Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “These are soldiers, Lance, not dolls,” said Abaddon, looking him in the eye with a broad sunny smile.

  “How can you possibly manage to do that right after...?” sputtered Lance.

  “Do what?”

  “What the stinking Pitmaster did you think you were doing?”

  “Nothin'!” he snarled, looking askance as he flung first one then the other yarn doll under his bed. “It was just a stupid rat! Why's everybody all worked up over a stinkin' ol' rat? It was none of your business! I was doing you all a favor a-getting rid of it.”

  “You were making a blood magic sacrifice with Rodon's beloved pet, which was right clear to everyone, and you're coward enough to try denying it, you little sneak!”

  “You better watch calling me names. When my momma comes for me and I tell her what you've said, she's...”

  By now Lance had him over his knee. “No...she's... not!” he said between spanks. “Now! There's yet another twenty-one licks, and you're still on the wrong road to make a man.” He set Abaddon on his feet and glowered at his defiant tear-streaked face. “Why must you insist on doing these awful things, Abby? Everyone here has stood on his head to treat you right, but you're bound and determined to spit in people's faces.” He stood up with a shake of his head and walked away.

  Abaddon took a deep shuddering breath and dashed after Lance. “Why hasn't my momma come for me, Lance?” he said, grabbing him tightly around the legs. “It's been a real long time and she hasn't even tried to find me.” Suddenly he was he wailing out in great whooping sobs.

  Lance was taken aback. This was far too tearful merely to be another one of his divisive acts. He knelt and carefully put his arms around Abaddon as the boy wept and wept. When he had quieted, Lance held him away for a look at him. “Now just how could you possibly know whether or not your momma's been out looking for you, anyway? As I've told you before, this kettle is hard to find and your momma would have no reason under the shinning sun to even look for you here. Besides, there are so many wards and protections on this place, she couldn't get in even if she did find it.”

  “I've been scrying her, Lance. She hasn't left Goll.”

  Lance sat back on a rock, ran his fingers through his hair and rolled forward onto his knees to look Abaddon squarely in the eye. “Now how'd you manage a thing like that when Celeste tried more than once and couldn't do it? She said there were strong wards all around the castle that she couldn't get through even with Alvita and Nacea helping her. And you say you've done it?”

  “I just know when to, is all...”

  “And? How would that help?”

  “You can only scry when Momma is talking to her subjects with the skinweleriou. She takes down her protections so she can talk to them. And the Fairies' protections are different than Momma's, so you can scry out with them in place, any time you want.”

  “She does it at the same time each day?”

  “Ten o' clock, every morning,” he said with a solemn nod.

  “How? I mean how did you get hold of a scrying ball?”

  “I didn't. I use this,” he said as he withdrew a jeweled pendant from around his neck.

  “That...?”

  “Sure. The big pearly stone in the middle is a catoptrolite scrying crystal...”

  “Why, you've had that the whole time.”

  “Sure. Nana Demonica gave it to me.”

  “So, you've been scrying her every day, then?”

  Abaddon nodded.

  “Clever boy, Abby.”

  “Maybe...” he said, looking at his toes.

  “So, by some odd chance have you tried to scry your father?”

  “I got tired of watching Momma so I tried once...”

  “Well...?”

  “It was all dark. I couldn't see anything but dark. It was scary.”

  “Maybe he was just asleep, Abby. Couldn't that explain the darkness?”

  “At ten o' clock in the morning?”

  “Well, I'm not thinking. What did you make of the darkness?”

  Abaddon scowled, pausing to dig at his pendant with his thumbnail before dropping it back inside his doublet. “I thought...I think Momma might have him in the dungeon...” he said, glancing quickly at Lance before looking at his toes with a studious frown.

  Lance blanched at his recollections of the dungeon at Castle Goll. “Yes,” he said softly, “that would make sense. And if you're right, Abby, I've got to find a way to get him out of there.”

  “You'll never be able to do that, Lance. If Momma and Nanna Demonica have him locked in there...” He stopped short and looked up at him.

