They passed the rest of the way to the dungeon in silence. The passageways were as oddly empty and silent as they had been when they found their way to the old mage's tower, save for two small bands of soldiers which Spitemorta incinerated with her staff.
There was not a trace of Myrtlebell or Mary in the dungeon. However, they did find Caelis and Buthut locked away together in the last cell which they peeked into.
“Hey!” said Demonica, in a tone reserved for long lost friends, throwing wide the door as she wiggled out the keys from the keyhole. “Kaoc'h Ki Du One and Kaoc'h Ki Du Two. This is wonderful finding you here. We've just been so busy, we've not had one bit of time to visit.
“So,” she said, as her voice frosted over, stepping through the doorway with Spitemorta behind, “Where's the White Witch and the girl? You know, the Myrtlebell girl?”
Caelis and Buthut dropped their jaws with a gasp and scurried backwards into the wall on their hands. Spitemorta came fluidly forth like an adder, pointing her staff in their faces. They trembled spasmodically, but remained stoically silent. Demonica thrust out her chin and gave her a slight nod. With sudden fury, Spitmorta grimaced as purple fire shot from the Staff, frying Caelis's left eye with a deafening pop.
Caelis flopped over sideways, kicking and flailing and suddenly going still.
“Now, worm,” hissed Demonica, as Spitemorta raised her staff and pointed it at Buthut's left eye, “I'll ask you just this once. Where are the White Witch and the blond tart?”
Buthut glanced wildly at Caelis's bulging good eye, staring through the straw from his corpse, and then back at the end of the Staff as he gave a whimper of despair. His trembling gradually became a shake of the head. “Why?” he thought he heard himself say. “Why tell you? After all... After all, I'm...I'm scheduled to die on the gallows at first light anyway...”
“Should 'ave got you first...” screeched Spitemorta.
“Wait!” shouted Demonica.
Spitemorta lowered the Staff and glared.
“So, you think you've chosen a quicker way to die, aye Beak?” said Demonica, squatting to stare him in the eye. “Idiot. There are many ways to die. Unless you tell us what we want, I'll fix you a death that will last for an age and cause you pain the like of which you've never imagined. You'll hover on the edge of madness and yet you'll not quite lose your wits, for I'll have you always aware of your agony. Neither your own hand nor any other's will be able to spare you your unremitting curse.” She began reciting the words of her spell.
“Wait!” cried Buthut, flinging up his hands with a rattle of chain. “Please! I'll tell you anything you want to know.”
“You see dear,” said Demonica, turning to Spitemorta, “he's quite easy to reason with, after all.”
Spitemorta lowered her staff.
“Now,” said Demonica in soothing tones, “All you have to do is tell us right where the White Witch and Myrtletart are.”
“The White Witch escaped,” he said with an anxious swallow. “She tricked us by pretending to be out cold with the poison when she wasn't at all. She then used her magic to break her bonds and escape.”
“How could her power return when ours hasn't even yet?” hissed Spitemorta as she brandished the Staff in his face.
“Caelis and I had the idea it was because she only got one dose of the poison, while you two got several apiece...”
Spitemorta jabbed the Staff in his face. He jerked back from the writhing maggots of flame on its tip. Demonica knocked aside the Staff in time for it to shatter a rock in the wall behind him, peppering everyone with its hot fragments. Spitemorta was not about to give up, swinging back the Staff for another try.
“Stop!” thundered Demonica, grabbing her arm with a shake. “He has more to tell.”
“You heard him,” huffed Spitemorta as she yanked her arm free. “They got us over and over. Who knows what happened to our powers? They may never return.”
“All the more reason to find out where Myrtlebell's gone. Anything awry can be set to rights with the Heart, dear girl.”
Spitemorta dubiously lowered the Staff.
“Now, Screw Worm,” said Demonica in a voice fit to comfort a child, “where's Myrtlebell?”
“Last I saw her, she was with our Ru. She's to marry Brude Talorg.”
“Marry? Has that little naer told your king where the Heart is?”
“I have no idea at all what you are talking about,” said Buthut, seized with a fresh wave of panic.
