Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “It would be right easy to miss him doing that, I'd think,” said Lukus.

  “Sure would, unless you had a couple of parrots to search the countryside from the air on either side of our path...”

  “No problem, Wiz,” said Hubba Hubba.

  “It takes somebody free as a bird to really see ahead,” said Lipperella from across her brood.

  “What should we do about Edward?” said Rose. “Surely Spark and Lipperella don't need more work.”

  “You're right, Rose,” said Lukus. “And you nearly ended up being the Gobbler queen, last time, so...”

  “Yea? Well I really don't know how much I want to stay here and watch after Myrtlebell's son, regardless of how sweet he is. How 'bout you, Lukus? You need the experience.”

  “You both should go,” said Lipperella. “The little prince will be no problem staying here with us.

  “But your hands are full,” said Rose.

  “Oh indeed, but we don't mind at all. We understand the urgency of your journey. The 'cauldron' your grandfather refers to threatens us, too. Edward's just big enough that he could even help us from time to time. Besides it might be handy, years from now when he's grown, having him for an ally. Dragons can always use friends.”

  “Hey, thanks. We're set, then” said Hubba Hubba. “And speaking o' that, this seems like a good time to ask. I understand why your chicks have feathers, having hatched without Razzorbauch around with his staff, but why aren't there any other dragons running around with feathers on? I mean, Razzerbauch's been dead since before Lukus was born.”

  “Razzorbauch did a good job,” said Spark. “He not only took away our feathers, he made us sterile.”

  “All but you, sweetheart,” said Lipperella with a giggle, as she batted her eyelashes.

  “So how'd you get off scot-free, Spark?” said Hubba Hubba.

  “Aw, he never figured, you know, Razzorbauch never figured any lady dragon would...”

  “But I did. And I do,” said Lipperella.

  “And it's a good thing, too,” said Razzmorten with a grin. “You and Lipperella have ensured the survival of your clan.

  “And we'd better think about our survival. It's getting quite late for the kind of an early start which we need, and we all should be getting some rest.”

  “I'll show you all where you will be sleeping,” said Lipperella, standing up at once, “then you can wash up for supper. In the morning we'll give you a breakfast that will have you ready for whatever awaits you.”

  Nods of agreement all around settled the matter.

  Chapter 65

  Demonica awoke with a start to a whirl of enraged bewilderment, pain, thirst and hunger. She was furiously angry beyond all else but she was far too confused to grasp just where she was at first, let alone do anything about it. Her blindfold was still so tightly tied that her head was numb in places. The bleeding splits on her chapped lips stung as she tried to keep her parched tongue from sticking to the fetid gag that it couldn't avoid touching.

  Nothing interfered with her hearing, so she listened intently. She heard water dripping onto a stone surface, the regular gnawing of a rodent and the low moaning of a human in hopeless despair, somewhere nearby. The muscles of her frown tugged at her blindfold as she remembered belligerent little men, fit and nearly naked, painted blue and covered with bizarre designs from head to toe. She recollected three other women, two gigantic birds and sudden pain. She gasped and thrashed against her chains.

  “They got Spitemorta and me just when we'd almost discovered...” she grunted unintelligibly around her gag. “They bound us and marched us here, where that runt kicked her in the mouth and locked us away.” She gave out a furious muffled wail. “So, King Half Pint actually thinks he can hold me in chains, does he?” she thought, as she coughed out a few chuckles around the rag in her mouth. Her magic was formidable, even with her hands chained to her thighs. She would make the painted heathen pay for this for the rest of his life. She set about concentrating on the magic to free her from her shackles, but to her horrified astonishment, her magic was simply not there. She thrashed and struggled and flailed, ending up with her wrists and ankles throbbing and bleeding anew. She managed at last to rein in her panic, telling herself that if she calmed down, she would easily call forth her magic and free herself from her shackles. Then her vengeance would be exquisite. She took several deep calming breaths and then confidently closed her eyes and got nothing.

