Unprepared for it, Delilah cried out in pain; then she narrowed her eyes, and the bullwhip disappeared. She, too, had remembered that it was an illusion, though Cordelia noticed that the rents in her dress did not heal themselves.
Delilah glared, and a giant spider scuttled across the floor—but there was no Cordelia for it to frighten away. Delilah stared, lost for a moment, looking wildly about the hall, trying to find her adversary.
She never thought to look at her own men, of course, and didn't notice the guardsman in her livery who was working his way down the line of fighters, staying behind and only trading an occasional blow with Alain or Geoffrey—until he turned on Delilah and struck at her with his sword.
She screamed in fear, falling back, bleeding from a cut in her arm.
The guardsman swung his blade up for another slash. Delilah realized who he must be, and glared at the man. Sure enough, his tunic stretched down, changing back into the tan and russet of Cordelia's riding dress. His face fined down, his helmet disappearing, and it was Cordelia who glared at her, eye to eye. The sword shrank and dwindled; it was only her extended index finger.
But Delilah had spent her time and effort in undoing Cordelia's illusion. The screech of rage from overhead took her by surprise, and the eagle that plunged to seize her gown in its claws as it buffeted her head with its wings made her shrink back with a scream of terror. Its dagger of a beak thrust right at Delilah's eyes ...
...but a huge tawny paw reached up and swatted the eagle aside, and a lioness pounced to tear the eagle apart with one quick rip of its huge jaws. Then it turned on Cordelia, leaping ...
And caromed off the belly of a huge bear, waddling toward Delilah on its hind legs, roaring in anger, its claws raised to slash.
The lion roared right back and sprang, teeth reaching for the bear's throat, but the bear swatted it aside and plunged after it. There was a moment's flurry of fur and claws ... then the bear rose, its jaws dripping blood, its eyes afire with rage, a snarl ripping loose from its throat ...
A snarl that was answered by a deep, throaty laugh as a huge man, eight feet tall and three feet wide, hideously ugly and entirely naked, strode toward it, a huge club swinging high in his ham of a hand.
The bear roared and struck—but the ogre swung the club in a blur, both hands and all his weight behind it. There was a sickening crunch, and the bear lay dead, its head caved in.
Then, drooling, the ogre reached for Cordelia with a gloating laugh.
Cordelia shrank back with a scream.
Alain heard her and leaped between herself and the ogre, but she knew he believed it to be real, that he could not stand against it.
The guardsmen whooped victory and leaped in where Alain had been.
Fess screamed and struck them down with his hooves, curving between Cordelia and the murderous agents. Cordelia's scream echoed inside her own mind, now as much for Alain as for herself. In her heart, she reached out for the protection that had always been there in her childhood—her parents and her big brother. But her parents were miles away, and Magnus was light-years away ... Not his image, though. It came striding forth from behind her to do battle, as much bigger than she as he had seemed when she was five and he eight—which made him nine feet tall now, smiling in wicked anticipation of a fight, shouting, "Thou wouldst, wouldst thou? Then have at thee!"
Delilah screamed—and screamed, and screamed. "No! It cannot be you! I have banished you, I have maimed you, I have sent you fleeing to the farthest..."
And, for the moment, her mind was open, she was that terrified—open and unguarded, and her memories of Magnus clear for Cordelia to read. She stared, horrified—this was the woman who had trapped Magnus's heart, toyed with him, played with him, dashed his hopes and his dreams of love to flinders, burned the belief in feminine goodness out of him ...
Then Delilah saw the huge Magnus grappling with the ogre, swinging the howling monster high and dashing it to the floor, and she threw back her head and laughed, mocking again, vindictive. "Of course! It was not he! You would call for your big brother, would you?"
"Witch!" Cordelia screamed, in full rage. "Have at thee!" Her face twisted with fury and hatred, and a bolt of pure energy sparked in the air between them. Then it was gone, but a huge explosion rocked the room, and Delilah doubled over in agony, hands pressed to her abdomen.
Cordelia strode through the smoke of that bolt of pure emotion, eyes burning, and snatched the woman's hair, hauling her head up. " 'Tis you who have murdered my brother's heart! Why, then, be sure that I shall murder you!"
And there were snakes, toads, salamanders, scorpions, and spiders, all crawling over Delilah. She screamed, swatting at them, tearing at them—then remembered them for what they were, and stilled, glaring at the vermin ...
The bolt cracked from Cordelia's head to Delilah's, pure energy, overloading Delilah's system with Cordelia's rage—for when last came to last, it was Cordelia who could feel more intensely, far more intensely, even in hatred and anger.
Delilah staggered, and suddenly, her own hands were slapping her face and tearing her hair.
She went crazy.
She screamed and twisted in the grip of a primal fear, turning to tear at Cordelia with hands crooked into claws, lashing out with a bolt of panic that startled Cordelia; it was far more than she had expected. She leaped back, the first taste of horror touching her as she realized that Delilah was completely out of control.
The woman thrashed about, tearing at invisible enemies—and a jumble of images began to appear on the floor of the Great Hall, flickering into being, then transforming into something else, then flickering out as new ones appeared. Snakes and worms and maggots crawling from rotten meat; bulbous vases breaking open, spilling rancid oil; huge nails hammering down into boards made of flesh that screamed and writhed, and more, more, on and on and on.
Cordelia stared, aghast, revulsed as much by what she was seeing as by what she had done.
But Delilah recovered, slowing, stilling, the jumble of images fading, lifting her eyes to Cordelia again—eyes that now bore not only hatred and rage, but also madness, stark madness.
For the first time, the cold fingers of Death seemed to touch Cordelia, and she realized that she really could die in this fight.
Panic surged, and she threw one more bolt of mental force at Delilah, with all her own fear and anger in it. The explosion rocked the hall, and Delilah slammed back against the panelling with a scream.
The guards had stilled their fight to watch; even Geoffrey and Alain had been caught in the spell of the beautiful witch's madness. Now, though, one of Delilah's men came back to himself with a shout, slashing past Geoffrey's guard at Cordelia.
She screamed and fell back, seizing his sword with a mental grip that froze it and held it immobile, afraid that Delilah would recover and seize her chance. Alain came out of his reverie with a howl and turned to cut the man down, but all Delilah's men shouted and attacked again ...
Swords lifted above them, and fell; for each man, a knight towered over him, striking.
"Have at them!" bellowed a huge voice from the doorway, and a stream of men thundered into the room, halberd blades flailing. Behind them rode the King himself, sword slashing down from horseback, with the High Warlock beside him, parrying and cutting. Lady Gwendylon stood fiery with anger, a basket of stones in her hands, stones that sped with unerring accuracy to enemy swordsmen, while on a ledge above them, a grizzled, barrel-bodied dwarf bellowed, "Hold! Surrender yourselves, or die! Seize the false lady, seize the poisoner of hearts!"