Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “What's the matter with you? Are you trying to play me for stupid? You think if you smile at me like I'm being sweet, you've got control of me?” He cast about for another rock. He grabbed onto one the size of his head, rolled it onto his toes and picked it up.

  “You blithering nether eye!” he yelled from between his teeth as he spun around and hove in the stone with a deep ka-poomp that threw scalding water up the length of his arm. “Aaah!” he shrieked. “Lance! Lance!”

  Lance scooped up Abaddon at once and dashed away with him to find Celeste, Alvita and Nacea.

  At the sound of his wails, they dropped everything and rushed to the hot spring followed by a wide-eyed Rodon.

  “He got water up his arm out of the hot spring, Mothers,” said Lance as he turned Abaddon over to them.

  “A!” cooed Celeste as she gently guided Abaddon to sit beside her on a rope of lava. “Ther, ther, litel man. Tyme to bene corageous ybe. Heere. Juste ley thy arme in my lappe and bethe righte stille. Ich shal som eld, eld wordes to seye:

  I fyny dwr berwedig braich dy,

  Drewllyd gwrtaith bychan.

  Paid cynhyrfu! Mynd yn eitha oer!

  A 'n union gair.”

  Abaddon squirmed and drew a breath for another yell and stopped short to stare in gaping disbelief at his arm.

  “Art thou yit in peyne?” said Celeste with a keen green twinkle in her eye. Alvita and Nacea stifled a giggle apiece.

  Abaddon shook his head as he looked at his arm with nothing to say.

  “Fy!” said Rodon, dropping his fists from his hips as he wheeled aside onto all fours. “Atte leste badde children thaire dewe in tyme do geten.”

  “And hee certeynly shuld yknoweth,” said Alvita as she and Nacea watched his tail slip 'round the corner.

  Celeste gave Abaddon a squeeze and a grandmotherly pat on the seat of his breeches as she got him to his feet.

  He broke away at once and stood by Lance's leg, bristling like a cur. “Jolly good you healed my burns!” he snarled. “My Momma wouldn't like it if I had ugly scars from your stupid hot spring. She'd burn your arm off while she killed you right slow!” With that, he tore away to vanish down the echoing lava tube.

  “My word!” said Lance. “I do believe that the hellion prince has earned a good licking. I'll be back directly...”

  “Aynt no neede Lance,” said Celeste, grabbing his shirt with a shake of her head. “Ich no neede of respecte have. The boyes peyne fer deeper than aren hise brynnes ybe. Weo wol atte helynge hym worken whilom thou art of to savyn thy kyng.”

  “No,” he said with a sudden smile. “I'm staying. Abaddon let me see into his crystal. James is clean out of the dungeon, traveling hard somewhere with some young fellows I think I've seen someplace before. So, I reckon Abaddon must be the prisoner...”

  Suddenly he found himself being hugged by all three of them.

  “Ey, prisounnere hee bethe,” said Celeste. “Soo shal weo ga, a warm pece of apple pye for to haven and discussen how to make loos the boyes bondes?”

  Chapter 123

  Captain Bernard peered about at the landscape of Cwm Eryr, wincing here and there at recollections as his massive march streiciwr brenhinol stepped carefully amongst the tumbled armor and bones, staying abreast of Queen Minuet on hers. “I can't believe her grit,” he thought, pretending not to glance aside at her. “She's almost serene, all decked out in her gleaming armor astride Vindicator's snow-white twin sister.”

  “Captain,” said Minuet. “look yonder, by the dead tree. Could that possibly be...?”

  “Ol' Brutus?” he said with a grunt, as he dismounted to go see. “Oh, you got that one right first try, Your Majesty. Has to be, head and all. Right where King Hebraun left him, though someone's been along in the last day or two and smashed him up pretty good.

  And that someone probably knew him, don't you reckon? Well, I mean Brutus was one of those as never could get beat up enough to match what he had a coming to him...”

  Minuet dismounted and removed her helm, letting fly her fiery red hair in the breeze. “Did you think to pick out a bivouac on the way down here, Captain?” she said as she thoughtfully rocked back and forth Brutus's smashed hauberk, gorget and breastplate with her toe. “I realize it's early.”

  “I'm afraid not, Your Majesty, for as you said...”

