Quicksilver's Knight

CHAPTER 14

"Oh, this is insane!" Quicksilver cried. "Stop it, stop it now, all of you! Surely witchfolk should make common cause, not fight one another!"

Moraga hesitated, her glare lessening. "There is some truth in what you say—but they are men..."

"Aye, men, not brutes of the sort that despoiled you! Nay, I will warrant that they are gentlemen in the truest sense of the word! This one has had me in his power these three days, and has never offered me harm save to defend himself, nor ever sought to touch me except when I tempted him most unmercifully! They will not hurt you, so long as you do not seek to hurt them! A truce, I beg you, for I do not wish to see you suffer more, nor them either!"

"If you are sure." Moraga stepped a little closer to her, but definitely seemed to relax a little.

For her part, Quicksilver was amazed at herself for playing peacemaker. She had never done it before—in fact, she had always been more than ready for war, awaiting her enemy's attack with relish.

"Are you a witch, too?" Moraga asked. "I am," Quicksilver admitted.

"You scarce have need of it, if you can fight as well as a man!"

Quicksilver smiled gently. "God does not ask if we need these strange powers of mind, damsel, nor if we want them—He gives them to us at birth, to cope with as we may. For myself, I would rather use force of arms."

"Is it for that reason you have become an outlaw?" Quicksilver smiled. "Nay—all I wished to be was a wife and mother, even as my mother was." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Geoffrey look up, suddenly intent, and smiled with glee inside—but went right on talking to Moraga. "I turned outlaw because a lord sought to force me, and I would not submit to him."

"Why, even as was done to me! Though I was beguiled, not..." Moraga glanced up at the boys, then quickly away.

"Was there none to teach you the use of your powers?" Quicksilver asked gently.

"Nay—and I thought I was some sort of monster, foredoomed and foredamned, so I kept my powers secret all my days."

Quicksilver nodded. "It was thus for me, too. And I was paid for my discretion with my neighbors' friendship."

"Well, with their companionship, at least," Moraga said bitterly, "though 'twas companionship heavily seasoned with condescension, for I am no beauty."

Quicksilver's smile was brittle. "Had they accorded you the place of future spinster, then?"

"Aye, for no lad showed any interest in me. I lived with my parents till they died, then eked out a meager living by spinning."

"A spinster indeed," Quicksilver murmured. "Aye—though I had learned something of herb-lore, and moreover, had made use of my powers to aid healing, and my neighbors became friendly indeed when I began to cure their ills. Then I caught the eye of Sir Gripardin, the knight on whose land our village stood." Her face hardened. "I knew it not, but he had learned that I was a witch—a poacher had espied my practice at moving things by thought, when I had thought myself hidden in the forest, and had sold me out when he was caught and brought before Sir Gripardin. That, and my healing, gave him all he needed to know. He feigned love for me, though he never quite spoke the word, or truly said the word 'marriage,' either. At first, I thought only that he meant to practice the droit de seigneur on one who had no lover, husband, or parent to protect her, and prepared to sell my virtue dearly—but I was quite undone by sweet words of flattery and made no demur when he invited me to his bed. He used me with gentleness and tenderness, and I was so overcome with love that I never thought to question when he asked me to brew up potions by the hundredweight. I knew he sold them for gold, and was thrilled to think that, together, we might become rich—but 'twas he who gained riches, then spurned me from his bed, for he had no further use for me, nor need to cozen an ugly wench. Nay, he sent me packing home, penniless and covered with shame, to endure the jibes and taunts of they whom I had thought to be my friends."

Her voice caught on a sob, and Quicksilver embraced her impulsively. "Why, what a rogue was he! No matter what you did to him, he deserved far worse! And your neighbors deserved small credit, either!"

Moraga nodded, swallowing tears. "I was now shunned by those I had thought to be my friends, because I stood revealed as a witch, and a fallen woman."

Gregory nodded gravely. "Those who had looked upon you with comfortable condescension now feared you."

"And Count Nadyr gave you no justice?" Geoffrey demanded.

"Justice for a witch?" Moraga said, with a bitter smile. "Surely you jest! Oh, I appealed to him for redress, but he supported his knight and turned me away. In anger, I turned to revenge. I began by tormenting Sir Gripardin with supposed haunting, and by stealing his gold from his strong room when he was gone from his manor house—for I had learned well how to make things move by thought alone, I assure you."

