M'Lady Witch

CHAPTER 16

They searched. Delilah had not come back to her room, nor Forrest to his.

Geoffrey stood immobile in the center of Delilah's sitting room, eyes losing focus as he probed throughout the manor house with his mind. Finally, he nodded. "The room that was shielded."

"Of course!" Cordelia cried. "What malice does she brew in there?"

"Let us go see." Geoffrey turned to the door.

They ran through the hallways with no sound but the rustle of their garments, staying to the shadows (and there were a lot of those). Down below the Great Hall, down in the basement of the manor house, there where there should have been storerooms, they found an oaken door with men in livery standing sentry.

Geoffrey slipped his dagger out of its sheath, but Cordelia stayed it with a hand. "They are weary already, brother. They have watched through the night." She stared at the two men for a few seconds.

One of them raised a hand to stifle a yawn. As he finished, the other began.

"Stay awake," the first growled. "No, you stay awake."

"I need to..."

"I just got to..."

Then both slumped to the floor. After a minute, each snored.

Cordelia and Geoffrey stole silently around the corner and up to the door.

"Softly," Geoffrey whispered. "Let us take them unawares."

Cordelia glared at the lock until it turned itself. Then she gave the door a gentle push with her hand, and it swung open silently, on well-oiled hinges.

There was only the one candle, but its glow reflected off data screens, holo-cube readers, holo-cube files—and an improvised bed, cushions clustered together, and on them, snorting and heaving, shuddering and gasping ...

Cordelia froze, wide-eyed. She would have turned on her heel if she could have, but the sight held her, horrified, fascinated. She was intruding on a very private moment, but ...

"Take your enemy while you can," Geoffrey breathed in her ear. "In fact, as she would have done to me." He stepped past her, gliding toward the bed like a shadow left by a moonbeam.

Cordelia shook off the spell, remembered the sleeping assassins and the bloodstains on Alain's floor, and followed.

Geoffrey levelled his sword and spoke very loudly. "Hold!"

Cordelia stood by, reaching out with her mind, ready to throw every movable object at ...

(The man lifted his head, shocked, and found himself staring at a sword's tip.)

...at Forrest.

Cordelia stared, appalled. Inside her, she felt something sicken and shrivel.

The bandit chieftain saw it in her eyes. He scrambled out of the bed, remembered himself just in time, and whipped a corner of the sheet over his midriff, then raised his hands to Cordelia. "My lady, forgive! A moment's impulse ... I weakened ... Never again..."

His voice ran down as he saw the look on her face. Beyond him, Delilah lay back against the pillows, halfcovered by the rest of the sheet, watching Cordelia with a vindictive, triumphant smile.

Cordelia stood, stunned.

Delilah's gaze flicked to Geoffrey, filled with malice, one finger drawing a circle on the sheet over her breast, spiralling in. "Come, seize the moment—and me. You knew me for what I was; use me now, for you'll never have another chance."

Geoffrey's sword point swivelled to her throat.

She stared at him, indignant, affronted—for the look on his face was only one of amusement.

Forrest bowed his head, shamefaced.

But Delilah's eyes glinted malice at Geoffrey, and she laughed, low in her throat.

Geoffrey shrugged.

Suddenly, Cordelia was aware that she might not have been the only one who had been hurt by the scene. Her gaze darted up to her brother's face in concern.

Then she saw how the smile on his face widened, showing teeth. "I knew you for what you were, aye, and was quite willing to take you on those terms—nay, and still would be, for a night or two—but for nothing more."

Storm clouds began to gather on Cordelia's brow. Geoffrey's swordtip moved slowly down Delilah's body, as though seeking the best point.

"Thrust, then," she said with contempt, "at least with the symbol, since you are too much afeard to use the referent."

"Geoffrey!" Cordelia cried, appalled.

Geoffrey gave her a quick glance before he looked back at his target. "Sister, I hope that you did not think that Forrest was anything more than Delilah was."

Cordelia's head snapped back, as though she had been slapped.

Geoffrey went on, circling his sword tip carelessly, nearer and nearer to the smooth skin. "Nay, the two of them are well matched, indeed."

Forrest rose to his knees; hands upraised in pleading. "Lady Cordelia! Sweet lady, forgive!"

"Never could I forgive such a lapse as this!" Cordelia retorted, infuriated. "How could you seek to humiliate me so?"

"To put you in the same class as myself?" Delilah said sweetly. "That is no humiliation, sweet innocent, but a compliment of the highest order."

"Speak not to me, lightskirt!" Cordelia turned on her, enraged. "Were I ever like you, I should wish to die ere I was thrown on the trash heap as a worn-out plaything for any man who wished!"

