Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “Dewr.”

  Beli blinked in surprise and looked James over more closely. “That's a mighty fine piece o' unicorn meat ye got there, my dear fellow,” he said with a grunt as he pulled out a fistful of leather straps from beneath the bar. “Here's the bridal which was on him when he was brought here. Hit's a right nice one. You ones must 'ave been through some pretty rough waters.”

  James smiled and looked him in the eye with a nod as he took the bridal, but said nothing.

  “None o' my business, of course,” said Beli. “I've seen a tight spot or two myself. Well. When you're ready to leave, go back to the stable and ask for Fforch. Tell him you've come to get Dewr and give him the bridal. He's kept Dewr out of sight, so you'll have to be patient while he goes to the other stable and gets him.”

  James thanked him and had just turned to hurry back to his bowl of stew, when a fellow amongst a group of people filing in caught his eye. “Lance?” he said, rushing to the man's shoulder with hushed urgency.

  “James!” cried Lance, grabbing him by the arm.

  “Hey...” said Abaddon, stepping in between them.

  “Abaddon!” cried James.

  Abaddon took a step back. “Isn't that supposed to be stupid or something?” he said as he folded his arms. “Isn't it supposed to dangerous, giving ourselves away?”

  James and Lance traded a look of wide-eyed shock. “Come have a seat with us,” said James. “I'll grab a couple of chairs. It's probably safest just to stay calm.”

  “I don't think we should order anything,” said Lance as he sat down. “Calm is a good idea, but it's dangerous not to get out of here. We could have let too much slip already. In case you haven't noticed, there are quite a lot of eyes looking us over.”

  “Don't you need something to eat?” said James.

  “Begging your pardon,” said Aeron, “but I clearly heard 'James' and 'Abaddon' clear over here, through the crowd.”

  “We can skip it,” said Lance. “We ate breakfast with the Elves, anyway...”

  “Elves?”

  “Yes, they're in flight, though it would have been awkward to have asked them where to...”

  “You think it's possible to get us back there before they leave?”

  “I have utterly no way of knowing...”

  “I'm off to get Dewr this minute. Lance, if you have enough money to buy a mount for Aeron, come with me. I'll see you all at the stable as soon as you can get there.”

  Chapter 134

  “No good!” growled Spitemorta at the first light through her window, as she flung aside her covers and sat bolt upright. She threw her feet over the side of the bed and scuffled for her slippers. “All night and no sleep. Damn you, Demonica, telling me all about what we can do to Niarg with the Gwaels. Now you've got to spend days and days holding up everything with your stupid recuperating. This is deliberate. You've got the

  Heart. We could be on our way right now, if you wanted.”

  She sprang to her feet and kicked at the end of her fallen bolster, nearly losing her balance. “Ha! James,” she cried, stopping short at the sight of her skinweler. “I'd nearly forgotten, but I do indeed owe you for stealing away from my dungeon, naughty boy.” She grabbed up the ball at once and rushed back to her bed.

  “So just where would my errant weakling flee?” she said, unable to hold the skinweler still as its colors began to swirl. “Loxmere? No, too obvious, too close. Niarg? Maybe. Oh, who knows. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to hide in the Kettles, particularly since Lance could have taken Abaddon there. Oh, I'll cook both of you for that... So why isn't the skinweler showing anything but colors?” She gave it an angry shake as if it were full of beans. “Oh...” she said, suddenly thinking things over. “Show me James.” She quietly settled the ball between her knees and watched.

  “Ha! There you are. Why you look rotten, just like you deserve, except you deserve lots more, like the slowest death I can possibly arrange for you. So just where are you?” she said, suddenly thrusting her face at the skinweler. “A common tavern to match your looks. I can see that, but I don't recognize a single one of the knaves and dirt with you, particularly not with this stupid skinweler refusing to show me everything clearly. What are you all standing up for? What's that in red letters on the wall? Tafarn Coch...?”

  Suddenly the ball went blank.

