Quicksilver's Knight

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Aye—but not what went before! I had only heard that you were a forest outlaw who had welded the bandits of the greenwood together into an army, and marched against a knight, then his lord!" Moraga gave her a smile that was blinding in its admiration. "Oh, you have wrought wonders, lady!"

  Quicksilver returned the smile, but was shaken by how much it had transfigured the plain, dumpy woman—plain no longer, but suddenly almost beautiful, and her clothes seemed actually to have shrunk upon her, revealing a figure that was lush indeed.

  "We should be allies," Moraga said, "and should begin by overthrowing these arrogant boys who seem to have come to put us in what they deem to be our proper places!"

  Surely it could only be the deep emotions the story stirred that made her face more lovely! Quicksilver knew it was not just her imagination, though, because she could see how Geoffrey was gazing at Moraga in fascination—though, of course, his younger brother was not. Quicksilver was surprised to find that she had to throttle a measure of jealousy, and told herself sternly that Geoffrey was not worth it, that his own behavior proved that!

  But she was alarmed to find that she did not believe herself.

  Gregory was speaking now. "Your place is with the Queen's Witches, Damsel Moraga, and ever should have been."

  "Aye, even so!" Geoffrey agreed—fervently, Quicksilver thought, and why not? That way, he would always have the woman close to hand! And, she reflected sourly, she definitely did mean "hand."

  But Geoffrey was still talking. "You are tremendously gifted, if what we have seen is any measure—not only in magic, but also in administration. Why should you carve out a petty kingdom here in the hinterland, when you could be instrumental in ruling a large one? You would find Runnymede very much to your taste, I think, for the Queen pays her witches well, and there are many shops in which to spend your money—seamstresses and modistes, milliners and artisans, and troupes of players performing in the innyards! You would be among your peers, among folk like yourself, not tolerated with condescension that depended upon hiding your gifts, but regarded with honor as one of Queen Catharine's Witches!"

  He sounded, Quicksilver thought, like a procurer, trying to persuade a giddy, restless country girl to go to the city, where he could have his wicked way with her and enslave her to his purposes.

  "The thought is tempting," Moraga said slowly, "but I tell you frankly that I do not trust either you two young dandies, nor the Crown. What assurance have I that I will not be clapped into prison?"

  "Chiefly," said Gregory, "that the prison has never been invented that can hold a witch of your power for long."

  "How, then," asked Moraga, "do you deal with evil witches who will not amend their ways?"

  "With death," Gregory told her, his gaze level, and Quicksilver shuddered.

  "'Tis true," Gregory admitted, "though we have found very few who would not yield to clemency, and the Queen's promise."

  "You would have to stand trial," Gregory informed her, "but you have slain no one yet, and your conquests can be overlooked, if you undo them. By your own testimony, none of those who have served you will suffer, for you have been careful to take all the blame to yourself."

  "Indeed," said Moraga, with a thin though wary smile. "But I think that I have shown you that I am not a witch to be trifled with."

  "That is true," Gregory allowed, "but you prevailed so long because we wished to arrest you, not slay you."

  "Oh, did I really! And if you despaired of capturing me, how would you kill me?"

  "Oh, probably like that." Gregory pointed to a tree, and it exploded. Splinters rained to the ground.

  Quicksilver stared at the growing heap of tinder, shaken to her core, then glanced at Geoffrey, and was glad to see that he seemed shaken, too. "Brother," he said, "Father told you not to toy about with nuclear fission like that."

  "I have learned to control it most excellently, I assure you," Gregory said with a shrug. "I split only a few atoms in the center of the trunk."

  "What are they talking about?" Moraga demanded of Quicksilver.

  "I know not," Quicksilver said nervously, "but if they offer you clemency, I would advise that you accept it." She glanced at Gregory and felt a chill deep within her.

  "I think that I shall," Moraga said slowly, but it was at Geoffrey she was looking now, and Quicksilver did not like the gleam in her eye.

  "Excellent!" Geoffrey slapped his knees and stood up. "Come, then! Let us go, ere your Count recovers and comes back with twice the number of men! None are dead in this coil yet, and it were best to keep it so!"

