“Recruits? Why four. So?”
“Did you have any idea what we wanted Shacknasty and them for?”
“What did they do?”
“Spitemorta was convinced they were Elves.”
“Sir, I beg your pardon, but I'm listening to every word you say and there's something I'm just not getting here.”
“Do you know anything about Elves?”
“I've never been around one in my life.”
“Certain Elves, Captain, can use spells to change the way they look. And after what I saw Shacknasty do, I'd allow that he's one of them.”
“And there were four of them!” said Waso, wide eyed at once.
“Now I'll do everything I can to protect you, Captain, but if I were you I'd see that those four new recruits were in shackles at pike point before any one of them could draw a breath, because if things went wrong, I'd hate to have to explain my lack of experience with Elves to Spitemorta.”
“I'm on my way, sir!” said Waso, springing to his feet.
Coel drew a breath, watching him race down the steps. “And it won't be very damned long before I'm the one with no choice but to explain things to her.”
***
North out of the Port of Niarg they rode, standing in their stirrups, flying by a pounding wagon, its milk cans swaying and banging, scattering a little girl's snow white geese and scaring an old man's shoat woofing and belching off into the ditch as they followed the road out of sight between the blush of the first green in the downs and the crying gulls hovering above the sparkling late afternoon surf. Well north of Castle Niarg, the belt of marram grass along the beach gave way to a gently rising prominence of rocky meadows and seaward bluffs known as Tnassip Crown, which ran most of the rest of the considerable distance up the coast to the fishing village of Tnassip. Lathered and stumbly, the unicorns panted and galloped their way to the top. When they reached a stretch of road too rocky to leave hoof prints, Neron took an abrupt turn west into the downs and kept up his pace until they had vanished from the sight of the road over a hilltop and had come to a spring.
“Whoa!” cried Neron, dismounting with a bound. “Oh my.”
“That's easily the worst pounding I've ever taken on the back of a unicorn,” said Sulacha with a hop as he freed his foot from its stirrup.
“And I can't imagine that we're all that safe yet, either,” said Olloo. “At least some of them must be on their way after us. That's what you were doing back there, wasn't it? Getting them to come north after us while we lose them and head south to Oilean Gairdin?”
“I didn't see that we had a choice,” said Neron as he knelt by the water and splashed his face. “But it sure committed us to outrunning them...”
“Well don't you think we've managed?” said Obbree. “I'd almost feel safe enough to sleep right here by the spring. I can't imagine that we left tracks or sign when we left the road.”
“Spitemorta's what scares me,” said Sulacha. “She and Demonica had to have known about the prophecy 'way back when they destroyed Oilean Gairdin. That's why she had us in the dungeon. And she undoubtedly still flies her stick, don't you reckon?”
“That's why we have to split up right away,” said Neron as he studied the flock of chattering bobolinks landing in a nearby thicket of burdock. “If she doesn't see four of us together, we have a much better chance. And you're the renowned tracker, Sulacha. You know the country. You could go overland by yourself, though my round ear glamourie would wink out after we got separated by so many miles and you'd have Elf ears again.
And if Olloo and Obbree were with me, I could continue to keep their ears hidden...”
“Sounds good to me,” said Sulacha as everyone nodded.
“Good,” said Neron. “So both parties head west to the Shallow Sands River, which would have us well clear of Castle Niarg, and then head south. We can look for each other when we get to the edge of the Jutwoods, right south of Sweetpea.”
***
Captain Waso raced to the wharf and raised his hand as his galloping detachment came to a halt. “Sweep search!” he cried. “Pass by each house and shop within sight of the ships. We want those four. Stay sharp!”
“Well I don't see them, just looking quayside, sir,” said a sergeant before trotting away down the row of ships.
Waso took a deep breath, watching him go. “I don't either,” he muttered as his unicorn stamped and swished its tail. A pelican glided between the nearest pair of ships and settled onto a pile with his fish.