  “No! No! No!” she cried. “James has no magic! He can't just vanish!” Furiously she heaved the skinweler across the room, smashing her forest of crystal bottles on the dressing table and turning her mirror to flying slivers.

  The skinweler came slowly rolling away from her dressing table. She grabbed it up and set out find Demonica. “Damn you Grandmother!”

  ***

  “What's this you just put 'round my neck, Lance?” said James as he stepped outside the tavern door.

  “No, no,” said Lance. “Leave it on...”

  “Yea, it's protecting you,” said Abaddon, hurrying to get in between them. “It's magic. It's a gift from the Fairies and Longbark. Longbark's a really weird old lady tree that Lance and the fairies talk to. She wanted us to have these. See?” He pulled out his own from his collar. “I have one just like it and so does Lance. As long as we have these, Momma and Nanna Demonica can't scry us.”

  With a nod, Lance was already holding out his. “Maybe we'd better wait until we get to where we can talk,” he said. “People still might hear us...”

  “Let's find the Elves,” said James. “Then we can talk.”

  ***

  “Grandmother!” cried Spitemorta, shoving open Demonica's door without knocking.

  “What do you think closed doors are for?” said Demonica, looking up. “I'm not sure how much I want the whole world watching me fasten my shoes with one hand, dear.”

  “I'm fed up with your endless interfering in my life, Grandmother!”

  “Yes. Like my bursting in with you indisposed...”

  “No, like this,” she snarled, bowling the skinweler into Demonica's lap without warning.

  Demonica jerked upright wide eyed as her knees banged together painfully. “How do you come up with these things? I may have gracefully given you thousands of these, but not once have I abruptly thrown one into your lap...”

  “No! Don't you dare mock me, Grandmother. You're always upsetting my life...”

  “You don't call bursting in here shouting an upset? An adult would knock first and then politely see what is going on before...”

  “Oh why? So you can throw me off? You always have some way of...”

  “Do you see that I'm up and about, all dressed except for fastening my shoes?

  “So?”

  “So maybe I'm getting ready to leave for Gwael. And since that seems to be escaping you utterly in your agitated state, perhaps it would be best for me to go alone. I can't imagine the Gwaels being impressed by a raving girl sitting across the table from them, a girl whose preoccupation with power hardly goes beyond crushing insubordination in her castle help. You have to have your priorities straight to get away with asking someone to borrow his army...”

  “Stop! Stop!” shrieked Spitemorta before sputtering and wordlessly working her mouth.

  “Yes dear, you certainly have my attention...”

  “James!” she cried with a stamp of her foot. “I almost had him and you deliberately cut him off from me!”

  “What's this?”

  “James has no magic in the least, so he couldn't possibly have disappeared on his own. So what did you do with him? Is he here?”

  “My word, dear. I have no idea under the shining sun what you are raving about. Maybe you need to take to your bed in decline while I'm in Gwael. If you're lucky, you'll have got hold of yourself by the time I'm back. If not, I reckon I'll have no choice but to replace you.”

  “Where is James, Grandmother?” said Spitemorta, growling like a cur. “I found him in the skinweler, but I don't know where. He was in some filthy road house that might be called 'Ta
farn Coch,' with some knaves I didn't recognize, and then, quick as a candle winks out, he vanished. He has no magic. How could that happen without you doing something?”

  “Well, I'm afraid I don't know a thing about this, dear,” said Demonica as if she were idly discussing the neighbors. Suddenly she flung wide her arms as she shot to her feet. “So why don't you go find out?” she roared.

  ***

  Beli looked up with a start at the chorus of gasps throughout the room. Everyone stopped in shocked silence to watch Spitemorta reeling about in her night gown between the tables. She recovered her balance at once and made straight for him.

  “Sir,” she said, “I want to know what became of a knave who was just here...”

  “And I wonder who ye might be and what became of your clothes!” cried Beli as every patron in the room broke out laughing. “Well, I don't mean to be making fun, lady, but since I don't remember you amongst my guests, I'd truly appreciate knowing your name.”

  “Queen Spitemorta,” she said as if he were daft.

