“I haven't figured out that one yet. But you'd have to take them the sheep first, at least.”
“Well you kept wanting to draw pictures...”
“That's it!” cried Herio, whirling about, mid stride. “What if we figured out what sort of picture, and put it on a parchment and took it with us?”
“We?” said Philpott. “Well, I reckon I can help butcher a sheep. But you'd better have one damned good picture with you, is all I can say.”
***
Herio did indeed have quite a tale to tell. In fact it delayed them a day by having to stay up into the wee hours to tell it. And to add to everyone's astonishment, their unicorns appeared that same night in good condition but without saddles and bridals.
Herio paced and stewed and stared away into the timber and brush for another whole day.
At last, Flame appeared from the New Dragon Caves with a nice blank scroll of parchment and Herio commenced at once drawing a picture on it for each day in their would-be exchange. The first picture was of him and Philpott bringing a sheep to the mountain ridge cave, strapped across the back of a unicorn. The second picture was of a butchering with a fire and spit and with feasting howlies. The third picture was of him and Philpott returning to the Pastures. The fourth through the tenth pictures each showed sheep grazing in a pasture.
At last, he and Philpott strapped a nice big wether to a pack unicorn with all the necessary tools to butcher it, and set out for the mountain top astride their returned mounts, who seemed oddly calm about going back up the divide. Philpott had even managed to talk the cook out of one of his big skillets. “And if I don't see it again, you're going to owe me a pretty penny,” said the cook.
They reached the cave (which they had begun calling Howlie Box) at sunset.
After bedding the unicorns a good forty yards away and tethering the sheep inside, Herio took a few deep breaths and bellowed out the deepest, loudest and longest howl that he could possibly manage and propped himself on his knees, gasping. They waited for a very long time. After it had been dark for a good two hours, Herio howled out again with everything he had. When his breathing had almost returned to normal, Philpott suddenly grabbed him by the arm and pointed. He hushed in time to hear an echoing reply from somewhere far beyond the river. Herio drew a great breath at once.
“I wouldn't,” said Philpott. “I've never heard them keep it up. They heard you.”
They waited well into the night by the cold stones of their last fish fire, listening to a handful of crickets and to the barking of a burrowing owl above them in the rocks. At last, both of them were snoring. Just before the first light of dawn, they were awakened bolt upright by a nearby howl. Herio shot to his feet and howled in reply. Philpott began at once working to light a fire. Just as they were feeding the very first flames, a sound of iron scraping across rock had them looking up wide eyed to find Blue Eye, squatting beside them with Philpott's skillet.
***
When Spitemorta returned to her bower in Castle Niarg just before midnight, she changed back her throat with the Heart and sent orders to the kitchen for roast duck with sour cabbage, dripping pudding and cider, even if she had to stay up until nearly sunrise to eat it. She did not mind. She could use the time to get rid of that offensive quart of sukee which reminded her of Coel, left over from her coronation. She had begun to find it odd that Demonica had not gotten in her way with her comments as she sauntered about, dangling her bottle, gloating about what she had set in motion.
She soon discovered that cider on top of the sukee nearly had her vomiting on her steaming plate of duck and pudding, so she daubed at the corners of her mouth, threw herself across the bed and slept until the middle of the afternoon. She rose, had half of a toad in the hole and a pinch of cold duck breast and sour cabbage and went back to bed until the following morning. She spent the next two days in her quarters, very busy with ordering about pages and hired help as she oversaw the clearing away of Minuet's sheep shed and apple orchard for a jousting field and hand gonne range. She was beginning to think that she might have managed to leave Demonica behind at Oilean Gairdin. “Good! If that be the case,” she said, but she felt oddly anxious.
When she caught herself wishing that she had her grandmother to talk to, she grabbed up the empty sukee flagon and hurled it at the wall with a grating squeal. Instead, the contrary bottle went whirling out over the balcony to go bouncing end over end along the paving stones, six storeys down. When she heard no breaking glass, she rushed to the balustrade hoping to find that she had hit someone on the head. “Damn you Grandmother!” she shouted when she saw no one about. “You won't let me have any fun...”