Presently one of his corporals came riding from the south end of the quays with a sailor jogging alongside him. “Captain,” he said. “This is Seaman Yann-Yves. He's off The Sea Witch with a message from his captain.”
“Captain Per-Vari wants a brief word with you on board, if ye don't mind sir,” said the man before leading him to The Sea Witch's poop deck and introducing him to the captain.
“You're looking for some of your soldiers?” said Per-Vari, looking him over with no expression at all.
“Four of them,” said Waso.
“There were four soldiers wearing your red hourglass who struck me as being up to no good, not too long ago,” said Per-Vari. “One of them had the gall to try pushing a sack of coin on me in the name of the empress to take them up the coast. I had the curse thrown off. And the moment he was, he and his three chums struck out on their mounts...”
“Where?”
“North. And no mistake, because I had them followed just to make sure I wasn't running myself afoul of the empress, myself. A boy on a unicorn happened to be quayside the very moment they left, so I sent him after them. He was just here, back from going up the coast a mile or two, a-saying he couldn't begin to catch them. Now if I were really defying the empress, I can't imagine them not going straight to the castle. Can you?”
Waso shook his head.
“Didn't think so. So I hope you appreciate my making The Sea Witch neigh two hour late un-tying, a-waiting to be sure I was doing the right thing. I've got people on Head, demanding this load of raw sukere.”
“Corporal Talik!” hollered Waso, the moment he was down the gangplank.
“Sir!” cried Talik, turning his unicorn clean about at once.
“Round up the men for a hard ride up the coast. Now!”
Chapter 182
Captain Waso and his men rode for miles up the beach road as if the very Pitmaster was after them, but when Waso saw Tnassip Crown in the distance, he slowed his men to a jog and ordered corporals Talik and Frioc to watch the edge of the road for tracks, fearing that the Elves might have taken to the countryside. By the time they had climbed to the rocky top of the crown and found the ground too hard to bear tracks, he gave the order to halt and dismounted, waving his two corporals aside to confer. “Why would you reckon that they wanted to go north?” he said, stretching his back where he was squatted.
Frioc shook his head.
“Well they either have business up there or they don't,” said Talik as he waddled forward to pick up a pebble.
“And?” said Waso.
“They could have,” said Talik, “or Tnassip came up just to throw us off.”
Waso set his jaw and gave a nod. “Exactly what I've been a-thinking,” he said.
“And I'm fixing to catch the curses before the witch draws and quarters me. I'm not going back without them. So. Find somebody to take with you and strike out across the downs yonder. Look for signs of anybody who might have been out there in the last hour. And I don't want you taking more than an hour a-doing it.
“And Frioc? It looks to me as though the road might get soft enough to take tracks a mile or so up yonder. Go see what you can see. And I want you back here in an hour, too.”
With a decisive nod apiece they were on their feet at once to pick out men and ride away as Waso gave the order for the rest of his men to dismount and rest. He watched them go as he paced, pausing here and there to study the horizon or to idly kick at this and that in the roadway. A ne
arby meadowlark called from the downs, while gulls hovered out in the air beyond the cliff to the sea.
Before long, Talik and his two men appeared, riding up the hill through the grass.
“What did you find?” said Waso as they dismounted.
“Right fresh tracks,” said Talik. “They can't even be an hour old. But look as we might, we couldn't find tracks from any more than three unicorns. We ran across them on the far side of the hill right beyond a good sized spring, yonder. We can water the unicorns at least, even if they're not the tracks we're after...”
“How do you know they're not?” said Waso, squeezing shut one eye.
“Well the last time three fingers equaled four was after one whole keg of cider, sir. So since my raw rear end tells me I'm awful sober, I'd say three ain't four, this time.”
“Yea? Well how do you explain three? Did you see sheep or cattle tracks?”
“Why no, sir...”
“What direction did they take?”
“Straight west, and they're far enough off the rocky ground to be easy to follow...”
“Did you see any farms off in the distance?”
“No sir.”