  Lance seemed to be lost in thought and did not seem to notice. “Say Abby,” he said at last, “could I count on you to stay here and play for awhile so I can go check on Rodon and talk to my mothers for a bit?”

  Abaddon gave him a forlorn nod.

  “Thanks, Abby,” he said, springing to his feet. “We'll play chess or something after supper. I promise.”

  Lance found Celeste, Nacea and Alvita leaving Rodon's grotto.

  “A! Heere thou art, Lance,” said Celeste. “How didde hit ga with the feendly child?”

  “He might not do that again, Mother,” he said. “At least he wouldn't if he were an ordinary child.”

  “That goode tydyngges ybe,” said Alvita, sharing nods with Celeste and Nacea. “Thanne Ich truste that how hee spekith as wel as how hee sitteth hee now doth mynde?”

  “Yes,” said Lance, “but something serious has happened, Mothers.”

  “Thou didist nat for to hurte hym, ey Lance?” said Celeste.

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.”

  “What with hym didde happe, thanne?”

  “Something good, maybe,” said Lance. “He's started wondering why Spitemorta hasn't come searching for him, even though he's been gone for over a month.”

  “Wel hee never wolde for to knowe if she hadde,” said Alvita. “Didist thou hym aboute oure protecciounes and barreres to telle?”

  “But he does indeed know. He knows that she has not once left Castle Goll, and he was in tears over it.”

  “But how possibli koude hee?

  Lance explained everything in short order, while everyone listened wide-eyed as they found places to sit along a large twisted rope of lava. For a moment, no one spoke.

  “That glad tydyngges aboute hym ybe,” said Nacea at last. “but supprised whan hee bakward to slyden beth thou nat. Hee wol, thou knowest, soon and oftyn. Derk hath yben hise soule for al hise schort lyve. Hee a mounteyn of werk wol been.”

  “Natheles, this in dede a verray goode signe ybe and hit a stert ybe,” said Celeste. “The boye byginnynge for to trusten thee ybe, Lance, thogh oonly juste byginnynge. If weo hise trust to tende lyche un-to a newe sappelynge, hit myghte as solide and sturdy as an oke ygrowe.”

  “I'll do as you advise every step of the way, Mothers,” said Lance.

  “Of cours thou wolt, Lance,” said Celeste as she patted his hand.

  “Soo Celeste, aren weo the wicches yscryynge in the morwnynge, thanne?” said Nacea as she stood up and brushed off the seat of her skirt.

  “Ich thynke ther litel choys ybe but every day so to done, now that this weo knowen, and for a goode long whyle atte that byforn weo konnen rekene mochel for to tourne up, sithence Spitemorta this tyme to speke to hir subgitz doth to use.”

  “Wel a praty peny Ich wold yive, what kynde of cristal bal trewly to lat oon spekith with oother peple for to knowe!” said Nacea. “Ich have never hered telle of no thyng lyche un-to that.”

  “They call it prophet crystal, I believe,” said Lance. “Guess whose mines it comes out of on the Dark Continent?”

  “Likly Demonicas,” said Nacea.

  Lance gave a big nod before getting to his feet to fling a small piece of obsidian skittering off down the lava tube like a marble. “And that's not all,” he said. “Anyone can see and hear through one of those balls, and manage to do it without one bit of magic at all!”r />
  Celeste and Alvita rose sharing wide-eyed looks with Nacea. “Hit seme that ther moore for to seen than weo hadden gessed wol ben,” said Celeste. “And Lance, thou seurly entendist nat to ga bakke to Goll in ordere Kyng James from the dungeon for to reskew, doest thou?”

  “I don't know, Mother,” he said with a short sigh that brought a haunted look to his face. “I promised him I'd care for Abaddon no matter what, but I know full well he'd never leave me to rot in that dungeon. Remember, he saved me from the rack down there, right before sending me off with Abaddon.”

  “A hard choys thou hast, thanne,” she said, looking troubled. “Art thou ytakyng on som thyng thou kanst done?”

  “Oh my,” he said, staring off into a dark whirl of recollections of Goll's dungeon. “How could I possibly know?”

