lady Delilah would need an army."