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