“Why would King Talorg marry some prisoner unless she'd promised him something of great value?” said Demonica as she carefully centered her thumbnails on each side of his Adam's apple before forcing him to stand.
“It's said by everyone that she's the very image of his deceased wife...”
This was not the right answer. Demonica flung him away from her with explosive fury. He stumbled, catching the back of his neck on the top of a short stone post as he fell flat. He tried to right himself, but his body would not respond.
“He's alive, but he must have a broken neck, Grandmother,” said Spitemorta with demure innocence.
“Oh Yes. We really ought to make him more comfortable, don't you think?” And with that, the two of them heaved him upright by the armpits and began violently shaking his head from side to side.
“How unfortunate,” gasped Spitemorta. “I'm afraid bu farw, Grandmother. That's what they used to say in Niarg when someone died.”
“I do indeed remember that old expression, dear,” said Demonica in tones of one bored with winning her fifth hand of cribbage. “I was often there in those days, you know. Oh, it's such a pity. His death could have been so much more enjoyable, but alas, we just lacked the time.”
“Let's find Myrtlebell and take the proper time with her.”
“Spread out and find that woman!” snarled Demonica, as she wheeled round to locate Devi, Oana and Mael. “She may be with the king if they've already wed.”
“If she's anywhere in the castle or on the grounds we will find her immediately, mistress,” said Devi.
“Absolutely at once,” said Demonica.
“Easily,” said Devi as he shot away with Oana and Mael.
***
He headed straight to the throne room where he was delighted to find Talorg pacing the plush red carpet crossing the dais to his chair, bearing an expression like a roiling thundercloud. “How's this?” thought Devi. “Did she slap him? Well, there's nothing for it and I'm getting good at this, so...” Ever so carefully, he slipped into Talorg's head, right behind his ear. To his delight, Talorg's thoughts were focused on exactly what he wanted to find out. Talorg was 'way too agitated to notice, and Devi was on his way back in no time. He found them just outside the throne room.
“Mistress!” he called. “I've got it!”
Demonica looked pleasantly surprised. He would tell her the good news first: “The king knows nothing of the Heart, mistress.”
“You're certain?”
“Completely. I was inside his head and he was so stirred up over the very things I sought that he didn't notice.”
“Good,” said Demonica. “And what about Myrtlebell? Have they married?”
“I doubt if they will.”
“What's happened?”
“Doesn't look like she wanted to be queen. She ran away.”
“What? How long ago?”
“Talorg had no idea, but he was with her no more than eight hours ago.”
“Find Oana and Mael and catch up with us,” said Demonica, motioning to Spitemorta as she turned on her heel. “Time to play catch the tart.”
“Right away, Mistress,” called Devi as he shot away.
Outside the castle walls they paused to ponder where Myrtlebell most likely went. Spitemorta paced about, pausing here and there to stare off in some direction as if she would figure it out by simply looking hard enough. Suddenly she looked up. “I'll bet she's looking for that brat of hers in the marsh. Not that there's any point,
but at least it's nice to realize the little snot's probably dead.”
“I'm thrilled you've found something to be happy about, Spitemorta,” said Demonica, “But I think it's nice we realize where she might be.” She glanced at the Staff. “Let's fly. It'll be faster and we may just get her before the sun rises.”
“Great idea, Grandmother. Try not to get sick this time,” said Spitemorta, as she held the Staff level, threw her leg over it and waited for Demonica to settle astride behind her. They shot off into the sky, making straight for Standing Rock.
Demonica could tell that her Cias were following close behind, but the only thing she really cared about at the moment was hanging onto the Staff and not vomiting all over Spitemorta's shoulders. And she was not about to let on.
Chapter 70
King Talorg stopped pacing at the sound of echoing footsteps nearing the throne room. He looked up to see Gart, captain of the palace guard, making a hurried entry. He could plainly see that he bore bad news. Gart came to a halt, bowed, and then rose with a solemn look.
“Since you're the one who conveyed my order that I not be disturbed, this must be a good one, Captain,” said Talorg, as he took to his great chair with a resigned plump, thrusting his chin at him.