"I have had experience of that," Geoffrey acknowledged. "You have."

"You impoverished him, then," Geoffrey inferred.

"No more than he deserved," Quicksilver said, thinlipped.

"Did he not seek to move against you?" Geoffrey demanded.

Moraga smiled with vindictive satisfaction. "He tried to have the shire-reeve arrest me, but I defeated both himself and his constables. His men rejoiced, for they had hated his service, and swore themselves to mine."

"'Twas then you began to think of ruling the parish," Gregory said.

"Indeed I did! Now it was I who sent the false knight packing, and the shire-reeve too, with his own men. I confess I lorded it over those who had treated me first with condescension, then with rebuke—and, oh, my vengeance tasted sweet!"

"I trust you did not abuse them truly," Quicksilver said, frowning.

"No. Oh, I repaid their insults and jibes with my own, but I lightened their taxes, and was still quick to heal the sick, of course."

"Of course," Gregory said, in tones of wonder. Geoffrey glanced at him in concern, but Little Brother's face was all bland calmness.

"Did you sell charms to those who sought them?" Quicksilver asked, remembering the wise woman of her own village.

"Nay, I gave them—but first I gave counsel to those who came for charms. Mocking or not, healing or not, I made it very clear to everyone that it was now I who ruled them."

"Count Nadyr could not long abide such a challenge to his authority," Geoffrey said, frowning.

"He did not," Moraga confirmed. "He sent three knights with a dozen men against me—and at their forefront rode Sir Gripardin. I overthrew them all, making the ground turn to mire beneath them, then into a pit, and as they fell, plucked each man's helmet from his head and struck him senseless with a flying rock." She smiled with a vindictive satisfaction that made Geoffrey's blood run cold. "But he who had used and misused me, I burst the buckles on his armor, shelled him quite, and summoned quarterstaves to beat him until he dropped, senseless. Then I pulled each of them from the pit, closed it up again, and watched them ride home, chastened."

Geoffrey nodded gravely, thinking meanwhile that this woman was a very strong telekinetic indeed, if she had really done all she had described.

Really, Fess's voice reminded him in family thought mode, and Geoffrey felt a little better. Yes, she could have been making it all up—smart tactics, in her current position. Come to that, he really hadn't seen any of the army she claimed to have recruited. He wondered if any of the people she governed had seen it.

"Did you then lay claim to the county?" Quicksilver asked.

"Nay, only to the parishes that adjoined mine."

"Only half the county, then," Geoffrey interpreted. Moraga tilted her chin up and shrugged. "They had declared me outlaw, and I had risen above it to the status of a rebel. I saw that if I were going to do it at all, I might as well do it openly."

"And you set up rule?" Geoffrey asked.

"I did. I appointed a woman to be mayor over each village, and made it clear to all that she had no choice in the matter—she was to administer the village as I told her, or suffer the consequences of my wrath. All had husbands and children; none of the village folk questioned why they did as I bade them."

"Well, yes—but do none wonder why your mayors do not seem to go in fear and trembling?" Quicksilver asked. Moraga turned to her with a slow smile. "Perhaps they do. Who will question it?"

"'Tis well done," Gregory said judiciously. "You protect your lieutenants from blame or charge if you fail, yet ensure their loyalty if you succeed."

Moraga turned to him with a short, grim nod. "That is even as I intend. You see well, lad—and clearly." Geoffrey frowned at the term "lad," but it didn't seem to bother Gregory at all.

For her part, Quicksilver wasn't sure whether what she was seeing was real—but as Moraga told them her tale, her defenses lowered, and she came alive with enthusiasm. The more vibrant she became, the more attractive she seemed to become. Surely it was all in Quicksilver's mind, and only the wariness of a potential rival, though poor plain Moraga certainly could be no competition at all.

But she did seem to be becoming prettier, and the suggestion of a figure actually seemed to be emerging from her voluminous garments as the wind blew them against her skin, showing curves that might well be more voluptuous than obese.

Quicksilver gave herself a shake. It had to be her imagination.

"Since then, you have conquered other villages?" Geoffrey asked.