“Well it is nice to see you giving me the credit, dear,” said Demonica from right beside her, peering down at the bottle.
“Why did you have to show up, Grandmother? It was a relief having you gone for three days.”
“Odd that you kept seeming anxious for someone to talk to, or am I mistaken?”
“Yes you are.”
“Or am I merely the wrong party? Perhaps you were hoping for your handsome general...”
“No!” shouted Spitemorta. Suddenly she smiled. “But I do have a thing or two he needs to find out,” she said quietly. “I mean, I think my trolls are going to be right useful, 'way more than the stupid heathens from Gwael. Don't you?”
Mindful of how Spitemorta's voice carried, Demonica meandered back inside and sat on the bed. “It may have been unwise to leave Oilean Gairdin without appearing before the Dyrney as you agreed, dear,” she said. “And you probably don’t want General Coel knowing what you make of his army, either.”
Spitemorta cast her a slit-eyed stare. “Poop!” she said, taking a chair by the bed that faced away from her. “The stupid trolls won't even notice once they've had an Elf roast or two. And you know as well as I do that the Gwaels have been nothing but inferior. Let’s see how they like having my brute son and his trolls wipe out both the Elves and the Beaks when they've utterly failed to do so after all this time. I think I'll quite enjoy rubbing Veyfnaryr's victories in the good general’s arrogant face.”
“If you say so.”
“I certainly do say so. Coel needs to be put in his place. A bit of humiliation is just the thing for him.”
“That does sound like fun,” said Demonica with a deep and speculative nod. “But are you quite sure that you want to risk the father of your child losing face in front of all who might enjoy his lesson?”
“What utter nonsense are you going on about?” cried Spitemorta, springing to her feet at once to begin pacing. “You know very well that Coel's not related in any way at all to my children.”
“Well certainly not to any of your grown children…”
“Nor to any future children, believe me...”
“Too late,” said Demonica. And with that she vanished.
“Damn you!” shrieked Spitemorta, grabbing up and flinging a vase of hyacinths, soaking the corner of the bed where Demonica had been sitting.
A peal of Demonica's laughter rose and died away in the air across the room.
Spitemorta grabbed a footstool and hove it after the sound, only to have it fly as wide as the bottle had, knocking her new marble bust of herself off its pedestal and breaking off its head. With a rasping sob, she fell to her knees and covered her face. A mourning dove called from somewhere just beyond her balcony as she rocked and shuddered.
Running footsteps tramped to a halt outside her door and threw it open. “Your Omnipotence!” cried her page when he saw her on the floor. “Are you in peril?”
“Why not at all, Pissant,” she said with all the smiling radiance of a lady getting to her feet in a sunny garden of daffodils. “Go to the kitchen, if you would, and tell old hefty Bethan that I want hot cinnamon rolls with today's churned butter and a nice hot pot o' tea. And when you're done with that, go find General Coel and send him here immediately. Then, return to the kitchen and see that my tea gets to me hot.
&nbs
p; “And now...” she said soothingly as she unfastened the Heart from the Staff and gently passed it over his lips, erasing his mouth from his face. “This is for daring to walk in on the very empress of all the known world. You'll have to think about it as you run your errand.” She turned him to face the mirror with his eyes of horror. “Now. If General Coel comes at once and the tea arrives hot, you may earn back the mouth you need to eat your next meal. Understood? Now go.”
She had hardly finished drying her bed with the Staff and turning the hyacinths to wisps of purple smoke when there came a knock followed by two orderlies from the kitchen who quickly set out Bethan's steaming rolls and tea, bowed and hurried out.
“Hmp,” she said, lifting the cozy and feeling of the pot.
“You're damned right it's hot,” said Coel, stepping in the door with Pissant. “I wanted to make sure that we both saw it delivered to you that way.” He gave a nod and Pissant stepped out and quietly closed the door.
“Well I see that you're in an impertinent frame of mind for a general in my service,” said Spitemorta as she replaced the cozy and had a seat.
“And there are times when you're ugly enough to earn it,” he said with a bounce on his heels. “What about his mouth?”