  ***

  Spitemorta caught a stab of pain in her jaw with a wincing groan. She thought that she might be able to move her jaw if she were not gagged, but moving her head just was not working. She kept trying to put her thoughts in order, but found it impossible to concentrate on anything beyond the pain in her face and neck, though she was belligerently determined to get control of herself. She breathed deeply to calm herself as she rigidly held her head. She could see nothing whatsoever, but she had just awakened, and was only now deciding that she had been blindfolded. Opening her eyes raked grit into them from the blindfold, causing her to wince and trigger a vicious pain from her neck. An irony taste of blood made her want to vomit, but the gag in her mouth made it impossible to spit. Swallowing only made her choke on the putrid cloth in her mouth. Tears of frustration soaked into her blindfold as she struggled to breathe and discovered that she would suffocate if she did not stop struggling. She sank back against her bonds in total despair.

  Footfalls sounded in the echoing darkness, coming right up close to end with the heavy clank of a bolt being drawn and the sound of the iron door to her cell being swung wide.

  “Ah! Comin' 'round, Caelis, what?”

  “You're right. Looks it. Hey, Buthut, hand me the blow gun. I want to get her 'fore she has a chance to stir too much. No telling what kind o' spells she's capable of, even without her staff.” He took the long pipe and its quiver and pouch and stood, dressing the point of a dart out of a box of toxic grease. He stood back, raised the pipe and with a sharp puff, stuck the dart in Spitemorta's ribs, making her jerk with pain.

  At once she choked on her gag while clearly seeing that she was being drugged.” I will get you!” she thought as she turned reeling dizzy and went limp.

  “That'll keep na beiste,” said Buthut.

  “Yea. Got 'er first,” said Caelis as he heaved the door closed with a clang. The pair went a couple of steps away and halted to draw back another clanking bolt, throwing wide its door with an irony squeal.

  “This one's still out,” said Buthut, as he looked at Mary, held upright like a rag doll by her chains. “Suppose we ought to dose her anyway?”

  “She might not wake up,” said Caelis, as he drummed his fingers on the empty blow gun. “I don't think the king would like us doin' in his new playthings just yet. We'd better check to see if she's truly dead to the world. Witches are witches, don't you know.”

  Buthut jabbed Mary in the gut with the butt of his spear. “Huh. Sleepin' like a babe,” He smiled. “Ye know, I like the looks of this one, even if she is a witch. Look 'ee there at that berry colored hair. Even in this light. Never saw the like, 'ave you?”

  “Mage Cinid called her the White Witch.”

  “What does that old drip know?”

  “Quite a bit, according to the king. He takes him serious enough.”

  “Well, white or black,” said Buthut, as he turned to go, “a witch is a witch, ain't she?”

  “True enough, and we'd best check on the last one or there'll be the Pitmaster to pay, sure enough.”

  Mary's eyes popped open the moment her cell door closed. “Now look what I've done,” she said. “Did Ugleeuh's curse leave me daft, or what? What a stupid short cut. I should never have tried going through the marsh, particularly with the Gobbler spell likely gone from the Beaks. I must free myself and save poor Myrtlebell. And if anything's happened to little Edward, I'd not blame her if she never forgave me.”

  Mary was still groggy from the drug she had been given. For some time she w
anted to vomit on the filthy rag in her mouth. When she managed to steady herself, she called forth her magic to break her chains and found it altogether gone. It felt drained away. She fought back her flourish of panic. She knew she must keep her head in order to be of any use to Myrtlebell and Edward. She called on her magic once more, and again it forsook her.

  “What kind of drug steals magic?” she said. She knew of no herb with that property. “If not that, then what else could do it?”

  Myrtlebell looked up as the two guards opened her door. Waves of fear flooded her as they came in, spears held ready. They stopped well back and stared.

  “So,” said Caelis, “this one's supposed to be non-magical?”

  “Mage Cinid was right certain of it. That's why we don't have her drugged or blindfolded anymore,” said Buthut with a pearly grin against his dark beard.

  “Cinid, aye? I wouldn't be so...”

  “Well, look at her,” said Buthut. “She ain't likely to get away, now is she?” Both men laughed.

  Then to Myrtlebell's surprise, they began unshackling her ankles. “Don't be stupid, lady,” said Buthut as he wagged his finger, “or you won't have this chance we're giving you. Understood?”

