On the other hand, he knew himself for an arrogant idiot in any matter not relating to war or wooing—which, to him, were much the same; both involved the planning of a campaign, and both culminated in action. He was content to leave intellectual matters to Gregory, the care of others to Cordelia, and the rest of the galaxy to his absent brother Magnus. Governance he left to Their Majesties or, possibly, Cordelia—he knew he would make a botch of it if he tried. It had occurred to him, idly, that if he and his three siblings were all rolled into one person, they would make the ideal monarch. Since they were separate, however, he paid his allegiance to King Tuan and Queen Catharine, and when they were dead, he would pay allegiance to Alain—he had no doubt the prince would become an excellent ruler, with Cordelia beside him to guide and temper him.
That, however, was for the future. Today was for action. Geoffrey rode south with a light heart and a song on his lips. He was riding to battle—nothing else mattered.
Doll would have been highly indignant to learn that. But it would have reassured Puck immensely. What the elf had not told Geoffrey was that his elves had been following "Doll" for some time, and had reason to wonder whether or not she would be good for Geoffrey. Puck certainly had no objection to two young folk merrily playing together, but he had other notions about entanglements, and though he was not sure exactly where Doll had come from, his agents had definitely overheard some remarks' that were without question predatory, before she had taken up her station dallying by the wayside waiting for a dalliance—and knowing exactly who the next knight would be.
When Geoffrey came to a town large enough to have a fair, he stopped and bought a few items. He paid in gold, leaving the merchants goggling in his wake—not only because he paid generously, but also because the last thing they would have expected of a rough-clad knight-errant was to buy a burgher's robe and hat, not to mention the donkey and the load of odds and ends. But, when he brought the donkey back to his horse, he was amazed to find it gone, and a tall black stallion standing in its place—a stallion he recognized. He glanced around quickly, saw there was no one near, and muttered, "Fess! What are you doing here?"
"Waiting to serve you, Geoffrey," the huge black horse answered in a voice as low as his.
Fess wasn't a horse, really—he was a computer that could be installed in any number of robot bodies. This imitation horse was the one he had been inhabiting for the last twenty-odd years, ever since his master—Rod Gallowglass, Geoffrey's father—had landed on this planet of Gramarye to begin subverting its medieval monarchy into a democracy.
"I know, I know, you live but to serve!" Geoffrey said impatiently. "What happened to my horse, Fess?"
"An elf is riding him home this very minute. They seem to have established friendly relations."
Which was quite an accomplishment, considering that horses were usually spooked by close contact with elves. Geoffrey wondered how many apples and lumps of sugar it had taken. He sighed, resigning himself to accept the situation—there was no point in arguing with Fess, since he only carried out Rod's commands. "Why did Father send you?"
"Puck told him of your current mission, and both your parents became a trifle nervous over your confronting a small army single-handedly. They found it reassuring to think that you might have the company of a trusted retainer."
"Well, to speak truly, I do too," Geoffrey admitted. Not much—he knew that in a battle, Fess would fight with amazing bravery for several minutes, at which point the stress would take its toll, and the robot's faulty capacitor would discharge, tripping a circuit breaker that would turn him off to prevent his burning out. Fess was a cybernetic epileptic.
Nonetheless, Geoffrey felt quite cheered as he swung up into the saddle. There was nothing like the presence of an old family retainer to give you a sense of stability—and Fess had been with the family for five hundred years, give or take a decade or three.
However, Geoffrey braced himself for a few lectures. The "horse" he was riding might have been the friend of his childhood, but it had also been his tutor. Fess couldn't resist the chance to impart wisdom.
As they rode out of town, leading the donkey, Geoffrey drew many glances from people who exchanged very skeptical looks with their neighbors, shaking their heads and turning back to count their profits. What business of theirs was it if the young knight was a fool? The more fools they would have been, not to take the gold he offered!
But as soon as he had ridden into the woods, our young knight found a clearing where he could change his clothes—and a few minutes later, a young merchant was riding his way south through the woods, whistling and kicking his heels. His robe and hat were not rich or trimmed with fur, but he was clearly a merchant, with no armament except the dagger at his belt.
No armament visible, that is. The loose robe nicely concealed the sword slung across his back.
A lone merchant was, of course, too easy a prize for forest outlaws to resist, and at any other time, Geoffrey would have been delighted to battle any one of them, or even all together—he had done so before, when he became really bored; chivalry always allowed him to clean up a few menaces to public safety. But this time he was after bigger game, and couldn't take the time to knock out and bring in every petty outlaw who came his way—so Geoffrey kept his mind open, picking up their greedy thoughts as soon as they sighted him, and managing to insert a little apprehension, then nourishing it. After a few minutes, even the most hardened bandit turned away with a shudder. There was something about this young merchant, something eldritch, some shadow of menace that overhung him. Tempting his donkeyload of goods might be, but not so tempting as to defy whatever force it was that shadowed him.
When he came into County Laeg, though, Geoffrey dropped the aura of dread that he had been projecting and rode along looking as innocent as possible. Now he wanted to attract bandits' attention—but only that of the right bandits. Still, from what Puck had said, he suspected that any bandits here would be the right bandits—he didn't expect that Quicksilver would allow any small fry to go poaching on his domain, any more than Count Laeg had.
He did not stop by the castle to tell the Count he was here, though by the laws of chivalry, he should have. Since that would have given away who he really was, though, he let it slide—he had a notion the Count would overlook the rudeness, if Geoffrey brought in Quicksilver.
Finally, he felt a surge of interest in a mind not far from the trail—but he was surprised to discover that it was less an outlaw's greed than a sentry's wariness. Still, larceny was definitely there, and Geoffrey heard the bird calls with which the sentry summoned his captain.
The blood began to sing in Geoffrey's veins as the minds about him became more numerous. He faked a yawn and reached up to scratch his back—and clear the collar of his robe from the hilt of his sword. Excitement gathered; it was time for action!
He rounded a bend and found a dozen outlaws blocking the path, quarterstaves at the ready, the leader with his sword raised.
Geoffrey stopped, feigning shock—and noticed the dozen more outlaws who stepped out of the brush to block the road behind him. These bandits, at least, didn't believe in taking chances.
He was amazed at their discipline, but even more amazed at the state of their clothing. Here were no patched tunics with cloaks of untanned hides, but jerkins and hose of good stout broadcloth, in the green and brown that blended so well with the forest foliage. Only the leader wore a hat, but it looked new, and was decorated with a bright red feather. His sword was bright, not rusty, and not honed down from decades of sharpening. As outlaws went, these were very affluent.