Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “If we were in Goll, I'd swear this door had a spell on it.” She furiously kicked and pounded on it. “Damn you Demonica!” she shouted. “Did you do this?” She grabbed up a three legged chair, smashing it against the door over and over, only to break off two of its legs.

  With a grating squeal, she heaved it at the door only to have it fly completely wide, tumbling across the breadth of the floor to stop at the foot of the drapes.

  “Bell pulls!” she said as she sat on the bed with a bounce. She followed the edge of the ceiling all around the room from where she sat. “No bell pulls?” She threw herself onto her back and closed her eyes.

  ***

  Abaddon awoke shivering in the wind spilling down the slope in spite of the wool blanket he discovered tucked snuggly about him. He could feel movements in the cold muscles of Shot 'n' Stop's fat body as Arwr swayed from side to side, picking his way through the loose rocks up the treeless slope. He opened his eyes to see a hawk sailing far above. He could see that they had just stepped into the growing shadows. A raven croaked. “I wonder how far above the trees we've gotten,” he said, straining to see without moving his head.

  “Hey Shot 'n' Stop. Why, you're under the blanket. Wake up.” He waited for Shot 'n' Stop's front half to wend it's way from under the blanket. “Hey! I see rock walls.”

  “Then we've come to the passs,” said Shot 'n' Stop, flicking his tongue as he began rising from out of a wrinkle. They ssay we'll camp and have ssupper, jusst on the other sside.”

  “Do you see Lance or James anywhere?”

  “They're jusst ahead of uss. Do you want Arwr to catch up with them...?”

  Without warning, Arwr sprang aside, furiously kicking at a tawny lyoth. As he danced over the top of the lyoth's next lunge, Shot 'n' Stop flopped onto the beast and began squeezing, as shouts erupted all about, echoing along the walls of the gap. With a roar turned to a gurgle, the great cat frantically bounced and flailed its paws at Shot 'n' Stop before rearing up and falling sideways.

  A flying pike caught in the links of Neron's chain mail, flinging him sprawling off his unicorn. A lyoth dropped from the rocks to grab Scabhta by the neck and wrench him from under Sulacha, but before the beast could rip out Scabhta's throat, Sulacha was on his feet, beheading it with a furious swing of his claymore. He wheeled 'round in time to run through another cat, the very instant it leaped onto Neron.

  Soraya expected trouble when she saw the rock walls of the gap and already had her bow strung. She leaped from Shimmer to plant Ariel in the rocks just in time to put an arrow into the neck of a lyoth as it leaped for Lukus, sending it awry.

  Lukus nearly fell on Daniel as he stumbled aside. He shoved Daniel away and began madly chopping on the lyoth with Gearr Téigh Síós.

  “Arwr!” cried Vyr-pudi, waving his shackled arms.

  “Voob!” boomed Arwr as he wheeled about in time to kick a lyoth in the mouth, shattering its fangs.

  As if it didn't notice its injury, the lyoth sprang for him again and again only to stumble aside from his vicious kicks. The whirling and lurching was too much for the strap across Abaddon. Suddenly he found himself flying through the air to be caught by Vyr-pudi.

  Vyr-pudi carefully set him down and looked up with wide eyes to see Arwr on the ground near where the cat was rising onto its front feet, shaking its head. With a bellow, he leaped onto the lyoth's back, throwing the chain of his shackles over its chin, pulling it into its throat with a grimace and every fiber of his sinewy might, as the beast lurched and kicked, leaving deep gouges all down his arms and back.

  Abaddon raced to throw his arms about Arwr's neck in time for yet another lyoth to drop onto Arwr's back.

  “Oooo...ooo...voob!” boomed Lladdwr as he came with a leap and a flash of red in his wings to smash the lyoth with a furious kick, making it rear up and fall on its back.

  “Vooob...ooob!” cried Ceidwad as she came at the front of the cat, smashing out its teeth and both eyes with three good kicks.

  Lance saw the attack upon Arwr and turned Stepper clean about in time to be stuck in the thigh by a Cat Man with a pike. James galloped up from behind, taking off the Cat Man's head. Lance pointed to Arwr and waved James on as he slipped from his saddle in pain and fell to the ground.

