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."