“What about yours?”
“What about tormenting your loyal help simply because you can? What about showing everyone you rule that you're unspeakably brutal and evil? Evil tyrants are always brought down in time...”
“And you've been talking to Grandmother behind my back.”
“That's a good one!” he said with a laugh as he started to pace about. “I haven't seen her since the old castle went down. And if you think we've been a-talking, it probably shows that she's known you longer than I have.”
“He’s got you there, dear,” said Demonica, sitting across the tea table from her.
“Shut up! This is between Coel and me.”
“And me. And he happens to be right, while we're at it. A healthy fear of you is a good thing so long as you aren't so evil that they come to hate you.”
“Get out of here!”
Demonica winked out at once, leaving her laughter hovering in the air above her chair.
“Happy?” said Spitemorta, glaring at Coel across her teacup.
“Why would I be happy?”
“You heard her. She obviously agrees with you.”
“Obvious to you,” he said with his back to her. “I never heard a word she said...”
“Yea?” she said with a very dark look in her eye as she adjusted her skirt across her knee. “And it doesn't matter in the least, either. I rule the world, not you and not she.
It would save you both a lot of trouble if you noticed. Maybe you need your mouth removed like Pissant so that you can see. I'm no ordinary ruler. I'm the only one throughout all history, ever to rule the world. And no one alive has the kind of power it would take to unseat me.”
“And I'm not challenging any of that,” he said, turning about to face her. “You've told me ever since Castle Goll that my duty is to point out military concerns. Aye?”
Spitemorta raised her chin.
“Isn't it my duty then, to point out that you're as vulnerable as any other mortal? Someone's poison or well placed arrow could kill even you. And if you turn everyone into an enemy, who'll watch your back?”
“Is that what you’re doing, watching my back?”
“Somebody has to.”
“I see. By losing my four Elves and letting the Beaks raid and pillage with impunity?”
Coel walked out onto the balcony and planted his hands on the balustrade. Beyond the castle grounds a blacksmith hammered on some large iron something, while further away cattle bawled.
“Well?” said Spitemorta, speaking up. “How about Elves and Beaks, General?”
“These things take time,” he said, shoving away from the railing and coming back in. “Is this why you sent for me? Or is this another social visit?”
“I need to be kept up with things,” she said.
“I see,” he said, ignoring the sudden blush to her cheeks. “Well as I reported earlier, Waso may be closing in on the Elves. As for the Beaks, I've just learnt that they've gotten more complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“When I hadn't heard from Colonel Yestin this morning as arranged, I tried to reach him with the pellwolok ball and found his quarters dangling from a tree. A Private Huna saw me in Yestin's ball and reported that the Beaks slew every blooming last one of our soldiers except for him. They left him a-dragging himself about on his elbows to make sure that there was no mistaking that it was them, the blue savages of Marr who got us. And that's not all. There's not one house nor cow shed left standing in Castlegoll. Who knows how many of the townspeople were skinned and butchered.” He paused to stretch his neck. “Now I'm afraid you threw me off, a-calling me here, so I've not laid thorough plans yet, but If I'm not kept from it, we'll have a retaliation worked out by morning.”
“Oh there's no need,” she said as she closed a roll over a gob of butter and honey to lunge forward with her bite. She paused to catch a dribble of honey on her chin. “The Beak king and all of his little blue savages are about to be dealt with, but not by any of your soldiers. You've had your chance. I've just sent a force to deal with them once and for all. Supervise your men rebuilding Castlegoll. And I want it done soon. Now go.” She swallowed and looked up. “Dismissed. Beat it!”
Coel gave an immediate nod and stepped out. “Might I ask who you have going after your Beaks?” he said, pausing before pulling the door after him.
“No,” she said, with her sudden eyes of glee at the sound of the latch. “Got you!”
“Aren't we pleased,” said Demonica, sitting on the bed again. “Though, I'd be careful if I were you...”
“Oh why would that be?” said Spitemorta with a suffering roll of her eyes.
“Well, too much and you could wake up to find him gone with all the troops.