  By the time James got to Arwr, the surviving Cat

  People and their tawny lyoths were vanishing into the rocks. He threw his leg over Dewer trembling with fear to find Abaddon, spattered with blood, hanging onto Arwr's neck for dear life.

  Chapter 139

  “My sincerest thanks to you all,” said Mary, sitting on a rock as she wiggled her toes into the coarse sand near the fire. “I doubt that I would've managed without your tireless help.” She smiled as she looked about at all those who had helped in what way they could with all the injured, even if it was no more than wrapping bandages. She paused, listening to the shrill cooing of a nearby burrowing owl. “Thank Fates no one died. Now please. You all must go at once and get some sleep. King Neron thinks it unwise to dally into broad daylight.”

  She sat on her rock as everyone left, staring out across the next valley which was far too dark to see. “I wonder how many will arrive safely on the far side of these mountains...” she said.

  “Mary,” said Arwr softly from beneath the lone scrubby pine.

  “Does your leg hurt, Arwr?” she said. “I've some herbs that might stop the pain without putting you to sleep.”

  “No Mary. My leg is merely bruised and the pain is bearable,” he said, nodding to where Vyr-pudi was chained, beyond the fire. “Did you know that Vyr-pudi saved my life? He saved Abaddon's, too.”

  “That's his name, Vyr-pudi? Have you learnt any more of his language?”

  “Yes actually, but what I did not expect is that he's beginning to understand ours.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He called out my name quite clearly, just in time for me to dodge the lyoth which brought me down. I have no doubt that he saved my life and Abaddon's, too. Abaddon got thrown off my back while I was kicking at the Lyoth. Vyrpudi caught him. And when he saw his moment, he jumped the Lyoth and strangled it with his chain. No one has even thanked him.” He gave the side of his beak a thoughtful saw across a fallen pine trunk and thoroughly shook his feathers.

  Mary sat speechless for a moment, listening to the owl as a pop in the fire sent sparks dashing into the starry sky. “Oh my,” she said. “I see your point Arwr, but he is a troll surrounded by Elves. He undoubtedly had some part in feasting on the Elves in two Jutish villages, and you know better than I do what you caught him in the act of doing at Oilean Gairdin.”

  She peered at Vyr-pudi, sitting in his chains. “You're right, Arwr. We're no better at all if we can't show humanity when it's needed.” She stood and brushed off her skirts. “Do you know the Trollish words for thank you?”

  Arwr nodded his head. “Afey-fira.”

  “Afey-fira...afey-fira,” she said as she started over to Vyrpudi, who sat up quite straight at her approach. “Well. Arwr says your name is Vyr-pudi.”

  Vyr-pudi became very wide eyed at this.

  “Anyway we,” she said, pointing to herself and then back to Arwr, “want to tell you afey-fira.”

  Vyrpudi's eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped open as she squatted before him and carefully reached out her hand. At once he drew back from her touch as if she were about to strike him. “Well I guess that wasn't a good idea,” she said as she stood up and let her arms fall to her sides. She smiled at him and walked back to the fire.

  “I believe he thought I was about to hit him,” she said as she found her spot on the rock.

  Arwr glanced over at Vyr-pudi who was now watching them with undisguised curiosity. “Yes I saw,” he said, “but you didn't hit him and he can plainly see that you didn't intend to. He'll figure it all out. Where it will all go, though, I can't guess. You do remember that when I captured him, the plan was to learn what we could from him and then kill him, don't you?” />
  “I remember,” she said, shaking her head. “Even with his valiant deeds today, after so many long years of attacks on Elves...”

  “I know,” he said as he snapped each wing and settled himself, closing his eyes.

  “We shall simply have to take things as they come.”

  ***

  “What sort of instrument is this?” said Spitemorta as she set down her brush and picked up a pair of scissors from her dressing table to carefully study them. “And whatever is this?” She picked up an egg shaped ebony box inlaid with gold wire and mother of pearl and opened its lid to find a movable pointer surrounded by a semicircle of twelve numerals.

