There was a flash of silver and the cold press of sharpened steel along the side of his neck, pressing down on his dermis, hard. A sudden movement, and it would tear his neck open. He froze and looked down in surprise. In the second it took for Quartz to decide to respond, Jacques’ hoof had reached to his sword, clipped into the hilt and withdrew the blade in a flash. His magic had opened thin clasps in the blade's sheath, which loosened the cover until its natural, seamless split was open, allowing the blade to be swung literally from the hip in an arc directly resting at Quartz' neck, without having to deal with the hassle of withdrawing the blade by hoof and then thrusting it forth. No need to give Quartz an extra second of reaction time, after all.