Or...”
“Or what?”
“Or you just don't wake up.”
“At all? You seriously think he'd murder me?”
“Well now, I'd have no way of knowing, dear, but he did suggest that some ungifted mortal might indeed manage this or that. And people very often are murdered by those close to them. I should know.”
“Shut up! You pushed me too far.”
“So you keep saying, but what would keep your handsome general from saying the same thing? Besides, you still need him and his soldiers...”
“Oh go on!”
“Very well,” said Demonica as she whisked at little things here and there on the bedspread. “Niarg butchered your trolls at Ash Fork as I recall, and then Coel wiped out Niarg. But as you keep saying, they're altogether inferior, so you must be looking forward to an honor guard of trollbrutes here at the new castle. They would leave a more lasting impression on visitors, wouldn't you say?” She stopped her whisking and looked up.
“You look shocked, dear. Thinking of the baby?”
“What baby?” said Spitemorta, planting a fist on each hip. “I'm no more pregnant than you are.”
“Really? Use your powers. That should clear up your confusion.”
“How Grandmother? That was always your trick.”
“Fiddlesticks! It's time you learnt. Unfasten the Heart from the Staff and press it to your belly, dear.”
Spitemorta gave yet another roll of her eyes as she shook her head, doing as she was bid. Suddenly she was altogether wide eyed. “No!” she wailed. “Damn him! Damn him to the Pit!”
“Aw!” said Demonica. “Poor little girl. Now. Time to brace up. Time to be empress of the world.”
“Well now, you are right,” said Spitemorta as she gave a resolute sigh and began pacing about, chewing at her thumbnail. “I do need to calm down. I’ll simply get rid of it.
You're the only one who knows. And you even know what herbs I need to take. Right?”
“Sure.
But do you really want to? You’ve always wanted a daughter with power, haven't you? I mean, she’ll never be the equal of Veyfnaryr, but she'll certainly have you beat. She might even match me if she lives. But if you must, now would be the best time to get rid of her.”
“What choice do I have? I have subjects. Subjects are endlessly petty, and I’m not married.”
“But you're a widow, dear. You could deliver a little early, and after a spell of seclusion, no one would ever know that Artie was not the father. Just an idea.”
“And a good one, Grandmother. Very well, I'll keep her. But what about Coel? He’ll suspect the truth.”
“So? He's not fool enough to go announcing it to the world. And it very likely would keep him in line.”
Spitemorta undid her kirtle, let it fall to the floor and crawled under her covers.
“So,” she said, waving Demonica off the end of the bed. “Beat it. I've got a big day tomorrow.”
“Well pardon me then,” said Demonica, vanishing immediately.
Spitemorta pulled her quilt up to her chin. Suddenly she threw aside her covers and sat up. “Damn you!” she cried. “That's the very reason you tried to talk me into changing entirely into Fnadiyaphn! You already knew I was pregnant and thought you could get me to give birth to another monster. Somehow, somehow, I swear I'll find a way to snuff out your very spirit.”
***
Poor Pissant could not begin to sleep. His stomach was in knots and he was horribly thirsty. He had gone well before dark to hide in his room which faced one of the back inner wards, but there was not to be any sleeping. He paced frantically about the cramped space, trying to calm himself enough to lay out any sort of reasonable plan.
Would the empress be kind enough to give him back his mouth? If she refused, someone with a razor sharp knife was going to have to give some kind of disfiguring cut to his face before he died from lack of water. He could not begin to concentrate enough to light a candle. He tramped about, running into things in the dark until he gave up, took off his clothes and crawled into bed.
Being in bed simply was not going to work. He had a sudden urge to curry his new dapple cyflymder colt, the very reason he had ever come here to work in the first place. With a gasp at realizing that he had been too distracted to feed it this evening, he stumbled out of bed, floundering in a tangle of sheets for his wadded clothes. Soon he was going from wall to wall down the narrow stairway and out onto the gravel under the vault of stars. Dogs barked here and there across town. He was running at once, but before long was forced to slow down due to not being able to get enough wind through his nostrils alone.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 196
