“That's what I said, dear...”
“And you swear that you cast no spell of any kind to make them unscryable?”
“My dear Rouanez Bras! I've not even heard of such a spell. Wards can't be carried about. One might possibly cast protections about a person fixed to a certain spot, but it is vastly easier to put up wards around Castle Goll.”
“So you've no clue how to cast such protections?”
“No.”
“Well, someone has. And I'd like to know who.”
“So would I. In fact I am keenly interested, but not now dear. We need to be off to Gwael (though we need to stop in to see how King Theran is doing, on the way). Once we have our army and can finish off Niarg, a little protection spell won't be much of a threat.”
“I suppose you're right, Grandmother, but I'm not forgetting about James and Abaddon. I'll see them in the Pit before this is over.”
Demonica raised her eyebrows without comment and quickly cast a glamourie of a hand on her stub, checked her kirtle for the Heart, handed the Staff to Spitemorta and slipped the skinweler into the folds of her cloak. “Well then,” she said, “shall we be off?”
“I'm still in my nightgown, Grandmother. Meet me in the library, if you don't mind. I also need to remind Nimue that her life depends on making sure Nasteuh stays happy.”
“Of course, dear,” said Demonica, raising her eyebrows with a nod as she opened the door. “See you in a moment.”
Chapter 135
“Your Majesty,” said the advisor quietly as he leant close to King Theron's ear. “His dozing off has gotten to be quite awkward lately,” he thought, straightening up to study him for a moment, “but it's all been downhill ever since he denied asylum to his golden daughter in her hour of need.” He sighed. “Your Majesty,” he said with a glance over his shoulder as he leant forward again to tug at a fold of the King's slashed green velvet sleeve.
“What, Arianrhod?” said Theran, as he began opening his eyes. “Have you been trying to wake me? Is it morning already?”
“Sire, you're in your coronary chair, and you might want to sit up. The vanguard of a party here to seek your audience is standing just beyond your dais.”
“Oh my,” said Theran, squirming to sit up straight. He stopped short to squint at the pair of strangers down the runner, just inside the archway. “My word, Arianrhod! Am I still sleeping or are they naked?”
“They're barbarians, Your Majesty. Your eyes don't deceive you in the least. This pair are the escorts of a young woman and a youth, little more than a boy, really, who say they are kin to Queen Lira. It's a ruse of some kind, obviously. They couldn't possibly have connections with your poor late wife. They're even claiming that they have tidings of your daughter and your grandson...”
“You don't say! A grandson? I don't remember Myrtlebell being with child, and I certainly don't remember Lira having relatives in the south either.”
“Precisely,” said Arianrhod. “If I may be so bold, sire, I fear that these heathens are fortune seekers who've come hoping to...”
“And what evidence do you have?” said Theran. “Just why would they come all this way to try their devilry here in Bratin Brute?”
“You can see for yourself that these two are naked. Who but barbarians would dare come to court...? Well Your Majesty, everyone in their whole party is covered from head to toe with blue stain and with strange tattoos of symbols and pictures of beasts, except for the young woman. She might seem fair but for her keeping company with wild men.”
“Well, well Arianrhod. Why this is fascinating, don't you think, old friend? I'd fancy that they were Beaks, if they hadn't been divined into Gobblers long ago by Bailitheoir Cailli. How about showing them in so that we can find out what this is all about?”
“As you wish, sire,” said Arianrhod with white dry lips, as he started down the length of dias to the archway, leaving Theron to drum his fingers on the arm of his great chair.
“His Royal Majesty, King Theran, will see you now,” said Arianrhod, giving a disdainful bow before turning on his heel to lead the way back up the deep green carpet.
“I do believe,” said Donnel to Tramae in a whisper loud enough to be heard by Arianrhod, “that we make the people of this country uncomfortable. Why would that be?”
“Hush Donnel!” said Tramae with a smile at the sparkle in his eyes.
“I hear and obey, O wise sister,” said Donnel as he skipped ahead to bow grandly at her before falling back into step.