  “Well what I need for you to do is to position them out of sight over that rise, yonder and come right back here without them. It doesn't matter how you do it.”

  Bernard left her where she was and set about at once getting the troop beyond the rise. Presently he returned to find her carefully examining the smashed skull and helm.

  “Well,” she said, standing up and brushing her hands as he dismounted, “guess what? There are some person's tracks all over, which I think you already noticed, but did you see the bird tracks? Big ones and little ones. Come look. Couldn't they be crow and sparrow? And here's a nice big black feather.”

  “Oh, that's them. I'm surprised that this amount of smashing up Brutus's remains is all...” Suddenly he had lost track and was gaping at what Minuet was doing.

  She knelt and slapped the helm, leaving her coronary seal glowing and smoking in the metal. She set it beside the rest of the armor and smacked breastplate as well, leaving her seal to glow and turn blue as it cooled.

  “My!” said Bernard, shifting to his other foot. “That's...”

  “Ffwrdd a ni!” she roared, springing to her feet with a fling of her arms, sending the armor leaping into the sky to shoot away south beyond the horizon.

  Bernard looked wide eyed and pale.

  “I didn't mean to alarm you, Captain. I just thought Brutus should return to his queen. Do you think she will be pleased?”

  “You sent those bones and armor clean back to Castle Goll?”

  “They're already there.”

  “Oh!” he said with a spreading grin. “I think that was a right noble gesture, Your Majesty.”

  “Yes. And it's between us. That's why you moved the troop.”

  “I always knew you were Razzmorten's daughter, but I swear I never knew...”

  “I vowed not to use my powers as queen, Captain, but their time has come, and I don't want it known, yet. Did you give the order to bivouac?”

  “No.”

  “Then let's go. This is no place for us to be. We might actually have enough light to stop at Ash Fork and pay our respects to Hebraun.”

  ***

  “So I wonder what did become of James, anyway?” said Spitemorta as she sat with a bounce on edge of her bed and addressed the toes of her shoes. “For all I know, Grandmother got him. She sure would, too, if she took the notion.” At once she was on her feet pacing her chamber. “She's in everything of mine! I'm queen and she treats me like her drewllyd puppet. I hate her insults and her overturning everything of mine. What kind of meddling is she off to now? I wish she'd pop in right now! I'd fix...!”

  With a deafening crash the room was showered with purple glass from a suit of armor smashing through her window and coming to a whirling stop under her bed. She shrieked and raced to peer under the skirt of her bedspread. As she did, something being swept along by her petticoats banged between her ankles. “Aaa! Fates!” she screamed, hiking her dress to stumble backward and sit down hard upon the floor, at the sight of a smashed, toothless skull in a helm, grinning up at her. “Damn you Demonica! Do you think this is funny?” she shouted.

  She paused to carefully pick pieces of glass out of her hands before glancing first at the helm and then at the shreds of black and crimson cape and doublet still attached to the armor. “Brutus! How dare you show up here after your failure! That's crazy. You had no powers. Grandmother you stinking witch! Come out where I can see you!

  “Ha!” she cried. “I'll find you!” She sprang to her feet to grab her skinweler off its stand. As its swirls of color subsided, there was Demonica, in wings and white robe sound asleep against a large boulder amongst her trolls.

&
nbsp; “Oh, how like you, Grandmother,” she said with a bounce of glee. “I'll fix you. Oh, no I can't!” she wailed. “I can't turn myself into Fnadi-yaphn and there's no way I can cast a spell to force her back here!”

  She deflated with a sigh. “And worse than that, she's never shown me how to go about flinging Brutus back at her. What torment! I can't possibly get her yet because she hasn't shown me how!

  “Angh!” she said, stepping on a piece of glass. “This has to be cleaned up.” She sat on the bed and yanked the bell pull.

  “Yes my Queen?” said Nimue trotting in out of breath to curtsey with Nasteuh in her arms.

  “I want this mess cleaned up. Where is everyone? What are you doing with her? You've not located any wet nurses in all this time?

  “Oh, but Samuel was right quick about it.”

  “Splendid. So why are you in here with her, and why does she bawl and carry on so?”