"Say rather, any man whom I wish!" Delilah writhed out of the bed and up to her feet, her eyes sparking with anger. She slipped past the sword's point, and her open palm cracked across Cordelia's cheek.

"Oh!" Cordelia pressed a hand to the hurt, indignant, anger building to an unprecedented explosion.

"Oh,' indeed!" Delilah stepped back laughing, leaning back, hands on her hips, naked and glorious in the candlelight. "Yes, any man I want, even yours! Any man of yours! Stay awhile, while I go to claim your Prince!"

Cordelia sprang forward, spitting, "False and hollow shell!" hands reaching, fingers hooked to scratch. Alarmed, Forrest caught her, holding her wrists. "No, lady! You shall be hurt!"

"Let me go! Oh, let me go!" Cordelia raged, twisting and thrashing about in his hold.

"Aye, let her go!" Delilah taunted. "Let her follow! I shall have her Prince grappling me ere she can come!" Catching up her garments, she sprang to the door and ran out, bare feet pattering on the floor.

"Will you let me go!" Cordelia cried, still raging. "I must catch her, stop her, ere it is too late!"

"Why, lady, why?" Forrest implored. "You shall only go to your own hurt—for surely, Alain is no better than I!"

"Yes, sister, let be," Geoffrey said gently. "I would not wish you hurted more, if she is right—and I would not wish to spit Alain on my sword, if..."

"But do you not see?" Cordelia cried. "She knows he is the Prince!"

Geoffrey stared.

Forrest frowned. "What matters that?"

"That her men tried to assassinate Alain this night!" Geoffrey snapped, the implications immediately clear to him. "And if she knows who he truly is, it is sure that we guessed aright—it is she who set the assassins upon him! It is not his virtue or his heart that is threatened, but his life! Let be!"

Astounded, Forrest loosed his hold, and Cordelia sprang free.

They leaped after her, out into the hallway ... It was empty save for the two snoring sentries.

They stood, absolutely still, and heard the muffled sound of bare feet padding away, somewhere out of sight ... "The stairs!" Geoffrey snapped. "She can only have gone upward!"

"That would be novel," Cordelia said acidly, but she ran after Geoffrey.

Up the stairs they flew, into the entry hall, where they halted, looking about. There was no loose clothing on the floor, no hint as to where Delilah had gone—only the doors to the solar on the one side, and the Great Hall on the other.

Geoffrey strode toward the Great Hall. "She will be here, if she is anywhere. 'Tis the seat of power for a country squire."

They threw open the doors and strode in ...

And armed men stepped out from the walls. A thicket of swords surrounded them.

At the end of the hall, on the dais, stood Delilah, clothed again now, hands on her hips, head thrown back, laughing long and loud.

Cordelia looked about her, stunned. The trestles and tables had not only been folded and set aside—they had been taken out of the hall completely. The fire was dead, the hearth cleaned and swept. The torches were gone from their sconces, and the decorations had disappeared. Only bare walls and bare floor met her gaze, bleak in the light of the false dawn filtering through the tall windows.

Delilah laughed and laughed, revelling in their surprise. "There is nothing here to throw, witch! How shall you fight now, when there is nothing for your mind to move?"

Cordelia stared, aghast, realizing that she had walked into a trap, and Geoffrey swore. "By Blue, and by all the obscene slitherings from the dawn of time! You have laid your snare carefully and well, lady!"

"And you are caught within it!" she cried in glee. "You have been planning it long and well."

"Aye, since first I learned that Their Majesties would command their son to wed! And you are caught, ensnared more thoroughly than you could have imagined! Know that you shall die this night, Sir Geoffrey!" Delilah's voice suddenly softened, cozening. "Yet the condemned man may have his last wish." Her hands went to the laces of her bodice. "Come, take what you have sought so hard! You may at least die in ecstasy."

Cordelia stared at her, horrified—but Geoffrey only shook his head a little, with a knowing smile.

"Oh, do not fear for your manhood!" Delilah mocked. "I well and truly do lust after you, and shall have my fill of you soon enough, I warrant—you shall know a glorious death."

"I think I shall know no death at all," Geoffrey purred. "No? Surely you do not think you can fight one against fifty, and win! And you shall not disappear from our midst, for your sister cannot, and you are too concerned with your piddling honor to leave her! There is nothing here for your mind to throw, no weapons but your single sword and dagger. How shall you fight?"

"With me at his back!" Alain burst out of the wainscotting, the hidden door slamming open. He leaped, sword slashing, to wound the nearest guardsman. The man cried out, and Alain parried a cut by another guard with his dagger, then drove home with the sword. The man screamed and spun away, clutching at his side—but Alain had already whirled away, stabbing and slashing. Ten men near him shouted, and jumped on him.