“Then three equals four, or we're going to keep riding until the damned witch never finds us.”
***
Spitemorta may indeed have allowed herself to become betrothed to the eleven year old Prince Artamus to keep from losing her army, those twenty years ago, but her vanity simply would not have her marrying “...this pimple brat with no grasp of where to wear his wee codpiece,” as she often put it. When Artamus turned twenty-one, Vortigern quickly lost patience and Spitemorta agreed to a wedding.
The wedding was scarcely over when she returned to her throne in Loxmere, leaving Artamus in Gwael to cope with the snarl of commitments she had deftly obligated him to. She had waited long enough to rule the world. She would have to do away with King Vortigern in order for Artamus to ascend to the throne, and she would have to get rid of him in order to have the throne for herself. Demonica suggested that it might be prudent to do away with Artamus's first cousin Osulf while she was at it, particularly since he had declined the offer of a skinweler, but she had no time for any of it. After all, once she was queen of Gwael, she would be ruling her final unconquered land. What she needed was someone to assassinate Vortigern and then Artamus. But who would that be? She had been avoiding the court at Jyantylesk all along and hardly knew anyone.
During supper on a visit to Gwael, Spitemorta found herself sitting across the board from Irmen, second steward to Vortigern. The very way he said certain things left her studying him carefully while she waited for Artamus to finish swaying between his tankard of mead and his goblet of sukee. When Artamus toppled face-first into his pie, she nodded at Irmen, stepping out with him to have a chat. It turned out that he had spent years nursing a burning resentment of Vortigern and his buck-toothed son. “Enough to do a little work for me?” she said.
“What sort of work?” he said, sobering at once.
“Wouldn't you enjoy being restored to first steward?”
“Of course...”
***
Spitemorta sat forward and grabbed up a hot cinnamon bun from the tea table just set before her, tore it open and dropped it onto a saucer to steam as she found the fresh butter and honey. “Oh,” she said, licking her fingers and leaning aside to give the bell pull a yank. She went right back to her bun and took a huge bite, closing her eyes with a delirious moan.
A young page came and stood at quiet attention beyond the table.
“Hey Piffant,” she said through her mouthful of flying crumbs, when she finally noticed him.
“Your Omnipotence,” he said with a deep and gracious bow.
Spitemorta took an eye-rolling moment to chew. “Listen Pissant,” she said with a strained swallow, “go find General Coel and have him here this very hour.”
“Anything else, Your Omnipotence?”
Spitemorta dug at the wad of bread in her cheek with her tongue and shook her head.
“I live to serve you, Your Omnipotence,” he said with a parting bow.
“As long as you see that you do,” she said. She wanted to see Coel at once, but it made no difference to her in the least whether or not Pissant managed to live. All that really mattered was her coming coronation and public executions of Queen Minuet's army.
“Your Omnipotence...?” said her skinweler in a wee voice from it's hollow on the arm of her throne.
She put milk into her cup, slipped off the cozy and picked up the teapot. “Damn you, Pissant!” she bellowed into the echoes, hurling it across the room to smash on the marble floor. “Thanks to you, it's gone stone cold. Or maybe I need to boil somebody's stinking head in the kitchen...”
“Uh, Your Omnipotence...?” said the skinweler as a hired woman peeked in from a side door.
“Hey!” cried Spitemorta, “Get me a fresh pot!”
“This looks exciting and all, dear, but shouldn't you be showing some interest in the rest of your empire?” said Demonica, appearing with her fists on her hips by the shattered teapot.
“Now!” hollered Spitemorta.
“My word!” said Demonica, walking right up to her. “Your first steward is waiting for an audience as we speak.”
“So? Send him in.”
“It is indeed nice to find you taking me seriously for once, dear,” she said, cocking her head to look her over closely, “but you seem to be forgetting that you're the only one who sees me. Besides it's your skinweler. Your steward in Gwael...”