  She nodded, and he continued undoing her restraints. When he was done, she felt of her wrists as she tried to stand and collapsed at once. She prodded impotently at the fiery tingling in her hands and feet. Caelis and Buthut, were inclined to be proud of the pain they inflicted, and mercilessly jerked her to her feet.

  “King Talorg wishes to see you, sweetheart,” said Caelis with a grin that stretched the animal painted on his cheek, giving him a eerie look as he thrust his bulging eyes at her face.

  Myrtlebell shuddered. She was very suspicious of this 'chance' that she was being given.

  They drug her slipping and stumbling through the excrement and rot in the fetid hallway, lit only by a torch at each end. “I see that this passage serves as a sewer as well as a hallway,” she said between clenched teeth. “How very efficient.”

  Caelis eyed her, but tramped on.

  Buthut's hand clamped tight on her arm as he drew her ear to his face with a merciless yank. “Unless you enjoy being gagged, you stinking runk, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

  Myrtlebell nodded, not trusting herself to give a civil reply.

  They came to the end of the hallway where Buthut beat three times with the meat of his fist on the heavy wooden door to be let out.

  Once they were outside, with the stink of the dungeon whirling into the air, Myrtlebell tried to keep track of where they were going, as Caelis and Buthut dragged her up several narrow flights of stone steps and down an odd winding corridor. At last they reached the throne room of King Talorg, where they tripped and threw her onto her knees before him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could just see a hooded figure, standing statue still, leaning on what appeared to be the odd stick which Demonica and Spitemorta were riding when they dropped from the air. Buthut grabbed her by the hair and pointed her face at Talorg. She gasped at the sight of the smug menace she saw there.

  He looked quite pleased with her reaction. An unmistakable hint of a vain smile tugged at his face as his eyes lit with an inner fire. “Release the wench!” he thundered, making Caelis and Buthut jerk back away from her.

  They stepped back smartly, thumped their breasts with their fists, and stood at attention.

  Talorg studied Myrtlebell for a moment. “You are going to tell me why you have trespassed on my lands and why you have done so in the company of three powerful witches,” he said, waving the cloaked figure closer.

  Myrtlebell looked at the stooped person beneath the dark mantle, coming forth with the stick. She could just make out the gnarled features of one with great age.

  Something told her that it was an old man. As she stared transfixed, Talorg again motioned him towards her. The figure propped the stick against a pillar, then produced a silver metal circlet from the depths of his cape. He paused to throw back his hood, revealing that he was indeed a wizened old man. He drew out of his collar his greasy waist length white hair. His long beard was so sparse and discolored from his meals, that she had not noticed it before. She shuddered at the cruel set to his thin lips and his cold milk-blue eyes. He grasped the ring with both hands and pulled hard upon it, opening it at its hinge. It was much too large for a wrist or an ankle. Suddenly he stepped up and closed it about her neck with a solid click.

  She jerked back in surprise as Caelis and Buthut stepped forth and grabbed her to keep her from resisting, but the collar was already fast. The old one stepped back with a look of gloating satisfaction as he waved the two back to their stations.

  “Much better,” said Talorg as buoyantly as if he were ready to pour tea, as he clapped his hands together in front of his smile. “What you now wear around your lovely white neck is magical and very old. We've had it for countless generations. We still call it, 'Fainne Leis an Fhirinn Innseadh.' 'Ring to Tell the Truth' would be more modern. If you lie, it will know at once and tighten just a bit. If you keep lying, it will kill you.”

  “And if I choose to remain silent, sire?” said Myrtlebell with a dry swallow.

  “Then we kill you,” said Talorg, keeping his tone of voice, though his smile vanished at her question. “We don't mind tidying up. The dungeon is full, though we have all sorts of amusements open to us. My good Captain Girom has informed me that a small boy was with your company when you were taken, but that during the confusion of subduing you, he managed to vanish. And your guards tell me that you were quite distraught regarding the child's whereabouts.”

  “I remember no such thing,” she said.

  “No, you probably wouldn't, but then you were quite drugged and you said lots of things I doubt you would recall.”

