"We are witch-folk," Cordelia said, "and of no common breed. You stand against two of the most powerful magicians in the land."
"Sister," Geoffrey said, "I think that I should tell you .. ."
"It will not avail." Cordelia held up a hand to stop him. "This has passed beyond you now, Geoffrey. It is my affair, and hers."
"What, sword against sorcerer? Should I therefore quail and be craven?" Quicksilver glanced at her sword, and it flew back into her hand.
Cordelia's eyes widened, but that was nothing compared to the roar of amazement that rose from the bandits amazement, with an undertone of dread.
"That is what I meant to tell you," Geoffrey said. "She may be self-taught, but she has learned her lessons well."
"I own it will make the match more interesting." Cordelia paled, but stood her ground.
Quicksilver met Geoffrey's eyes and shrugged. "It cannot hurt to let my band know now, for you will remove me from my command of them if I lose." She turned and faced her troops. "Aye, I am a witch! But you know yourselves that there has been scant need of magic in our battles. It is my tactics and your skill that have won us our place! All I have ever done with magic is to make an arrow fly more truly, or a quarterstaff to strike with greater force!"
"Sister," said Jory, "I never knew."
"None of you did, save Mother and Father." She spoke a little more gently to him. "They taught me that above all else, I must hide my powers. Now, though, I face a witch, and if I fight for you, it must be with witch's tricks!"
Geoffrey couldn't take his eyes off her. She stood proud and tall, head flung back, hair tumbling in the breeze; she almost seemed to glow. The sight held her outlaws spellbound...
Spellbound. She was a projective. "Can she not know what she does?" he breathed to Cordelia.
"Easily," she retorted, "for there is not a one of us does not dream of holding men so, by sheer force of beauty and brilliance of personality."
The outlaws let loose a huge shout of approval that turned quickly into cheering.
Quicksilver stood facing them, eyes glowing with pride. Then, as the cheering began to slacken, she turned to Cordelia, raising her sword to guard in both hands and falling into a fighter's crouch. "Have at thee, witch!"
"And at thee," Cordelia returned, "but with magic alone, and no steel." She glared at the sword, and it tried to wrench itself out of Quicksilver's hands. But she was ready this time, and gripped it firmly, glaring at Cordelia with a hard grin, and the sword blade began to quiver. Cordelia frowned, and the sword twisted—but it twisted back, then began to quiver again.
Is their power so evenly matched as that? Geoffrey thought.
It is, Fess assured him, but only in telekinesis.
He was transmitting in the Gallowglass family mode, an encrypted form of thought that he had designed for Rod, so Quicksilver did not hear him—but Cordelia did. She smiled slightly, and the sword kept quivering—but suddenly, grasses began to twine themselves up Quicksilver's leg.
She shouted and leaped aside, slashing at the impromptu twine with her blade—and a flock of birds suddenly plunged at her, filling her ears with shrill scolding and buffeting her face with their wings. Quicksilver gave a yell of anger and leaped clear—straight toward Cordelia, her sword swinging down. It swung with the flat of the blade, though, not the edge, so it clanged most satisfyingly as it bounced off Cordelia's upraised palm. It was all Quicksilver could do to keep the blade from flying out of her hands again—and Cordelia swelled horribly, stretching upward, and turned into a giant bear, filling the clearing with its roaring and raising its huge paws to pounce on Quicksilver.
Her archers couldn't help themselves; with a shout of alarm, they sent a flight of arrows hurtling toward the bear's head.
They passed right through, of course—the bear was only an illusion, and its head was four feet above Cordelia's. But where Quicksilver had stood, there was suddenly a lioness who sprang at the bear with a roar.
The bear disappeared, and Cordelia too.
The lioness landed and whirled about, angry and confused, turning back into Quicksilver.
"So you do know you are a projective," Geoffrey said softly.
"I am a shape-changer; what is this 'projective'?" the bandit chief spat. "You might at least be concerned for your sister's safety, knight—and you even more, Sir Alain!"
Both men stood leaning on one hip, arms folded, watching with interest as Cordelia reappeared right in front of Quicksilver.
"Oh, if there were any real threat to Cordelia, I would be wroth indeed," Alain said cheerfully.
"I am a threat to anyone!" Quicksilver snapped, and an eagle flew where she had stood, claws reaching out for Cordelia. But she disappeared even as the bird flew, leaving only a large mushroom behind. The bird tore into the air five feet above the mushroom, though, with a horrible screeching that was answered by a banshee howl—and Quicksilver's sword went spinning up through the air. Minerva dashed to catch it, but Geoffrey was there a step ahead of her, snatching the sword out of the air and saying, in comforting tones, "Fear not. My sister is the gentlest soul alive, unless someone else is threatened."
"But you are threatened!" Minerva cried indignantly. "No, only Cordelia," Geoffrey returned, "and she likes your chief too much to hurt her."
Minerva stared at him in confusion, torn between the implied insult and the open compliment, then turned to stare at the mushroom, which had suddenly stretched a tentacle upward to wrap itself around the eagle's leg, then turned into a steel chain and shackle. The eagle screamed in rage and turned into a spear that shot out of the shackle, poised overhead, then plunged straight down. But even as it fell, its form beat and pulsed, then turned into a giant, long-stemmed rose, and the shackle turned into a vase. "Why, even so she is!" Geoffrey cried.
But the rose was trying to pull itself out of the vase. It quivered and surged, but seemed to be stuck. It sprouted thorns, silver thorns that gleamed wickedly, but still the vase would not let it go.
"That she is!" Minerva said triumphantly.
"I have known since first I saw her that she must be touched with care and delicacy, or not at all," Geoffrey breathed, his eyes growing as he watched.
Then, suddenly, the vase was gone, and Cordelia stood looking down at the rose as it began to tremble. But it caught itself quickly, standing upright alone, then turned into Quicksilver, who stood there, still crouched like a lioness, glaring at Cordelia and breathing hard. "How dare you, damsel, to show me myself as something I do not wish to be!"
"Lie to me if you wish," Cordelia said evenly, "but never lie to yourself."
Quicksilver stared, pale with rage—but before she could move, Geoffrey stepped up and held out a hand. "Come, mistress mine. You have fought and found no gain; the fight is done, and your freedom once again forfeit."
"I have not been defeated!" Quicksilver cried in outrage.
"Have you not?" Geoffrey sighed. "Come, then, sister, be done with this ere she is hurt. Use your healer's knowledge and your witch's skill to teach her what she must become, to be all that she can be."
"Know you no other proofs but those of force?" Cordelia said in exasperation.
"What matter if I do?" Quicksilver spat. "It is men who decide our fates, men who must be convinced—and the only proofs they know are those of steel and blows!"
"Not all," Cordelia told her, "nor even most—but I will own that those who do wreak the most harm. Very well, then, I will talk to you in their language." She stared at Quicksilver, who glared back—until, suddenly, her eyes rolled up, and she crumpled.