“Majestic Ru,” said Gart smartly. “I regret reporting great treachery afoot in the castle...”
“Here I sit, all ears.”
“We found your turnkeys in their cell, sire,” said Gart with a nod, as he shifted from one foot to the other. “One was dead with a charred eye socket, while the other, Buthut I believe, appeared to have died of a broken neck.”
“Very well, so it saves us the bother of executing...”
“That's only the beginning, I'm afraid...”
Talorg gave a sigh, studying him closely.
“Yeoman MeqqArccis, who was on duty down there, has vanished without a trace, and I have a number of my other men at duties elsewhere who suddenly cannot be accounted for...”
“And?” said Talorg, rumbling below the surface.
“And the worst of it is, Your Majesty...” said the right stolid Captain Gart with a conspicuous wince, “and the very worst of it is that both of the dark witches have escaped clean away. My men have mounted a completely thorough search of the castle and grounds, but so far they have turned up absolutely nothing.”
Talorg sprang to his feet without a word and resumed pacing. “And you had no one guarding the witches other than MeqqArccis?”
“By your command sire, a substantial number are kept busy searching for the White Witch and your...the other missing young woman. Besides, outside of them we've not had an incident in the dungeon since well before Carlin Cruinnich.”
“Right you are, Captain. Of course,” said Talorg, pausing to rub his temples. “So, while we're at it, have you had any success with that search?”
“I'm afraid not, sire,” said Gart, “though my men are scouring the marsh and will search the surrounding territories if it comes to it. We'll not rest until we have these women, Your Majesty. You can count on that.”
“Yes, yes,” said Talorg, waving him to silence. “You say you've no idea when the dark witches escaped?”
“They could have escaped any time after the search for the White Witch began, sire,” said Gart, falling silent as Talorg looked him over.
“If that's so,” said Talorg, “how about at the same time? Could they have kidnapped Myrtlebell?”
“Well yes, actually sire,” said Gart with a wide eyed look, “I believe that could indeed be the case.”
“But, you don't think so, aye, Captain?”
“I didn't say that, Your Majesty. I just hadn't considered the matter, but I can see at once that it does makes sense.”
“Really? How, I may ask, does it make sense to you, Captain?”
“Having the Lady Myrtlebell as a hostage might keep them from being shot on sight as they flee, perhaps...”
“Absolutely,” said Talorg, thrusting forth a squint, “except for a wee detail that just occurred to me.”
“Was it: how would the witches have known that the Lady Myrtlebell was important to you?”
“They'd never have slowed themselves down with her unless they could have heard gossip on their way out of the castle.”
“That's quite possible, Your Majesty. Your upcoming wedding is...was being discussed by everyone.”
“Yes, I expect it was. However I'm not sure what I think about Demonica and Spitemorta pausing for gossip on their way out. Mage Cinid could scry and locate Myrtlebell. Captain, go to Mage Cinid's tower and fetch him here.”
“As you command, sire,” said Gart as he thumped his chest in salute before stepping off smartly to see to Talorg's bidding.
Talorg stepped up onto the dais and sat wearily upon his chair. In spite of how very tired he was, he would not rest until he settled a few things. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.
“Fa?” said Tramae, startling him upright with a jerk.
“Tramae, you are the very mistress of stealth!” he said, heart pounding, as he let go the hilt of his sword. “It would be 'way better to do that to an enemy than to me.”
“I'm sorry, Fa,” she said. “I couldn't tell if you were asleep or just resting your eyes. Forgive me.”
“Forgive? My dear girl, you're always forgiven.”
“Thank you, Fa.”
“Why are you here so early, dear?”
“I wanted to speak with you about Myrtlebell.”
“Myrtlebell?”
“Yes, Fa. Please don't be upset, but Donnel and I have talked about it a lot and we think it would be a big mistake for you to marry Myrtlebell.”
“Mistake?” said Talorg, sitting upright to study her face. “And why would the two of you think that?”
“You're still in love with Mother, Fa.”
“What are you looking at, dear?”
“I could almost see her sitting there beside you as she used to...”