Geoffrey roared, and his sword spun, dagger stabbing with inhuman speed and force. Three men fell back, fountains of blood; a dozen more leaped away from the berserker. That opened the path to Alain, and the Prince was beside him in an instant, taking station between Cordelia and the armed men, setting his back against Geoffrey's, who was still weaving his web of steel. "To the death, old friend!"

"If die we must, Geoffrey!"

"No, not our deaths—theirs!"

But while they had been doing that, Cordelia had been busy with the others. A guardsman shot up ten feet off the floor, crying out in alarm. He had good reason; Cordelia's eyes narrowed, and the man hurtled straight toward Delilah. She sprang aside with a cry of fear, and two more men rocketed into the air and spun toward her.

"Nothing to throw, you say?" Cordelia cried. "Then have at thee!" And both soldiers slammed down onto the floor; Lady Delilah barely stepped aside in time.

Five men shouted and leaped at Cordelia—but this time, it was she who shot up into the air astride a spear, and the soldiers' swords slashed at one another. Shocked, they cried out, then turned to parrying—and from parrying, to cutting and thrusting at one another.

Cordelia's eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, swords all over the room slashed at the men next to them, as though they had taken on lives of their own. Their owners shouted with fear—but so did their targets. In moments, the whole room was a vast melee of ringing steel and cries of anger.

"Out upon them!" Delilah cried.

That brought her men to their senses; with titanic heaves, they wrestled back control over their weapons and leaped to strike at the Gallowglasses and the Prince. Alain and Geoffrey met and blunted their rush, protecting Cordelia—and leaving her free to tend to Delilah. Her heart swelled with joy at their loyalty, even as she focussed her mind on her fingertips, thinking of thickening air, molecules crowding more and more closely together, moving faster and faster—so that by the time she swung her arm down, throwing, it was a ball of flame that leaped from her hand.

Delilah dodged it easily, laughing, even as her hands described a circle—and a ring of fire sprang up about Cordelia. She cried out in alarm, then bit it off, thinking of rain, a cloudburst.

Brief as it was, her cry was drowned in the howls of pain from the guards, servants, and knights who were battering at Alain and Geoffrey. They leaped back, and the two young men gasped for breath, grinning. "The Lady Delilah fights well ... for us," Geoffrey panted.

Apparently she realized it, too. The ring of fire died down as suddenly as it had sprung up, but Delilah's men hung back, wary, for a moment. Geoffrey grinned and swished his blade through a sword drill, but Alain only glared and held his on guard.

Cordelia, though, was ready the second the flames died. A cloudburst broke right above Delilah, appearing from nowhere, drenching her. Delilah coughed and spluttered in sheer surprise, then wiped her hair out of her eyes just in time to see a circle of rope whirling down to settle around her. She gasped and glared at it; it burst into fire before it could tighten, and was gone.

The response had been too quick; Cordelia hadn't been working up her next spell.

They were all illusions, of course. The trick was to make them seem so real that the other witch's mind would accept them subconsciously, and really feel the heat from the flames and see the burns blistering her skin, even though her conscious mind knew better. Delilah, for example, was really wet—her hair hung lank and dripping, her clothes plastered to her body; her own mind was cooperating in keeping her so. But she knew the moisture was harmless, and ignored it as she hurled a fireball at Cordelia.

It was an empty gesture, of course—Cordelia damped the flames before the sphere was halfway there. It faded into the thin air it had been made from—but it had given Delilah time to work up something more subtle.

Alain lurched back against Cordelia, snarling—and throwing her off balance for a moment. His sword flashed like a heat-haze, his opponents dropping back with wounds—but more jumped in, in their place. There were at least three for each of her guardians, and they were hard-pressed indeed. She realized they couldn't last much longer ...

A high, shrill battle-scream sounded, and the great black iron horse reared up behind the men who were slashing at Geoffrey. Fess's steel hooves lashed out, felling Delilah's men. He had heard the row, and broken from the castle stables, Cordelia realized just in time to even the odds.

The men around Alain looked up, saw what was happening, and some of those at the back ran to attack Geoffrey, then leaped aside as steel teeth snapped at them.

Welcome as Fess was, he had distracted Cordelia too long. Suddenly, a huge snake was coiling around her. Its coils tightened; she couldn't breathe! Then the wedgeshaped head hovered in front of hers, and she would have screamed, if she had had breath. Its jaws opened, fangs curving down to tear ...