  “Well, he found everyone of 'em, right now, but he was blistering vexed with 'em, and, well, not a one of 'em's conscious yet...”

  “Very well then, dear,” said Spitemorta sweetly, “It seems that Samuel's life is forfeit this time instead of yours, in spite of what I may have promised...”

  Nimue fearfully arrested a grateful sigh.

  “So see to it that he is up here to see me immediately, dear, or I may be forced to reconsider.”

  Nimue blanched and steadied herself against the bedpost to keep from falling. “I'm going now, my Queen,” she squeaked as she found her balance and scurried out.

  “Goody!” growled Spitemorta. “Now I get to twiddle my thumbs while I wait for Grandmother take her sweet time showing up here so I can have her teach me how to send this little surprise gift of hers back to her. Well, at least I get to kill somebody while I wait.” She tiptoed through the glass and knelt to have another look at Captain Brutus. “What in all Goll is this?” she said, catching sight of the blued burn on the helm. She grabbed at the breastplate. “Fates! There's one here, too. These are fresh fire brands. Coronary seals. Minuet! Minuet did this! So she's using her powers.”

  Minuet was indeed using her powers again for the first time since she had come to the throne. She had spent her entire reign keeping every bit of her magical power dormant at all times, committed to the belief that it was immoral to mix magic and politics. Besides, forgoing magic altogether had unexpectedly freed her of her nightmarish episodes of antesight which had plagued her childhood and youth. Antesight was one of the very ways Razzmorten had of knowing that she would someday exceed his power, since she was the only one he knew of having such an ability since the First Wizard. No matter that antesight gave her a power which could be quite useful on occasion, she detested it. She might be visiting the scene of some past tragedy best forgotten, when without warning she would be stricken by a sudden glimpse of the actual horror taking place.

  It was a gorgeous sunny spring afternoon to be riding out of Cwm Eryr into the new green grass of Ashmore amongst the calls of quail and meadow larks. Minuet removed her helm and rode with it in her lap as her brilliant red hair waved in the breeze above its reflections in her armor, brushing to and fro against Hebraun's claymore, strapped to her back. Chain mail clinked here and there as leather creaked in time to the tireless plod of hooves.

  Nothing had been said, but a streak of apprehension raced through her as she strained to see over a gentle swell of meadow. “That'll be Ash Fork when we get a clear look,” she thought. No town came into view, but they began seeing signs of where it had been the moment their path crossed the first swag in the grass beyond the rise. They began pausing to examine what they were coming to.

  “That's the tavern,” said Bernard with a nod at the scorched foundation stones.

  Minuet looked up at the frayed lengths of rope stirring in the air from beneath a great horizontal limb of the nearby burr oak, its new leaves just turning green from fuzzy pink. “Agh!” she cried out with hushed apoplexy at the sight of Cefnogi Rhywun kicking his last to the wails and cries of horror all about, as laughing soldiers held down a screaming, flailing woman. She clamped shut her eyes on her sudden rivulets of tears.

  Bernard looked up in alarm. “Your Majes...”

  “Hush!” she whispered atop her flawless posture. “They mustn't see!”

  “Shall we go then, my Queen?”

  Through the mud and cinders and new grass they wended. Bernard would not let down his queen. “She must be brave for Hebraun's soldiers,” he thought. He halted the men well before he and Minuet drew near the place where Hebraun fell. At the circle of twenty-one stone posts, she dismounted. Suddenly all was dark as night as Spitemorta shot from the sky, smiting Hebraun asunder with a fiery bolt of lavender. With a sob of anguish her knees buckled. “My dear sweet Hebraun!” she wailed.

  Bernard rushed forth and caught her in his big gnarly hands before she swooned.

  At the sight of him weeping in spite of all his bristly scars and armor, she caught herself at once. “Thank you, Captain. I can manage now. Give me a moment more alone here and I shall give you yours.” As soon as he had stepped well back, she ran the palm of her hand lovingly across the inscription on the menhir stone, leaving it smoking and glowing with new words which read:

  Hebraun

  Beloved Husband and Fader

  Revered Kyng of Niarg

  þin Light Shall Ever Shine

  þin Memory Never Fade

  As she and Bernard waited for the troop to pay their respects, she said: “The Jut's off that way, right?”

  Bernard nodded.