  Chapter 113

  “King Neron's message globe is stunning,” said Captain Bernard from under his bushy brow as he tossed a wide-eyed look at Razzmorten. “I've heard tell, but I've never before seen the like.”

  Razzmorten gave a polite but sober nod.

  “This is bad news for the Elves,” said Bernard as he began pacing about the room, “I mean, this is plain bad news altogether. There'll be a lot more Elves die over this, sure enough, but I can think of two things right now which are bad for us. Oilean Gairdin and

  Jutland may be all Elves, but it's on us. They're part of Niarg, so if Spitemorta and Demonica sent the trolls in there, they've just attacked us. And the other thing is, by doing so they look like they could very well be trying to get us to divide our army in order to make it easy for them to attack Niarg proper.” He paused to look at Minuet, who was studying him keenly, smiling in a way that seemed to be covering up a smoldering flame.

  Razzmorten was not letting on. Minuet ran the flat of her hand over the table top, then looked up, ready to hear more.

  “I'm sure that King Hebraun would have the same thing to say,” he said as he shifted the hilt of his saber and resumed pacing. “It is obvious, after all. And he'd waste no time sending out a strike force, particularly if Prince Lukus and his family are having to flee...”

  “So is it your opinion then, Captain,” said Razzmorten, “that Spitemorta and Demonica are indeed doing this in order to strike Niarg?”

  “Well sir, everything certainly looks that way. I'd even say so beyond any doubt whatsoever, except that I simply can't imagine what they're going to use for an army. My word! We slew well neigh thirteen thousand of them at Ashmore, and you said yourself, my Queen,” he said, turning to her with a nod, “that there was narrowly a man between six 'n' ten and sixty to be seen out and about when you scryed Goll.”

  “Yes,” said Minuet, standing up at once with a slap of the table top to begin pacing her own tight circle beside the one Bernard had been following. “It seems obvious that you are indeed onto something, Captain, and I can certainly guess what they're going to use as an army. We may have slain theirs, but we have not done a single thing to cripple them magically. If we send troops to aid Oilean Gairdin, she's very likely to make a magical strike against Niarg.”

  “Oh, they could be all set to launch a magical attack if we send aid to the Elves,” said Razzmorten with a screech of his chair on the stone floor, “and it sure seems like they'd have to be, particularly if we're thinking in terms of armies, but...”

  “'If we're thinking in terms of armies?' What else would we possibly be thinking in terms of?” said Minuet. “What better time would there be for a magical strike against Niarg than when we have sent away a substantial part of our army?”

  “Oh, there would indeed be no better time if Goll were actually using an army,” he said as he removed his spectacles and fogged their lenses with his breath. “But if they wanted to cripple Niarg with a magical strike, they would want to destroy as much of our army as they could with one blow, so they'd want us all right here.”

  “But why wouldn't they want to get us and the Elves together when we went to their aid?” said Minuet as she took a seat next to him.

  “Because it would leave us able to launch a retaliatory strike with the troops which stayed here,” boomed Bernard as he found the chair across from the two of them and sat with a rattle of chain mail.

  “Then we need to be moving!” said Minuet with a fiery tone.

  Razzmorten nodded and looked over his spectacles at Bernard.

  “I'll call the troops and we'll be underway before first light,” he said with a decisive nod, slapping the table with his gauntlet as he rose and tramped out the door.

  ***

  The two guards stood at their posts on each side of the grand doorway of the palace proper of Castle Goll. It had been a long day and hardly a soul had passed between them in the past hour. At such times they usually talked to one another in order to stay awake. Gossip, jokes, the weather, anything would do, even different verses of tunes, traded back and forth, but just now they both fought to keep their eyes open in utter silence. They studied the unchanging stones of the steps, the stones of the walls, the sisal mats, each other's toes and Demonica in her scarlet dress, sitting smugly on the snow white velvet cushions of her spotless white quarry wagon piled high with stone balls.

  “Aah!” said the first guard as he sat down hard into the stone urn behind him and toppled with it into the wall.