But constrictors don't have viper's fangs, and pit vipers aren't big enough to wrap and squeeze. The fangs themselves made her realize all over again that the snake was only an illusion, projected by a master directly into the back of her mind; the fangs broke her unconscious belief in its reality more effectively than anything she could have thought of. She held her breath, eyes narrowing, glaring into that putrid maw, thinking of another form, another shape ...

The snake sprouted hairs, hairs that thickened even as its head melted and shrank, reforming into the dead, sculptured face of a fox—and it was only a fur wrap made of a dozen foxes, each biting the other's tail, that coiled around her. She looked up at Delilah in triumph .. .

And saw a small snake, only three feet long, but one with a spreading hood and curving fangs, rearing up to strike at her.

Cordelia realized, in a way she never could have otherwise, that Delilah was a Futurian agent, raised in a modern culture, no matter where she had been born—for no native of Gramarye knew about cobras. Even to Cordelia, they were things from books—and she didn't doubt that they were so to Delilah, too. The woman probably didn't have any of the details right. It was a pitiful attempt at persuading her hindbrain, and she ignored it, knowing that its venom couldn't really hurt her. She thought at it, and it struck—but curved away from her, sailing back toward Delilah, and as it went, its head shrank into a handle, its body lengthened, its tail slimmed into a lash—and a bullwhip cracked over Delilah's head, then lashed about her shoulders.

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!"

But it was too late. Delilah was already gone. Psionics or trickery, she had vanished from their midst.

Just in time, too—so heavily outnumbered, the guardsmen threw up their hands and weapons with cries for mercy. In a few minutes, the King's soldiers had all the walking enemies herded into a corner, and a doctor and his assistants were tending to the moaning wounded, thinlipped with disgust.

But Alain had no eyes for any of it. He leaped up beside Cordelia, crying, "My lady! Are you hurt? Upon my honor, if any have touched you, I shall have their heads!"

But Cordelia could only stare in amazement at this huge, bare-chested, golden-haired Adonis whose muscles played beneath a sheen of sweat like a statue of a young Greek god, sword in hand, eyes wide in concern. Rooted to the spot, she could only nod as his arm went about her waist, hugging her protectively against the huge, hardened muscles of his chest. She gazed up at him in mute astonishment, eyes wide, lips parted—and for a moment, he stared down at her in equal wonder.

Then his head bowed, his lips touched hers, and she knew only the wonder of his kiss, and the wrenching anguish and soaring ecstasy of a heart finally given, completely, in love.

Some while later, some immeasurable time that surely must have been only a few minutes, though it had seemed eternal bliss, Alain lifted his head and stood staring down into her eyes. She knew he was going to kiss her again, and willed it with her whole being—but someone coughed, and she herd King Tuan's voice saying, "I rejoice that the lady is well."

Alain turned to his father in surprise, and Cordelia saw before them her brother, grinning from ear to ear, and her mother, arms half-raised, with her father behind her, eyes glowing. She gave a little mew of protest and sank back against Alain's chest; his arm came up about her automatically even as he said, "My liege and father! How came you here?"

"Why, in caution and apprehension, my son," Tuan said, smiling, "and with the guidance of elves, alarmed at thy peril. Have you proved yourself in the ways of battle, then? And have you kept the lady safe?"

Alain looked down, and there was reverence in his eyes. "You are safe, are you not, my love?"

My love! Cordelia nestled against him, eyes brimming, and nodded, with a misty smile. Reassured, Alain answered with a secret smile of his own that stopped time for a few minutes, almost kissed her again, then remembered the proprieties and turned back to his father. "She is well, my liege—and she has kept me safe far more than I her!"

"Or as much, at least," Rod Gallowglass murmured, and his wife added, "So should it ever be."

Alain turned to him, becoming grave and formal even as he moved. He inclined his head and said, "My lord. My lady. Have I your leave to court your daughter?"

Lord and Lady Gallowglass exchanged a brief and tender smile, then turned back to nod. "You may."

"The courtship is done," Cordelia murmured. "The lady is won."

Alain looked down at her, glowing with pride, then turned back to her mother and father. "May I also have your leave to ask her hand in marriage?"

Again, the secret smile. "You may."

King Tuan only beamed down. After all, he had given his permission before all this began.

But Alain had ceased to see them all. Sinking down on one knee, he gazed up at Cordelia, she his whole world, nothing else existing for the moment. "My lady," he breathed, "will you honor me, ennoble me, do me the greatest honor I can know—by giving me your hand?"

"Oh, yes, my love!" she cried and, as he leaped up and took her in his arms, she breathed, so softly that no one else could hear, "And all the rest of me, too."

Then there was no chance to say anything more, for her lips were sealed with his, and time had stopped again.

THE END