  “Well then, when the men are done, let's set out to see what happened to the Elves, shall we?”

  ***

  “Well, here I am for your bidding, Majesty,” said Samuel without looking up, as he paused in front of the tea table for an uninvited piece of toast long enough to drop a gob of jam on the rug.

  “So. What do you wamp?” He could scarcely be understood with a wad of toast and his sticky fingers in his mouth. He glanced up nonchalantly at Spitemorta as he stooped to slop some milk into the bottom of a cup.

  “Milk's a pain, I see,” said Spitemorta, peering at the puddle of it, all around his saucer.

  “Absolutely. Those cwn hithau...”

  “No Samuel, you're drowning the table cloth.”

  “Yea?” he said with a bored look as he stood up to suck the dribbling tea from his overfilled cup.”

  “You're careless!” she hissed, flipping her fingers at him, soaking him with his own tea, which she had set to boiling at the same instant.

  “Fates!” he yelped, dropping his cup as he sprang backward from the table.

  “So, you need to begin being careful...”

  “What?”

  “Yea. Like with those 'cwn hithau,' as you call them. Are any of them conscious, yet, Samuel?”

  “Well, you can be jolly well satisfied they'll not try to escape your service any time soon!”

  “No, not when there mightn't be a one of them survive.”

  “But you said you wanted to kill them...” he said, finally looking alarmed.

  “Yea,” she said sweetly as she stepped between him and the door. “At my leisure. But you were told merely to round them up. You need to mind the details, Samuel. It's not wise to deny a queen her due. And you assume far, far too much.”

  “Maybe with the wet nurses, but...”

  “And maybe with my son, Samuel...”

  “Abaddon?”

  “You know, my husband was an idiot...”

  “Yea, he sure was...” he laughed with white dry lips.

  “Yes. Letting you live after he found you teaching Abaddon to worship the Pitmaster was the act of an idiot.”

  Samuel lunged to one side and raced for the hallway.

  “Fates!” she cried, wheeling round to grab for the Staff where it leant against a chair by the tea table. She leveled it at him just as he reached the doorway, blowing him apart with a concussion that knocked all the tapestries
off the wall.

  “Damn him!” she cried. “That was no satisfaction at all! I didn't even get to cut off his fingers and arms!” She yanked on the bell pull with a huff and sat upon the bed.

  “Yes Your Majesty,” said Nimue, appearing at once.

  “Where's Nasteuh?”

  “Sound asleep, my Queen. “One of the wet nurses woke up with all kinds of milk.”

  “Excellent. Now I need you to find someone to clean up all this glass. And see that armor? See that it is taken to Demonica's room and put on her bed. Also, send word to the cooks that I'm famished and would like roast duck and all the trimmings for supper.” She blew a lock of hair out of her face and drummed her knee with her fingers as she watched Nimue scurry out. “Ha!” she said as she sprang to her feet and returned to the bed with her skinweler. “Samuel might have been no fun, but I can surely enjoy killing James!”

  ***

  Dawn came to the grasslands well south of the ford at Ash Fork with a refreshing breeze and a crisp blue sky full of fluffy white clouds. Larks still tinkled overhead. Minuet threw her leg over her great white unicorn and gave a her neck a pat. “It was a day just like this one that Hebraun and I wed, Virtue,” she whispered. She gave a deep sigh.

  Presently Bernard was mounted beside her and she gave the order to move out.

  By afternoon they had crossed the Loxmere River at the ford of Duradan Deannaigh and began cutting across the open grasslands south of the river to the

  Jutwoods. On the afternoon of the third day, Minuet saw a line of immense forest rise up on the horizon. Late in the morning of the seventh day they waded the submerged isthmus (no longer hidden by enchantment on the waves) to find the wreckage of Olean Gairdin.

  Minuet began having flashes of antesight at once as they picked through the rubble, praying to discover if Lukus, Soraya and the twins had escaped. When she came upon a great slab of ceiling pinning Jarund's rotting corpse, she nearly fainted from the visions, but she did manage to catch a glimpse of them dashing away to the chute. “They must be all right,” she said, “for if some calamity struck on the way down, I would surely have seen by now.” She continued meandering amongst the jumble of stones and timbers, wondering what had become of Neron.