Theran looked up as they came, his face slowly lit with curiosity.
“Your Majesty, I present to you the visitors from the south,” said Arianrhod, stepping aside.
Tramae gave a grand curtsey as Donnel and the captains each bowed.
“Your Majesty, I am Princess Tramae, daughter of Brude Talorg, illustrious and just Ru of the Kingdom of Marr, land of the Beaks,” she said before turning aside. “And this be Prince Donnel, heir to the House of Talorg. Behind me you see our royal escorts. On the left, High Captain Girom, and to his right, Under Captains Erp and Drest.” She stepped forward with a small velvet bag as Donnel came forth with a larger leather pouch.
“We come to offer allegiance and friendship to Your Majesty in the name of our father, King Talorg, of the Kingdom of Marr.” Tramae withdrew from her bag a glistening black claw fixed to a small ebony dowel by a golden ferrule. “This be a foreclaw from the mighty Madadh-Allaidh Neartmhor himself, Wolf-Dia and protector to Ru Talorg. May it serve you well,” she said as she reverently handed it to Theran.
“And this...” said Donnel, as he pulled out a flat plate of silver grey stone, “be a slate with the very hoof print of the noble Eochaid, the fastest luathas unicorn who has ever lived, and direct ancestor of Ru Talorg, himself. The slate bears an enchantment, sire.” He handed it over with great care. “In a time of danger or fearsome need you have merely to use the claw of Madadh-Allaidh Neartmhor as a pen to write upon it to send a message to Ru Talorg. He has sworn to come to your aid if ever there is cause for you to need it.”
“Well, that's all very good, and I'm most grateful,” said Theron, looking at the gifts and then at Tramae and Donnel, “but wouldn't it be better to simply send an ordinary parchment by messenger to your king than to scratch out a message on a rock with a claw?”
Captain Girom flared at this and started to step forward, but froze at a glance from Tramae.
“I'm sorry, King Theran,” she said. “There's more to explain. As Donnel said, the tablet has an enchantment upon it, and when you write with the wolf claw, you won't see what you put down, but your words will appear on a sister tablet in our father's throne room.”
King Theran sat back upon his throne and studied the gifts. “So why am I being given this honor? I must be absolutely honest. I am mystified.”
“At this point, I imagine you must be,” said Tramae. “Actually, so are we. About six months ago, Ru Taylorg sent you a decree on parchment detailing his offer of an alliance with Bratin Brute. Our messengers returned in a few days with the news that the decree was received. We have grown concerned that we have not received a reply...”
“My word!” said Theran. “I never was told of any such a message.” He glanced around with wide eyes. “Arianrhod...?” he boomed, speaking out as his advisor came to life with a jerk.
“Arianrhod?” said Tramae. “Arianrhod was said to be the very one who received our parchment...”
“My apologies! Arianrhod (who showed you in) and I will discuss this immediately after your audience. Please do go on...” said Theran as he stood and motioned for chairs to be brought to all present.
“Thank you,” said Tramae, taking her seat. “We have a great deal to tell. Some of it will be painful to hear, but I believe that you will find that what we say be true.”
“My dear advisor, who, outside of his possible mishandling of your parchment, has been a most reliable servant of this house, and he tells me that you claim to be kin to my late quee
n, and that you claim knowledge of my daughter and that I have a grandson.
Is all this, indeed, true?”
“It is, Your Majesty.”
“Pray tell then.”
“Firstly, King Theran,” she said as she searched his tired face with her piercing brown eyes, “Queen Lira, was not the person your soldiers found rotting in a ravine those years ago after she rode off on her new unicorn.”
A look of hope swept across Theran's face.
Tramae shook her head. “I'm so sorry,” she said, feeling wretchedly mean. “Queen Lira no longer lives. Your soldiers did not find her, but she did flee highwaymen until she was lost. The Dorchadas caught her and were taking her home to eat, when father's rangers slew the Dorchadas. Father was nursing her back to health intending for to return her to you and her four year old daughter when all of the Kingdom of Marr was trapped by a horrible spell cast by Carlin Cruinnich.