  Moraga stood up, looking apprehensive. "Do we go to Runnymede, then?"

  "Aye," Geoffrey said, "but first we must go to your own Duke."

  "My Duke!" Moraga cried. "There is no Duke Loguire, not truly! If there were, and he had been a good man, I would have had redress at his court!"

  "He is grown now, and has this week taken up his place," Geoffrey told her.

  "I know him—he is a good man," Gregory assured her. At least, Quicksilver knew he meant it as assurance—but for her, coming from Gregory, it had just the opposite effect.

  Not so for Moraga, though. "Well, I will trust to your word, then," she said slowly, "and come to judgement before this 'good man' of yours. But woe unto you, if you betray me!"

  And, no matter how she felt toward the woman, Quicksilver found herself saying, "Amen to that. Betray her, and you shall have two of us to contend with."

  Geoffrey looked up at her—not in anger, she saw, but in hurt. "Do you trust me so little as that?"

  The implied vulnerability shook her, and Quicksilver chose her words carefully. "I trust you, Sir Knight, or I would not be here, no matter how many times I had given you my word. Yet this new Duke I know not at all, and therefore cannot trust at all."

  "Why, that stands to reason." Gregory nodded, approving, and Quicksilver felt as though she must have done something wrong, if he thought it was right.

  But she was far more concerned with his brother's attitude. Were they to be companions in arms, then, even if they were not to be lovers? Somehow, she doubted thatand knew that she could tolerate it not at all.

  Geoffrey turned to Gregory. "Brother, since there are two powerful witches to escort now, will you stay with us? I may need to sleep again."

  "Ay de mi!" Gregory sighed. " I did so wish to go back to my studies—but the bonds of blood are greater than the lures of books. Yes, I will come."

  So they set off for Castle Loguire, two witches, a warlock, and a wizard. Moraga turned into a veritable bubbling fountain, keeping up a constant stream of chatter, then drawing both young men into telling her about themselves and their upbringing, their adventures and their triumphs. She managed the almost impossible feat of monopolizing them both, and Quicksilver fell behind, seething with a growing resentment and wondering if the woman really could be turning into a stunning beauty even as she watched.

  Beauty or not, it seemed she could not make up her mind as to which Gallowglass she preferred. Quicksilver hoped fervently that she would settle on Gregory; it would do him a world of good—and Quicksilver, too.

  By the time they came to Castle Loguire, she had finally admitted to herself, openly and in so many words, that she had fallen head over heels in love with Geoffrey, and had believed that he had fallen in love with her, too; that was why she had found it so much fun to torment him with her presence. As a consequence, she was now thoroughly wretched. She felt sure that his interest had been mere lust after all, and rode with a sick, leaden feeling through a darkened day; even the caresses of the sunlight could not warm her bare shoulders. Almost, she rode quietly off the road; almost, she went back to the waiting, protective arms of her brothers, her bodyguard, and her band, who she was sure were riding through the trees to either side of them, out of sight and out of hearing, but never out of mind. Almost. Not quite. The game was not completely played out yet.

  So she rode, with full knowledge, over the drawbridge a
nd under the great portcullis in the cliff face that was decorated with a hundred arrow-slits, the mountain that the first Lord Loguire had honeycombed for his home.

  She felt as though she rode to her death.

  CHAPTER 15

  There was no real courtyard in so subterranean a place, of course—but Quicksilver was amazed to discover that they came out of the entrance tunnel into a wide open area, large enough to assemble a whole army (as it no doubt had, many times). It was filled with light from the lower two rows of arrow-slits, even though archers stood near every tenth one.

  Quicksilver dismounted and let a groom take her horse as she looked about, awed by the cathedral-like grandeur of the place. It was the largest building she had ever seen, and in spite of the bustle and clamor of a working castle, gave an air of great serenity. So this was the ancestral home of the current King of Gramarye! It explained the good repute of his reign.

  She shook herself. No, that was ridiculous! It was Queen Catharine who had inherited the throne, not her husband. If there was any truth to the tales of their good government, surely it was her doing, not his!