"And set my mayoresses in them. Aye."

"This, in the space of only a few days?" Gregory asked. Moraga shrugged impatiently, "I must strike quickly, or the knights will strike me down."

"Does not the Church condemn you?" Gregory asked. "After all, they have some claim to these parishes, too."

"The pastors have not had time to send to the abbey to ask the Abbot what they are supposed to think," Moraga answered, "and I do not think they will, for I have made it very clear that I will not bother the clergy if they do not bother me. My quarrel is not with them, after all."

"Amazing, that we should discover two female rebels so much alike in so short a time." Gregory's tone was mild, but the glance he gave Geoffrey was significant, and both heard Fess's voice. So amazing that the possibility of random coincidence is negligible.

"I must admit that I have heard of you, lady," Moraga said to Quicksilver, "and I own I have sought to do as you have done."

That would account for it, Fess admitted.

Geoffrey looked up with alarm, and Quicksilver felt her heart sink—she knew that he was suddenly seeing her as setting a dangerous precedent, and that if she were not punished, disaffected women might rise in rebellion throughout the land. She feared she had lost his support suddenly, and the shadow of the noose seemed to fall about her neck. She stiffened, squaring her shoulders, bound and determined that he would not see a trace of fear or grief in her. If his love had no more foundation than that, or could be swayed so easily as by the animation of this very plain country wench, why, he had never been worth having in the first place!

But within her, something mourned.

"So Count Nadyr proclaimed you outlaw, in all the towns?"

"Aye," she said bitterly, "an outlaw, with my life forfeit to any who wished to take it. He set a price on my head, then marched against me with his knights and soldiers. You have seen the result for yourselves—though I will own I had not expected so easy a victory, and am somewhat suspicious of it. Still, I am glad my men did not have to strike, so that they are still clear in the eyes of the law."

"You care most amazingly for your people," Gregory noted.

She turned to him with a bitter smile. "Aye. That is another way in which I differ from the lords."

She said it with a glare that made it a challenge, and Geoffrey reddened. Quicksilver stepped in quickly, though she was no longer sure why. "It is a tale that strikes a chord on my own heart's strings, for it is much like my own."

"How?" Moraga turned, frowning—and her squint had entirely disappeared. "Were you despoiled by a knight?"

"Nay, but only because I struck harder and quicker than he," Quicksilver told her. "I was a villager myself, damsel, the dutiful daughter of a squire, waiting for adult life to begin. I was well liked, though, and loved my village in return, cherishing the thought of living thus all my days. Indeed, I looked forward to becoming a wife and mother, to being fully a woman..."

Even now, Geoffrey looked up alertly, a little surprised and very much interested. She noted it with bitterness, glad that she had realized in time how feckless he was, and went on. "But I was revolted at the thought of climbing into bed with any of the boys I knew. Nay, I fear I had only contempt for the callow youths who lusted after me, but could not stand up to me. I found that I could beat any of them—could even best the knight who sought to take me by force. I began to see that they were no better than I myself, and were lords only by accident of birth."

"Nay," Geoffrey said, frowning. "They were born as they should have been; 'twas you who were born in the wrong station, by accident."

She glanced at him, puzzled. "Thank you, Sir Knight—I think." She turned back to Moraga. "Despite what he says, damsel, I found most of them to be no better than my village swains. I began to think that I should be a lord myself."

"I said you were a lady," Geoffrey purred, but she no longer trusted the glow in his eyes, and went on. "At last my father died, and without his protection or that of a husband, I found myself far more vulnerable than I would ever have thought. My count summoned me to his bed, with a troop of soldiers led by a knight, to make sure I came."

"Why, the caitiff!" Moraga cried indignantly. Quicksilver gave her a grateful smile. "I determined to sell my virtue dear, and went along to the lord's bedchamber, then fought him off—and slew him."

"What a pity!" Moraga's lip curled.

Geoffrey frowned, unsure, so Quicksilver smiled warmly. "Is it not? I made good my escape—and knew that I was an outlaw. I could not go back to my village, and knew that with the outlaws of the greenwood, I must become either their base slave, or their master." Her smile widened. "By luck, skill, and Heaven's grace, I triumphed. The rest, I think you know."

"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 and 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.