He had to know where the fruit was coming from, of course. He began with those he knew best—the stalls in the market in Runnymede—then moved on to the orchards on the southern coast of Gramarye. He had only seen one or two such, but they were more than enough for the current purpose. He wanted a dozen oranges for each person in Aunriddy, and he got them.
Each orange appeared with a gunshot crack of displaced air; each penny disappeared with a pop. It sounded as though he had lit a string of firecrackers—a very long string, and it brought the village children running out to watch with eyes that grew rounder and rounder as the fruit began to pile up. Their mothers came running after to protect their babes from the strangers, and froze, staring at the warlock and the pile of fruit that seemed to boil up from the ground before him.
At last he nodded, satisfied, and turned to them. "Take a dozen oranges for each person in your family—mother, father, children, and old folk. Each person eat one a day, no more."
The women clutched their children to them and stared out of eyes that had become a little wild.
"Do not fear—'tis real fruit, not made of air or brimstone," Geoffrey said impatiently. "I have not conjured it up, really, but brought it to you from the farms where it grows."
Still they did not move, and Geoffrey suddenly realized that most of them had probably never seen an orange. Tomatoes, yes—though it never occurred to him that neither fruit had been known in medieval Northern Europe, or that his ancestors had performed one of their many improvements on history by bringing citrus fruit to Gramarye. He only knew that these were inland people, whereas oranges grew on the southern coast. If Aunriddy had seen the fruit at all, it would have been as rare treats provided by the lord on festival days—and from the little he knew of their lord, he doubted the Count would have given his peasants anything he could avoid.
He took an orange from the pile, slit the rind with his thumbnail, then peeled it back and tossed it away. He broke off a section, tossed it into his mouth, and chewed it with every evidence of enjoyment. Then he stepped over to a young woman with three very skinny toddlers and held out a section. Her face creased with the tension between longing and fear, but longing won out; she took the slice, put it in her mouth, and chewed.
Her eyes went round with the wonder of it.
Carefully and slowly, Geoffrey sat down on his heels, separating three more sections and holding them out on his palm. The toddlers snatched them up. Their mother gave a little cry of alarm, reaching to knock the fruit out of their hands, then caught herself and watched, trembling, as they ate.
Geoffrey stood and stepped back, gesturing toward the fruit. The women ran to gather it up. He watched them, seething with anger at the bandits who had made them so fearful, then turned away to another part of the common, flung down more coppers, and began to think of vegetables.
He had just finished conjuring up a heap of string beans when one woman cried, "A witch!"
"No, a warlock!" Geoffrey said impatiently, turning to her. "Can you not tell the difference between..."
But she was pointing up into the sky, and the mothers and children were already running for the shelter of their huts.
Geoffrey looked, then looked again. He had expected the broomstick, but had not anticipated seeing two people astride it.
The broom curved in for a landing, and Cordelia hopped off to run to him, leaving her passenger to pick up the stick. "How now, brother! Have you turned grocer?"
"Nay, only merchant!" Geoffrey grinned with pleasure at seeing her. "And I offer these folk quite a bargain—in truth, 'tis a steal!"
"What, do you not pay for what you take?" asked the tall, broad-shouldered blond young man who came up behind Cordelia.
"Of course I do, but I doubt I'll have luck even giving it away." Geoffrey clasped his future brother-in-law by the hand and forearm with a broad smile. "How good it is to see you, Alain, and how good of you to come to our aid! But we must not put the Crown Prince in jeopardy."
"'Tis you who showed me the folly of that notion, Geoffrey," Alain said, returning the clasp. "When I am king, I shall have to lead armies; I must accustom myself to the trick of surviving battles ere that time comes." Then, to Cordelia, "You did not tell me there would be fighting here."
"I did not know it." She set her fists on her hips, glaring up at Geoffrey. "Though I should have guessed it, since you were here! Do you mean to fight these bandits, then?"
"Aye," said a voice behind her, "and to beat them into the ground!"
They all turned, to see Quicksilver striding toward them—and Geoffrey caught his breath, for she was dressed as a bride, in village finery and with a wreath in her hair. For a moment, he stood stunned, feeling the eldritch prickling of precognition enveloping his skin; was he looking at his own future? He felt a kind of desire he had never known before, a covetousness to have and to hold the woman entire.
Then he noticed the flash of her calves through the slits she had made in the sides of the skirt, saw the broadsword in her hand, and jolted back to the present; she had made sure the bridal gown did not restrict her ability to fight. Still, she cut a magnificent figure, Geoffrey thought, with her split skirt whipping about her, her long legs showing through, her auburn hair swirling about her shoulders, glinting here and there with gold where the sunlight touched it.
Then he realized there was tension in the air, a growing rivalry, emanating from the two women as each saw a potential rival. He moved quickly to resolve it. "Quicksilver, this is my sister Cordelia, and her fiance Alain." Somehow, it seemed politic to drop the word "prince."
Geoffrey realized that Quicksilver's gaze was lingering on Alain's handsome, open face and broad shoulders, and was astounded to feel a stab of jealousy. To hide it, he hurried to finish the introductions. "Cordelia, Alain—this is Quicksilver, chieftain of the bandits of County Laeg."
"And his prisoner, though he seems to be too gallant to tell you that." Quicksilver did not hold out a hand; in fact, the chip on her shoulder seemed to grow. "It is good of you to come, milady, but we are like to see battle here, and I would advise you not to stay."
"Why, I have seen battle before." Cordelia smiled, amused. "I shall take a hand, if I see a need." Quicksilver turned on Geoffrey with a frown. "I cannot direct a battle when a woman may upset my plans with her own notions of what will aid!"
"Do you think I know nothing of warfare?" Cordelia countered. "Nay, I will stay aloft, watching for your men who may become too sorely beset, and lend a hand only when I see they are about to be overcome."
"Well, that would aid," Quicksilver admitted, though with great reluctance—and it came to Geoffrey that she did not expect any of her men to be in any such danger.
But Alain picked up on something the others missed. "What men are these whom you will command, Chieftain Quicksilver?"
"Why, the bandits of County Laeg," Geoffrey said slowly, "or half of them."
Quicksilver turned to him in surprise and anger. "You knew!"
"Their steps are, silent," Geoffrey told her, "but their thoughts are noisy. Then, too, when I hear an owl hoot after dawn, I discover suspicions—but the more so when you answer it, and it answers you."