  Beli rolled back and slapped the bar top with his meaty hand as he heaved his booming laughter into the timbers overhead. “And I'm...” he said, rolling forward with a red-faced grin, “I'm Wizard Razzmorten!”

  It was quite some time before the room grew quiet enough for him to lean forward again, still heaving from his mirth as he daubed at his tears. “You've got wonderful wit, my well-to-do lady, even if ye did slip by me on the way in,” he said grandly. “Now you had a serious question for me to start with didn't ye?”

  “You had a scrawny bearded knave with a bandaged head in here, sitting...” she said, pausing to glance about before catching sight of “Tafarn Coch” on the far wall, “...right yonder in the corner. Their table's still empty.”

  Beli leant across the bar and gave a sincere nod at the corner. “He went out with his party to get his unicorn which I'd been quartering for him,” he said. “I have no idea where they went after that. Maybe they're still outside. Ask for Fforch. He might know. And when ye get done, for giving me such a good laugh, I'll gladly give ye another night for free if you'd be so kind as to come back in and tell me which room...”

  Spitemorta was already outside, crunching gravel under her slippers as she ran, darting here and there, deciding which shed was the stable.

  Suddenly, riders on five unicorns boiled out of the shed she'd picked. As they swept by her at a full gallop, she could see their eyes. It was indeed James and Lance, and Abaddon riding between them, hard and defiant at the sight of her, more like a little man than she had ever seen him. Without a doubt, they each clearly saw her.

  She wheeled about and cried out with everything she had: “I'll see you all to the Pitmaster's gates!” She sat down on the ground and put her face into her hands. When she looked up, she was watching Demonica finish the fastening of her shoe.

  ***

  James and company, led by Lance and Abbaddon, rode as if the very Pitmaster were on their heels for better than two miles, heading north-west, staying well out of sight of Gold Lake, before slowing to a canter as the road wound into a stand of birch and aspen.

  “Any sign of her?” said Lance, letting James catch up.

  “Not that I've seen,” said James, “but I need to ask you something before we go any further.”

  “What?”

  “Are you heading straight for the Elves?”

  “Why yes. Is that a bad idea?”

  “Not at all. If we don't make straight for them, we may lose them, which might go very badly for us.

  “I can't fancy how she got there, sire. Have we got a moment? I think Stepper's picked up another stone.”

  “I think, but be quick.”

  Lance slid to the ground with his farrier's knife and picked up Stepper's hoof while the restless unicorns milled about, stamping, lathering and breathing heavily. Directly, he was back up. “So how do you think Spitemorta got there, sire? She couldn't have scried us. We had on the amulets, already, and I'd stake my life on trusting them.”

  “Well,” said James, with a shake of his reins as he glanced at the sun, “she might have scried us before I got mine around my neck, but I'm not sure that was really Spitemorta...”

  “She sure looked like it.”

  “Oh absolutely. That was her very image and no mistake. But didn't you see that she was in her nightgown? I can't imagine her coming after us that way. I think she might have been some kind of glamourie. Who knows?”

  “Well, we haven't seen her nor any sign of her the whole way since we left, sire, so I'd reckon she can't see us to come after us if she can't scry us. Well, maybe she might track us...”

  James shook his head. “Spitemorta might follow tea spots on the rug if she didn't have a maid to yell at, Lance. Outside? That's strictly for soldiers and knaves. She's never done it in her life. Of course, she could have had a few of those with her,” he said, quickly throwing a glance over his shoulder.

  “Well if she did, doesn't it seem like they should've overtaken us by now?”

  “That was a pretty hard two miles we just put in.”

  “Yea?” said Lance over the scolds of nearby jays. “Only a league, and not really all that fast because of that mount I bought for Aeron. I'm sure it was the fastest thing in the two stables, but it's pretty ordinary. And look at all the time we're wasting, now. Anybody after us could be just beyond earshot.

  “Say,” said James. “Do you think that stream up yonder goes where we want to go? It might throw off trackers...”