  “Cachu!” said the other guard as he blanched at the sight of his pike clattering on the flagstones in front of Demonica. “How did you get there?” he gasped.

  “That would be quite beyond your grasp, I'm afraid,” she said, with a demure whisk of her lace hanky, “though I am right flattered at your being so very taken with my arrival.” She broke into laughter that echoed from the walls of the courtyard. “You each know who I am,” she said, sobering without warning, “so you need to stand up nice and straight this instant.”

  Both guards sprang to rigid attention and thumped their chests in salute before stepping smartly back to their stations by the doorway.

  “Hey Urnboy, do you happen to know where the queen is just now?”

  “Certainly,” he said, speaking up from under the gash on his helm from his fall. “She's in her throne room at this time o' day.”

  “I don't care where she is, so long as you fetch her to me right quick.”

  “Begging your pardon, mistress,” said Urnboy as an urgent look came over him, “but Queen Spitemorta does not take lightly to one leaving his post without her express permission.”

  “Yea, I suppose she would enjoy an excuse to order someone flogged, this morning,” she said as she picked up a skinweler from behind her. “Here. Give this to her.

  Tell her I want to see her down here at once. If you get down here with her, I'll look out for you. Now go.”

  Urnboy went wide eyed, catching onto what was in the wagon as he took the skinweler. “I'm on my way now, mistress,” he said, already breathless before he sprinted away.

  Spitemorta appeared shortly with Urnboy, skinweler in hand, heaving herself along behind her belly. Urnboy slipped carefully past her to his post the moment she paused to behold the wagon load of skinweleriou. “At last!” she cried. “Now I can begin to make a real difference in...”

  “Urnboy!” barked Demonica, waving at the doorway. “You and Pikedrop step inside and close the door. We'll knock when we're ready for you to open it.”

  “Now I can...” said Spitemorta, as the guards were closing the ponderous oak door.

  “You can exercise some queenly discretion and come take my hand!” snapped Demonica with an impatient nod, as she leant forward from her seat. “We'll have a chat in just a moment.”

  Spitemorta peevishly wrinkled her brow as she waddled forward, taking Demonica's hand.

  At once they found themselves in Demonica's room with the wagon load of skinweleriou. Demonica climbed down, went to her window, opened it and leant well out of it to fling some knocks at the front of the great palace door, three storeys below. “There,” she said with an amused chuckle
as she watched Urnboy and Pikedrop open the door before turning her attention to Spitemorta. “Now, just what is it you can do dear?”

  “What?” said Spitemorta without looking up from examining ball after ball on the wagon.

  “Well you seemed determined downstairs to say what it was right out in front of the whole world. Could you possibly be excited about what I brought you?”

  “Oh, I am indeed,” she said, looking up at last with a giddy bounce above her flatly planted feet. “We must announce this to the citizens at once, so that I can begin...”

  “So that you can begin being careful about discussing your plans openly, dear. These skinweleriou will give you a great deal of power, but a ruler never has enough power to safely discuss his plans out where others can hear.”

  “But I'm...”

  “You just might be on your way to ruling the world if you know how to be discrete.”

  “But I want to announce...”

  “You've got to have a strategy in place before anyone hears about these, dear.” said Demonica as she stood back to eye her wagon as if she were considering the tasteful placement of a davenport. “You don't have enough for everyone yet. So you need to distribute these in a way that lets you take advantage of the power of envy...”

  “What in all of Goll are you talking about?”

  “Would you like to try out my nice upholstered wagon seat? You can sit sideways and handle all the balls you want. I mean you are looking more and more as though you'd like to sit, day by day. Here. Let me give you a hand.”

  “Oh, all right...” she said, taking to the seat after two or three lunges. She settled herself, gave a smooth pat to the cushion she was sitting on and took a deep breath. “So what are you talking about, Grandmother?”

  “Strategy. You must have one,” she said, pausing to climb to the seat beside her and take a skinweler off the top of the load. “I think it would be best to offer them to the nobility first. I've told you this before, but I can see that you couldn't possibly have been listening...”