“Queen Lira recovered in time, though she was unspeakably lonely for you and for Myrtlebell. At last she gave in to being trapped forever by the spell. In time she became close to Father and they wed. Later I was born...” Tramae saw a tear streak down Theran's cheek and took up his big old hand. “I can certainly stop here and go on another time, Your Majesty.”
“My word no,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “We've started a tale that has long needed being told to the end. Please do go on.”
“Please know that Mother never forgot you nor her Myrtlebell throughout the livelong years, even though she learnt to laugh again and take pleasure in us...until things went horribly wrong with Donnel's birth, and she left this world for the one beyond,” she said, finishing in a whisper.
“And how old were you, dear?”
“Ten,” she said, glancing aside at Donnel. “But at least I'd had the chance to know and love her.”
“Yes indeed,” he said, releasing her hand with a squeeze. “And thank you so much for telling me. You've probably little grasp of what it means to me to know that Lira didn't die at the hands of some vile thug.”
“I am right pleased if I've eased you're mind, Your Majesty,” said Tramae as she looked down to pick at the trim of her kirtle where it crossed her lap. She looked up.
“There's more to tell.”
Theran leant back in his throne, studying Lira's beautiful barbarian children and closed his eyes. At once he was sitting up straight. “Let's get to it, Princess.”
“About a year ago, Father's rangers took into custody four women who were found trespassing on the Beakmoor. Three of the four were witches. Two of them were fearfully vile abominations. One was a white witch, and one was Myrtlebell. All of us at Caisteal-
Beak were stunned at the sight of Myrtlebell. She was the very image of our beloved Queen Lira, as you would know. My poor father became hopelessly enchanted with her. And I'm not excusing what he did, but he coerced her into agreeing to wed,” she said, taking a careful glance at his shocked look. “You see, Father considered the White Witch to be a long-standing enemy of the Beaks and thought she deserved execution. She was also Myrtlebell's friend. So Father agreed to release her if Myrtlebell would agree to marry him. Anyway, Donnel and I helped the White Witch and Myrtlebell escape together for Father's own good as well as theirs. And I want you to know that Father would never have hurt her, had they caught her.
“In the meantime the two bad witches, Spitemorta and Demonica, also escaped and caught up with the White Witch and Myrtelbell before they made it all the way to where Edward was at the Dragon Caves. I loved Myrtlebell, too, Your Majesty. She was my sister and I...”
“They killed her, didn't they?” croaked Theran, barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” said Tramae, taking his hands and kneeling by his side. Thus they sat as the breeze stirred the banners along the wall behind the throne.
“So Princess,” he said at last, “is this is why your father has chosen to make an alliance? He feels responsible for Myrtlebell's end?”
“Yes. And he has sworn to come to your aid for as long as your county and the Beak Nation survive.”
“So this Edward. Is he my grandson?”
“Yes. The last we knew, he was at the Dragon Caves. However, it has since come to our attention that the dragons have fled west. Our guess is that they are somewhere in the Black Desert, hiding from the same dark witches who murdered Myrtlebell.”
“Yes, that would be the smartest thing they could have done. Spitemorta has wanted revenge against Myrtlebell since she married King Edmond. I imagine she'd not be happy to find that King James had a rival for the throne of Loxmere, either. That child is in grave danger.”
“You're a wise man, King Theran. We are grateful that you have taken the time to receive us.”
“Fiddlesticks! I was curious, is all. And good thing I was. Now please stay for as long as you like before your long journey back south. And if you don't mind, Arianrhod would be delighted to see you to your apartments in time to rest before supper.”
***
“Ow, Grandmother!” cried Spitemorta when the door post of the coach whacked her head, as the front wheel on her side hit a pothole.
“Your road hits you and you act as if I did it?” said Demonica with a smug chuckle. “I've been over here minding my own business. It was you who did it, dear.”
“Me?”