“Oh poop! How would I have time for those heathens with my coronation almost upon us? What would be as important as that? After all, I am the first one in history to rule the entire world.”
Demonica drew a wide-eyed breath. “It might not hurt to ask him,” she said with a nod at the skinweler. “I mean, he's no further away than the arm of your chair, and convenient as it is, it would be an act of actually ruling the world, don't you think?”
“You do it. I'm busy. And Coel will be here directly.”
“Well I would, dear,” she said with another nod at the skinweler,” but you're forgetting that I'm dead.”
“Your Omnipotence?”
“What!” said Spitemorta, thrusting her face at the skinweler.
“Aah!” said the steward, jerking back from his ball. “Forgive me Your Omnipotence, I wasn't quite...”
“Well? What is it? I'm right busy here, and you're not likely to have anything important.”
“I beg your pardon for my asking you to indulge me over this trifle,” he said, pausing for a breath as he thrust out his chin, “but we've a situation here that's plainly on it's way out of control.”
“What are you talking about, Irmen? What is going on there?”
“King Vortigern had a brother, Catigern, Prince of Pow Jyantylesk, who had a son before he died...”
“Osulf. So?”
“Well, Osulf claims the throne.”
“What?”
“Now that sounds like something I remember talking about,” said Demonica. “Or weren't you listening when I was...?”
“Shut up!” screeched Spitemorta.
“I beg your pardon, Your Omnipotence. I'm not sure I heard right...”
“What's he thinking?” she said, grabbing up the skinweler and pressing her face into it. “He can't do that. Artie died, which made me queen. I'm still queen. I may be empress of the world, but I'm still queen. And I left you on the throne.”
“Yea. But he says that you never ruled Gwael before you became empress.
According to him, you never once sat on the throne, and that left him next in line to rule after Artamus. In fact, he's sitting on the throne right now. And his coronation is tomorrow...”
“Horse shit!” she shouted, flinging the skinweler well beyond the tea table to hit the carpet with a muffled crack and go rolling away toward the entrance.
Irmen jerked back from his skinweler and rubbed his
temples.
Spitemorta heaved herself to her feet, ran after her ball and grabbed it up. “So what kind of steward allows someone to come in and take the throne?” she said, catching her breath.
“One who's in his chamber, free to use his skinweler to reach you, if you don't mind my putting it that a-way. They took me by surprise. Had I not cooperated, I'd be dead or sitting in the dungeon and you'd not know a thing about it.”
“I'll be right there...”
“Be careful how you show up. He actually has a warrant for your arrest...”
“What?”
“Oh, he has everything worked out. He had criers out, announcing the coronation at the very moment he had me at sword point. And he has the armies on alert. And he says you murdered King Vortigern and King Artamus, and he intends to see you burnt.”
“All right. Are you able to leave the castle?”
“Oh I'm pretty sure I can. It's another advantage of my immediate cooperation.
Osulf thinks that I applaud his coronation.”
“Good. Then meet me in the ring of stones at Eglos-Derowek, as quickly as you can make it there.”
“As you command, Your Omnipotence,” he said, bowing his bald head as the skinweler went dark.
Spitemorta studied the ball for a moment, looking for Eglos-Derowek. “Well Grandmother,” she said as she reached for the Staff, let’s go clean house for these heathens then, shall we?”
“Ah!” said Demonica. “That's where we spent our first night in Gwael, if I'm remembering right.”
“Tried to, you mean...”
“And what of your handsome general, dear?”
“So what? Move about as he may, he's still a fixture amongst my furniture.”
“Of course. But he could fetch in more to see than the places you like to stare at, is all I'm saying.”
Spitemorta rolled her eyes and took Demonica's hand. At once they found themselves standing in the dandelions and new grass within the circle of stones of Eglos- Derowek. Irmen was nowhere to be seen. The sun was going down, and there was already a chill. Somewhere just out of sight, a woodcock shot aloft in it's whistling flight. Cattle bawled from beyond the surrounding oak trees.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 190