Talorg squeezed shut his eyes. It was far too easy to remember. He'd had her chair removed before he could bear to sit again upon his throne. He gave himself a moment. “Of course I still love your mother, Tramae,” he said with a heavy sigh. “She was my very world. It nearly stopped my heart when she died. Without you and Donnel, I believe it surely would've. But what has this to do with Myrtlebell?”
“Don't you see?” she said, her chestnut eyes alive with sincerity as she searched the features of his face. “Myrtlebell may look like her, but no way can she ever really be Mother. Sooner or later you'd feel cheated. She'd only remind you of the love you'd lost. Both of you would be miserable. And Fa, doesn't Myrtlebell also deserve to be loved? You'd be in love with Mother instead of her.”
“I think I see what you're trying to say, and I think you just may be right,” said Talorg as he brushed aside a lock of hair from her face, “but you're worrying needlessly, dear girl.”
“Needlessly?”
“Myrtlebell's vanished. There's not going to be a wedding.”
“Fa, I...”
“There's nothing to be said. Myrtlebell's clean gone. So are all three witches. Looks like Mytlebell could've been abducted by the two dark ones for insurance.”
“But...”
“Here comes someone. I've sent for Cinid. You need to go back to your apartment.”
“As you say, Fa,” she said as she bit her lip. She curtsied and was gliding out as Captain Gart rushed in.
“Majestic Ru!” said Gart, catching his breath, “Mage Cinid has disappeared from his tower along with that staff which he took from the witch who looked like Carlin Cruinnich. We turned everything upside down. There's not a trace. All we found was an odd pile of ash in the middle of the floor. We did find MeqqArccis, on the way up, though. Somebody stuck him and he bled half way down the tower steps.”
Talorg calmly turned his back on the Captain and paced away, giving himself a moment before speaking. “Fool,” he thought. “Odd pile of ashes indeed
. And just what does he fancy them to be other than Cinid's remains?” He wheeled 'round and strode right up to Gart, pinioning him with his gaze. “I'm hemmed in by fools and ditherers,” he said with a toothy smile to keep from exploding. “Madadh-Allaidh Neartmhor grows hungry. He's been neglected. Detail some of your men to build a wicker wolf, ten foot at the shoulders, Captain, and recapture those witches to fill it, or else you and your idiot soldiers will be the fuel.”
Gart hesitated for just the briefest moment, wide eyed and quite white. “It will be done, Sire,” he said with a sudden thump of his chest before hurrying from the throne room as if the Pitmaster himself were nipping his heels.
***
“I have to rest,” said Myrtlebell as she tugged at Mary's cape. “Just for a moment.” She stumbled aside to sit and catch her breath on a rock at the foot of a bluff, just inside the Peppermint Forest.
Mary nodded, taking a seat beside her. They sat winded for some time before either spoke. At last Myrtlebell squeezed Mary's arm. “Thank you for rescuing me, Mary,” she said, looking into her face, flushed and framed with strings of sweaty hair. “If it weren't for you and Tramae I'd be Talorg's queen by now. I only hope that what he told me about Edward's being safe with the dragons is true.”
“Oh, I expect it is...”
“Why?”
“Well, the Beaks either captured Edward or they didn't,” said Mary. “If they'd got him, you can be sure that they would have used his presence to manipulate you. If you didn't see him, you know they didn't have him. And if they didn't have him, he's safe beyond a shadow of a doubt because Lladdwr and Ceidwad would have taken him straightaway to the Dragon Caves. He'll be safe and sound when we get there. You'll see.”
“It cheers me to hear you say that, Mary,” said Myrtlebell with an anxious nibble of her lip, “but that's a good lot to ask of any mount, even the best unicorns.”
“My dear girl, there's a lot you have to learn about diatrymas.”
“I don't understand.”
“No. I don't see how you'd have any way to,” said Mary with a smile. “In the rush we were in, I had no way to acquaint you with my friends before we left my cavern. We're still in a rush, but I guess we have this moment while we catch our breath. The diatrymas are probably the most intelligent beings you will ever meet, including people.”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 77