“Well, you might be sitting so that the door can easily hit you, for one thing. And even if you simply must deny that, you're the only one in the world who can possibly be blamed for the condition of your roads, Rouanez Bras. If you didn't squander all the taxes for your own luxuries at Castle Goll, you might keep the potholes filled and have a far better time of it when you're out riding coaches.”
“Had we used the Staff as I'd suggested, we'd be having a smooth ride and get there well before this evening,” said Spitemorta as she shifted about peevishly in her seat above sound of hooves and harness and the creak and clatter of running gear.
“Yea? And we'd have been there at once with a traveling spell, but you were against that, weren't you?”
“Certainly. You know very well that those spells make me want to vomit, Grandmother. Besides, we couldn't just pop into the old fool's throne room. He'd die of apoplexy. Then what help would we get from Bratin Brute? The whole country would then be in mourning and we'd be marked as witches.”
“Just like that, aye?” said Demonica as she twisted aside to see a small phoebe chase away three much larger bluebirds from the fence beyond the ditch. “I suppose you're right, dear, though one does wonder how old King Theran would have taken the sight of us flying in on your stick. It seems to me that with some care, suddenly appearing in a traveling spell could easily have been taken as our having slipped in unexpectedly.”
“Right. And how would his personal advisor take it? Nothing gets by old Air Rod. And I'm afraid I've had enough experience at Bratin Brute Castle to know first hand, if you must.”
“If you say so dear,” said Demonica as her eyebrows went up, “though I had the notion that you and the late Myrtlebell were lifelong enemies.”
“Certainly, but isn't that how it is amongst royalty everywhere? One simply keeps routine company with his enemies. How else would you keep an eye on them?”
“Do you expect me to believe that you've no spies in the courts of other kingdoms, dear?”
“Of course not, Grandmother. It would be stupid not to. However, I've learnt that spies are not always reliable. Whenever possible, it seems best to see how things are first hand.”
“Interesting. You may amount to something yet...”
“Nice of you to finally notice, Grandmother.”
“With the proper instruction, of course.”
***
“This is wonderful, sire! They're friends!” cried Lance as he stood out of his saddle and waved. He sat down at once. “And not only that, it means that we've found the Elves. And look! They saw me wave. Here they come.”
At once the diatrymas came running d
own the hill and over the leaves as fast and as light as if they were riding an avalanche.
“That's right,” said Abaddon. “Those big green chickens are diatrymas, and they can talk just like people. They're really smart and don't ever forget anything once they hear it. They aren't supposed to live anymore, but Razzorbauch accidentally brought them back to life from the Age of Birds when he made that stupid fudge volcano.”
James turned to Abaddon with a look of delight. “It seems to me, Abaddon,” he said, “that those birds aren't the only ones who remember everything they hear.”
Abaddon blushed, trying to hide his smile. James winked at Lance and Lance winked at Abaddon.
“I've never in all my life seen anything move so fast over the ground,” said James.
“Can ye imagine actually riding one of them?” said Aeron in hushed tones of awe.
“Well I have,” said Abaddon with a proud nod before waving and hollering: “Hoy, Lladdwr! Ceidwad!”
The diatrymas jogged to a springy halt in a patch of sky-blue phlox, giving a flash apiece with their brilliant red and yellow wing patches before bowing deeply and giving themselves a thorough shake.
“Good day friend Lance and Prince Abaddon,” boomed Lladdwr. “Ceidwad and I greet you and your party with pleasure. Did you find your king?”
“We most certainly did,” said Lance, launching into introductions all around. “We are hoping to travel with you and the Elves into the Wilderlands. Do you think that King Neron would have us?”
“He well might,” said Llwadder. “I've never known him to turn away anyone in need, and it appears that you and your party certainly qualify by fleeing the very enemy whom they now also flee. You must hurry. Our guide, Sulacha has finally returned from rediscovering the way over the Great Barrier Mountains and the Elves are preparing to move out even as we speak.”
“Elves and you-all, right?” said Lance. “There was something in the way you said it that made me wonder for a moment if you weren't going.”
“Rest assured that we are going...” said Lladdwr.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 146