  "My lady."

  Quicksilver spun about, words of denial on her tongue—but they froze there, for Geoffrey took her hand and bent over it, then looked up into her eyes with admiration (yes, but admiration was not love—was it?). "I must leave you now, for a short while," he said. "I have sent word to the new Duke, and he will receive us in two hours' time—in full court. You may wish to take the chance to wash off the dust of the road, perhaps to rest a little—and if you wish fresh garb, it shall be provided."

  Full court! Quicksilver most definitely did want fresh garb, and something a bit more elegant than her daily battle-dress.

  But had Geoffrey been hinting that she was too crude for the eyes of a royal prince?

  Quicksilver remembered his sudden fascination with Moraga, who was behind him, gaily chatting up his little brother. Quicksilver drew her chill chieftain's mask over her features. "I thank you, Sir Knight." Then anxiety broke through, lending her words a sharper edge than she intended. "And what of you? Will you desert me, now that you have delivered me up to justice?"

  "I shall be at the court," Geoffrey promised. "Aye, to see me condemned!"

  "I can give no assurance how the Duke will decide," Geoffrey admitted. "However, I may hazard a guess that Queen Catharine's son will favor a bandit who has shown concern for the common folk, and has magic to boot."

  "Not magic enough to captivate you!"

  "Oh, that you have," Geoffrey said softly, "but chivalry is stronger than love, for love is self-indulgence. Never fear—you shall be treated as befits a royal guest."

  "Aye, though I am still a prisoner!" And she stalked away, feeling very thoroughly betrayed.

  A serving-maid led her to a chamber with two of the arrow-slits that had looked so small from outside, but here were five feet high and eighteen inches wide, flooding the room with sunlight. A copper tub filled with steaming water stood in a corner on bare flagstones; the rest of the floor was covered by two carpets. Quicksilver stared at them in wonder—she had only seen a carpet in Sir Hempen's manor house, and in the Count's bedchamber; she had never thought to dwell in a room that had even one. A tapestry adorned the wall, with a splendid picture of a gorgeous bird rising up out of flames, and a great four-poster bed.

  That sight chilled Quicksilver. Who was planning to share that bed with her?

  No one, for if any tried, he would die, or she would! "Thank you!" she said to the maid. "Leave me, now!"

  "Why, as you wish, my lady... "

  "I am no lady, but only the daughter of a squire!" The girl recoiled, and Quicksilver instantly regretted her temper—but the maid said stoutly, "The Duke has bade me address you as 'my lady,' so I shall! There is a gown laid out for you on the bed, my lady, and others in the wardrobe, if that one does not strike your fancy." Quicksilver darted a quick look at the bed, then looked again. Her eyes widened. "Oh, that will do, and most wondrously! I thank you, lass!"

  "'Tis but my duty," the girl said, somewhat reassured. "Shall I return in the half of an hour to dress your hair, my lady?"

  Quicksilver turned to glance at the sheet of polished steel that hung on the wall. (A mirror! An actual mirror!) She fluffed her hair thoughtfully, arranging it around her shoulders, and delivered her verdict. "No. I shall wear it as I always have, and he who has not the sense to see its beauty, so much the worse for him!"

  "Why, as you say, my lady," the maid said, round-eyed. "But I shall come back in an hour with some food to break your fast, then to lead you to the Great Hall."

  "I shall be glad of it," Quicksilver said unwillingly, and knew she would be very glad indeed of some company, any company, when that time came. "Now leave me."

  "As you wish." The maid curtsied and went out the door.

  Quicksilver sprang to bolt it, then turned slowly back to dabble her fingers in the heated water, marvelling. Delicious perfume filled her nostrils—the bath was scented! Never had she bathed in heated water before—and with perfume! With sudden decision, she banished apprehension and slipped out of her clothes. Let condemnation and execution be hanged—she would revel in life while she had it! She stepped into the water, shivering with delight, then lowered herself slowly in, closing her eyes to treasure the caress of the warm, oiled foam all about her, leaned her head back against the copper, and breathed in the heavenly scent.