  “What?” she shouted at a knock on the door, as she rose with the ebony egg. “Well, who is it?”

  “Demonica! Now open this door!”

  “Ha!” cried Spitemorta. “As if you don't know! There's no handle on this side. I've been trapped in here all night.”

  “So that's why you never came to my room to rave about the awful treatment and atrocious accommodations. Well, step aside and I'll open your door. Though, I daresay you'd do well to learn to use the magic you were born with without always relying upon your stick. This is not the first time you've needed to know how.”

  Suddenly the door sprang open to bang against the wall. “There now,” said Demonica with a smile of satisfaction. “You're free. And here's your stick dear,” She handed over the Staff as though Spitemorta had merely forgotten it outside her door.

  “You just have all the answers, don't you, Grandmother?” she said as she grabbed away the Great Staff. “Did you and your barbarian king have a good laugh after he sent me away like a child who was too tired to stay up and hear the grown-ups talk?”

  “My! We're in a bit of temper this morning aren't we, dear?”

  “Don't mock me, Demonica!”

  “Why, I never dreamed of mocking you, dear. No, I'm just in such a good mood this morning that I'd hoped to share it with you, is all.”

  “Your mood, Grandmother?”

  “Sure. I came to your door expecting that my dealings with Vortigern would please you as well as me.”

  “Dealings?” snorted Spitemorta. “I doubt if you made it to your apartment all night.”

  “You're envious because you actually had to marry James to get Loxmere? I've told you before that Vortigern and I have a long-standing acquaintance. He expects my favors to close a deal.”

  “Maybe that's why he's not your friend.”

  “Maybe you need to hold your tongue until you hear what I have to say,” said Demonica, raising her brow in such a way that Spitemorta fell silent at once.

  “Vortigern's giving us fully one third of his royal troops and the largest one of his four mercenary armies. And before you open your mouth again, mark well that he was right generous by giving us neigh fifteen thousand men.”

  Spitemorta's eyes went wide. “That's twice what you'd thought, Grandmother,” she said as she immediately studied her up and down. “You got this by making a deal. So what's our end of it?”

  Demonica gave her an innocent look. “You sound suspicious, dear. We talked all about that beforehand. You knew we'd have to give them something in return. No county is going to loan troops to another unless it's well worth their while.”

  “I know that, Grandmother. It's your evasiveness that worries me.”

  “I merely promised him the things we'd already discussed, dear,” she said with a shrug, as she began on her fingers. “Firstly, good land where his mercenaries can settle if they so choose, either as citizens of Goll, or in their own jurisdiction, which would be bound to Goll. Next, half the booty seized on campaign for their regular army. And third, Gwael be allowed a monopoly on the sukere trade of no more than two decades.”

  “Two decades? That's an improvement. You reckoned it would have to be for at least the rest of Vortigern's life.”

  “Yes I did, dear. But I took the liberty of adding an incentive. I believe it's how we got so many soldiers out of the deal, though I must admit, it was Vortigern, himself who gave me the idea.”

  “Go on, Grandmother. You're being evasive again. Just what else did you promise in the name of Goll?”

  “Nothing excessive or unusual. I merely agreed to the betrothal of Nasteuh to Vortigern's son, Artamus.”

  “What? How dare you, Demonica!” she screeched as she whirled around, very nearly throwing her ebony egg. “You have no right to promise my daughter to anyone without my permission and I certainly have no intention of binding her to some foreign heathen! No, no, no! Absolutely not!” She stamped her foot, her chest heaving and her eyes ablaze.

  “Barbarian? Heathen?” said Demonica rolling her eyes, as she waved her hand over the latch to fix it before closing the door behind her. “You might reconsider, dear. You've not seen enough of their devices. Once you have, you might not use such words...”

  “Damn you!”

  “Oh please, Rouanez Bras! Spare me the boiling over. You know as well as I do that Nasteuh is naught but a burden to you. If we returned to Goll to find that all the wet nurses had run off and the little biter had starved, the only thing you'd care about is the wet nurses a-defying you. And don't you dare deny it. I've already seen far too much to ever believe that you have the faintest motherly urge toward your daughter. If you're truthful, you'll own that having her out of your hair is a big favor, and if she's queen of Gwael, you're just that much closer to ruling the world...”