  “No! I just realized where we are,” cried Lance without warning, as he urged Stepper into a full gallop. “Hurry! Follow me!” Across the creek he flew, and on down the road on the far side, standing in the saddle, pounding through the flying mottle of shadows cast by the leaves overhead. Ravens croaked. Here and there squirrels dashed to the far sides of tree trunks. “That nag of Aeron's mightn't be fast, but he's sure got stamina,” he thought. “He's keeping up 'way better than I'd ever have imagined.”

  Soon, the road sloped to where the creek crossed it again. Lance and Abaddon slowed to a trot, letting the others catch up as they reached the ford.

  “Here's the place to wade, sire!” hollered Lance, as James trotted up. “We go up the creek maybe five rod and then take to the woods. We can't be above four or five furlongs from where we had breakfast.”

  Up in the leaves, jays made the woods ring. With a nod from James, they were all wading.

  “We've not had a moment to talk since we saw each other this morning,” said James, riding beside Lance, “so what had you out looking for me with Abaddon along?”

  “I do apologize for how this might look, since you sent me off to hide Abaddon and keep him safe at all costs...”

  “You know better than that. I trust your judgment, implicitly. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well,” said Lance, steering up the bank into the woods, “Abbey has been scrying Spitemorta and you since the day we left Goll. However, I didn't find out about it until quite a while after we'd settled in with my mothers in Bedd Chwiorydd Tair.”

  “Mount Bedd. I'd wondered, but I can't imagine a better place.”

  “It was the best I could come up with, but Abbey didn't care for it much.”

  “I can imagine,” said James, with a glance at Abaddon, who was paying keen attention while pretending not to notice.

  “Not long ago, Abbey scryed you in the dungeon. I knew I had to get you out of there. When I was arranging things with my mothers to leave Abby in their care while I went to Castle Goll, Abbey told me you'd already escaped. That was a relief, but we knew that it would only be a matter of time until Spitemorta and Demonica hunted you down.

  Either my mothers or Longbark, the tree Abby spoke of, got the idea that we could protect you from scrying with an amulet.”

  “That's right,” said Abaddon, suddenly speaking up, “but I can still use my scrying crystal to see Momma or Nanna Demonica, even with my charm on...”


  “You can?” said James. “Why don't you scry them right now, and see if they're after us?”

  Abaddon was already keenly studying his crystal. After some time he slipped it back inside his shirt. “I can't find either one of them.” he said.

  “So what's happened?” said James.

  “Probably nothing. They must both be inside Castle Goll. Momma only lowers her protections around the castle once a day when she gives her address in the skinweleriou.”

  “Then,” said James with a grin, “she isn't following, and we may just live through this after all.”

  “Now if we can only catch the Elves, maybe our luck will change.” said Lance.

  “That's really dumb, Lance,” said Abaddon without looking up from picking twigs out of Sheba's mane. “Who do you think the Elves are running away from?”

  “Well, safety in numbers...” said Lance.

  “You mean: misery loves company. Maybe we just saw a glamourie, and maybe she can't see us, but she knows where we are.”

  Lance gave a huge sigh.

  “Lance!” cried James as he signaled for everyone to stop. “Up on the hogback, yonder! Do you see those two gigantic green birds walking straight for us down the hill?”

  ***

  “Rather like Smallies, weren't they, dear?” said Demonica as she admired the buckles of her red spool-heeled shoes.

  “What? Oh, if you must. And since you undoubtedly also must, I did see that you didn't do anything to James and Abaddon. But why did you jerk me back here before I had a chance to? I might have finished them off once and for all! Now they'll probably escape into the Pitmaster's Kettles and I'll never be able to get my revenge on them.”

  “What are you going on about?” said Demonica, looking down at the skinweler in her lap before squinting at Spitemorta. “I just sat here and watched your entire sortie and all I saw was you making an ass of yourself in the tavern and then again outside when you nearly got run over by that mob of knaves when they rode out of the stable. What in Fates does any of that have to do with James or Abaddon? Are you mad?”

  “You mean to say that you watched me in the skinweler and failed to see James and Abaddon?”