  Myrtlebell bit her lip.

  “Ah, you might have some sense,” said Talorg as his smile returned. “Now, my soldiers are combing the marsh for the boy, even as we speak. I've just gotten word that they've picked up his trail. We certainly expect to have him by nightfall. If you've more spunk than sense, you could hold out until then, but we've never had any party ever continue to withhold while watching his kiddie being butchered. So, it's up to you. It's utterly impossible that he could elude my men. They know the marsh. He doesn't. Of course, we've already dressed and feasted on the mounts.”

  “You have good reason to be lying...” said Myrtlebell, as she fell wide eyed andsilent at the sight of Talorg picking up a diatryma feather to run between his fingers.

  “Oh, my land, yes. I most certainly could be, don't you know. So it's up to you. Right?”

  “Yes, but I could delay until nightfall and see if your soldiers actually do capture him...”

  “And then let you decide? Mercy no. You decide now. By evening we'll be long out of patience,” he said calmly, as he strolled back and forth before her. “In fact I'm growing impatient...now!” he bellowed, smiting the floor with the heel of his scepter as he screamed out the very last word of his sentence into her face.

  He turned away in the dead silence of the room and resumed his studious meander. “Well dear,” he said, as if he were offering to help her into her fair weather carriage, “I've pressing matters to attend to, as having been a monarch yourself, you surely understand. Let's get on with the interview, shall we?”

  Myrtlebell could see that she had babbled a good deal about herself in her drugged stupor. She was surprised that she hadn't told them the very things they wanted know. She really had nothing to hide from these Gobblers or Beaks, if that's what they were. She stood regally and met Talorg's gaze. “I'll tell you what I know, your Majesty. I have no secrets.”

  Talorg sat back on his throne in surprise, where he nodded to himself before speaking. “Very wise of you,” he said, digging at the arm of his chair with his thumbnail. “Well then, why indeed did you and your witches trespass on my lands?”

  “I was traveling only with my son and the White Witch,
sire. The other two are our enemies who had just caught up with us and were holding us for their own purposes. We were trying to elude them for our safety. My son and I and the White Witch were making for the Dragon Caves in the swamp.”

  “Well. I see you've not been strangled yet,” said Talorg. “Go on. Why were you running from them?”

  “I'm wanted for the murder of my husband, the late King Edmond of Loxmere...”

  “Fascinating,” he said as his eyebrows shot up. “But what concern is that of Ugleeuh's?”

  “Ugleeuh, sire?”

  “Absolutely. The younger one. You mean to tell me that you were fleeing from those two na h-uile-bheistean, and didn't even know whom it was who pursued you?”

  “Spitemorta is the only one I know, Your Majesty. Ugleeuh is dead. She was killed by the python, Shot 'n' Stop above five years ago. Spitemorta was her only child. I'm told she's the very picture of her mother when she was young. Spitemorta is married to my late husband's son by his first wife, Ruella.”

  “So this Spitemorta wants you for murdering her late father-in-law, aye?”

  “I can't imagine that it could be for any other reason.”

  “But that makes no sense. Why would she come after you herself? Surely she would send soldiers or even hired assassins. By the way dear, did you do it? Kill your husband?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said with more fire than she'd intended. “And, as for why Spitemorta would hunt me herself, well you're right. It makes no sense at all, except that she and the other witch got the idea that I had in my possession something they wanted. Spitemorta called it 'the Heart,' I believe. Yes, I'm sure that's what she called it.”

  “So, what is this so called 'Heart?' Do you have it?”

  “No, I don't and I've no idea what it is. I only know that she and her companion are mad to get their hands on it.”

  “So, I take it you have been hiding with the White Witch since your husband's murder?”

  “Well, no. I've been hiding in the Peppermint Forest, though. First, my son and I stayed in Ugleeuh's abandoned cabin. Later, we stayed in a cave with an enchanted bear. When we heard that Spitemorta was afoot in the forest and coming our way, we fled. We stumbled across the White Witch in our flight and she hid us at first and then was trying to get us to the safety of the Dragon Caves when we were waylaid.”