  “Very well. You win, Grandmother. In fact, I'll allow that your maneuver may be the very thing which allows us to conquer the world, but you had absolutely no right to promise Nasteuh to Vortigern without my leave.”

  “I'll own that, dear, but there wasn't time. Vortigern is a most decisive man. And since you never returned all evening, with him wanting an answer, I jolly well gave him one. And it might cool you off to know that I didn't let him have his first choice for a bride.”

  “Go on, who was that?”

  “Why you dear, of course,” she said with a cherubic grin.

  “What? He thought I'd marry a child of what, Abaddon's age?”

  “It would have been be good for him and Gwael. You must see the logic in it, after all.”

  “Yes, and nothing for me. And I'll never be married to another king.

  “Which is precisely why I offered little Nasteuh.”

  “And I thank you for that Grandmother. But if you ever take it upon yourself to make such promises in my name again without consulting me first, you and I will part ways and you'll be on your own. And I'll never deal with you again.”

  “All right, that sounds fair enough,” said Demonica, studying her with an unreadable expression. “In fact, I'm actually right pleased to see you take a stand, dear.”

  Spitemorta gave her a hate stare.

  Demonica had already stepped out the door. “Well,” she said over her shoulder, “as soon as you're ready, fetch your stick and come down to the dining hall. They've fixed a huge breakfast and are waiting on you. They're putting troops on-board as we speak.”

  “Very well, Grandmother,” said Spitemorta, calling after her as she held out her ebony egg and opened its lid. “Since you know everything, come tell me what this thing is.”

  Demonica stopped short and went back to see. “That's one of their devices, one of their 'inventions,' as they call them...”

  “So what is it?”

  “A sundial...”

  “What? Surely not for in here!”

  “It is, actually. You wind it with a key. If it still stuns you, dear, why don't you fetch it along. I'm sure Vortigern would be delighted to show you how it works. I believe he intends to demonstrate some of their magic for us, anyway.”

  “But you said, they have no...” said Spitemorta, calling out to her back. She gave a shoulder planting huff and set out after her.

  ***

  The great hall had smartly dressed military men standing about everywhere. She was ushered past the gra
nd dining table, steaming with roasted hogs and geese, to a chair beside Demonica on the balcony, overlooking a broad jousting field below. Drummers and bagpipers marched around the outside of the field. In the middle of the field stood a full suit of armor, stuffed with sacks of flour on a block of wood. Two rods in front of it stood twenty-one pairs of soldiers. Each pair were readying some sort of iron staff.

  At a command, the bagpipers stopped, and one from each pair of soldiers pointed his staff at the armor. At the command: “Loose!” the other one from each pair applied a smoldering match to the staff. Each of the twenty-one staves went off with a rolling boom, sending the armor tumbling off the block as thick clouds of blue-white smoke curled into the air.

  Spitemorta leant forward, enthralled. Directly, four soldiers tramped through the dining hall to the balcony bearing the armor and one of the iron staves. “What is this thing?” she said.

  “This, Your Majesty, is a hand gonne,” said Vortergern, beaming. “It casts these gonne stones, lead balls, six to the pound, faster than the eye can see. Please look at this breastplate, gorget, hauberk and back plate.” The soldiers turned the riddled armor all about so that she could clearly see that the balls had all gone clean through both sides.

  “I assume by your demonstration, King Vortigern, that you will be supplying hand gonnes to the troops you are sending me?”

  “Your Majesty, all twenty-one hand gonnes are amongst the thirty-six going with your troops.”

  Spitemorta gave a nonchalant nod and turned away to look out over the jousting field again. She was dancing inside. She loved this Gwaelic magic.

  ***

  The castle barn owl flew in like a ghost from under the ridge pole to pause on a truss, staring at the echoing voices below before giving a couple of circular bobs with his head and lunging into a glide to his nest with his mouse.