  Bathed, her hair clean and dried, she sighed with regret and took up the weary burden of clothing again. Her gaze fell on the beautiful dress laid out on the bed, and she smiled with sardonic amusement, reflecting that she might as well take the chance to wear so beautiful a gown, for she might never have the opportunity again.

  If she lived long enough for the question to arise ... "What did you expect?" she asked herself angrily, "He is a lord's son, after all, and you merely the daughter of a dead squire!" But the obvious sense of it didn't make her bitterness any less, and the thought of his betrayal was still an icicle. through her heart. She had seen mere lust so often! How could she have mistaken it for love? How could she have been willing to risk her life on the hope that he might love her, might save her from both outlawry and the noose, might want to marry her?

  There, the word was said, she had taken it out and looked at it—and didn't it look ridiculous! For a moment, anger flamed up in her, anger at the cruel God who could withold the right man from her, then show him to her only to yank him away, leaving her with a rope about her neck. He, only he, had been a man she could truly admire, could truly feel a soul's bond with, could...

  Love...

  And he might as well never have been born, for all the good he did her!

  There is another, somewhere, something within her said, one who will love you, who will be of your own station, who will marry you. But she squashed the thought instantly and with every ounce of the huge weight of misery, anger, and bitterness that was in her, for when she tried to look at the whole affair with a clear head and the veil of romance ripped from her eyes, she doubted heavily that there could ever be another man like Geoffrey Gallowglass.

  She turned back to the garments with resolute defiance. While she lived, she would. live to the fullest, and let him beware who sought to hinder her! She thrust the thought of Geoffrey's treachery from her with a grim determination to enjoy every second that was left to her, and pulled on the shift, revelling in the touch of silk, then took up the gown. The velvet stroked her arms. and legs as she pulled it on, and she found herself delighting in the gorgeous dress as much as she had in the bath. She turned to look into the mirror and froze, staring in astonishment. A lady looked back at her, a lady born and bred, tall and elegant, with a cloud of glorious auburn hair restrained by a simple brazen band, in a gown of green and gold that enhanced her figure amazingly. She smiled, caressing the fabric and feeling much more confident. Let Moraga grow as beautiful as she might—Quicksilver knew that she herself was more than a match for h
er rival!

  But she knew that it was not Geoffrey alone for whom she must be a match. She turned to the wardrobe and searched. Luck was with her; she found a pair of hose left from some previous male tenant—a child, at a guess, for they fit her snugly enough. Then she tested the seam about the waist of her dress, making sure that the skirt would rip away easily. If the Duke's decision was to hang her (as it probably would be), she intended to die fighting instead. Her sword had been taken from her, true, but she was quite sure she would be able to snatch a weapon from a guard.

  A sudden, faint tug at her mind alerted her; Geoffrey was near. She told herself that she did not care, then cursed herself for a liar. Oh, if only she truly did not care! Then she would...

  She stiffened, sensing another mind's touch, one with the caress of allure, calling, inviting—to Geoffrey! Moraga! The hussy was trying to steal her man! Never mind that she already had, well enough to wake Quicksilver from her folly—she was bound and determined that the shrew would not have him! All her hurt boiled up into anger, and she burst out of her room.

  The guards at either side of the doorway looked up, startled, then gave a shout and leaped to stop her. She whirled about, lashing a vicious kick into the shin of the first man, then snatching his pike from his hand as he opened his mouth to shout. She swung the butt up at his partner's face as the man came running. He jerked to a halt and swung his halberd up to block—and she swivelled her weapon down to jab him in the stomach. As he doubled over, she spun back just a little too late, for the first guard had limped close enough to catch her arm, blood in his eye, and his fingers dug deep, sending a shoot of pain up her arm. She clenched her teeth, stamped on his foot, and, as his mouth opened in agony, clipped him in the chin with the butt of the pike. As he fell away, she pivoted back to his partner, but the man was rolling on the ground, struggling for breath. Quicksilver curled her lip and stalked away, reflecting that no matter what they had been told, the fools had never expected a woman to fight back. It had made them easy meat—but they were not to her taste...