“Very well,” said Colonel Coel, “but do hurry. If we take too long at this, our moment to surprise the steward's forces may pass and never return.”
Olloo and Tramman hurried uphill through the waving grass and chattering bobolinks to deliver their message to Vorona as she nodded and restrung her bow.
“Anything else?” she said with a steely-eyed squint.
Olloo and Tramman shook their heads.
At once Vorona was tramping her way downhill with Coileach and her bow.
“Wait!” cried Olloo, running to catch up with her. “This might yet be an elaborate trap. We can’t let you risk yourself…”
“Now ye done it!” she cried, wheeling about to plant her fists on her hips. “If ye don't like how I do my job, go find 'ee another damned queen.”
“Would you mind if we walked by your side?” said Olloo.
“Not at all. But I'll do the talking.”
Olloo offered his arm and with a saucy nod she took it. They were standing in front of Coel in no time.
“Ah!” said Colonel Coel the instant he saw four Elves and four strike falcons. He swept off his helm at once and knelt before Vorona.
“This is Queen Vorona,” said Olloo.
“He's got eyes,” said Vorona. “Now Colonel. How did an army the size of this one manage to leave Jyantylesk without being noticed?”
“We're a mercenary army, quartered outside Jyantylesk, Your Majesty,” said Colonel Coel. “But we're part of the steward's command and they sent us out here to find you and engage your forces. They should be here before long to surround us and slay every last one of you if we haven't managed by the time they arrive.”
“Very well,” said Vorona. “But I've still no way of knowing whether you're being straight or setting a very sly trap. However, if you can agree to my terms, we might be able to work together in short order.”
“And what would your terms be?”
“Simple,” she said with one fierce eye under her snow white hair. “Half of my forces will go with half of your troops and half of your gonnes and come in behind the forces you say your steward's sent after us. The other halves of both our forces and the rest of the gonnes will meet them head on.”
“Done!” said Colonel Coel.
“I'm not,” she said, sending a brown spit beyond a clump of daffodils. “I've another term. When we've tramped your tyrant into the ground and returned your land unto you, you all will be good enough to help us find and slay every last troll on this continent. And I'd allow that my people are far more weary of being butchered by those curses than you ones are of your tyrant. So do we still have a deal, or should I slay every last one of you ones and go home?”
For a moment Colonel Coel could not quite gather the words he needed for a reply. Suddenly he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I'll declare!” he boomed as he propped his hands on his knees. “I can't imagine a better victory celebration for the men of Gwael than a good long troll hunt.”
Vorona spit in her hand and held it out for a shake. Colonel Coel grinned and shook it.
Chapter 205
It may be that young Yann-Ber, Cinder and Cook each completely understood Ocker's urgent correction, but relaying it to Karl-Veur was another matter. To begin with, none of them knew where he had gone. Cinder and Cook agreed to stay in the solar while Yann-Ber went to see if he was in the throne room. When all that he found was Karl- Veur's empty chair and Azenor snoring away into the echoing vaults of the ceiling on his, he returned to the solar and set out to see if he might be with Lieutenant Argan, who was supposed to be somewhere out in the countryside, leading maneuvers.
After being sent considerably astray by poorly given directions, he at last found the troops being drilled and ordered about in a meadow by an officer who had no idea where Argan was but was very suspicious of anyone asking. Having wasted some hours at this, he returned to the castle in a panic, standing in his stirrups. He dashed up the stairs to the solar and found Argan waiting for him.
“Damned good you got here,” said Argan, standing up at once to begin pacing.
“They have Azenor and your father under arrest in the throne room, and they're almost certainly looking for all of us as we speak. If I don't show up down there with you all in custody, we'll all be dead by this time tomorrow.”
“How...?” said Yann-Ber.
“I've got manacles,” he said, holding up a fistful of chain.
“How is this going to work?”
“It's the only thing I've managed to come up with. So hurry up and give me your wrists. You too, Cinder and Cook. They have to be on their way up. And if they corner us in here, we're dead.”
Yann-Ber, Cinder and Cook shared wide-eyed looks as Argan fastened the iron cuffs with trembling fingers. “Now damn it, let's go!” he said between his teeth as he gave them each a shove. “And for the love of Fates, remember that I'm an enemy, not one of the rebels. And any talking between here and there could very well get us all killed.”
And into the echoing hallway they went at the point of his sword.
The first things that Yann-Ber saw as they entered the throne room were the two great chairs sitting empty and Karl-Veur and Azenor bound and kneeling at pike point before Captain Caradog, a small man with a tall hat who was pacing about, smacking his hand with a hunting crop.
“Dilwyn and Macsen,” said Caradog to his pikemen. “Get these two to the dungeon and make sure that someone's down there to stay with them. We'll have a big quartering in the morning to let the public see what happens to traitors.”
Dilwyn and Macsen had them on their feet at once, goading them down the carpet with their pikes. Yann-Ber saw when they passed by that their faces had been so badly beaten that he wasn't sure whether either of them recognized anyone.
Caradog watched them all the way down to the door as he bounced on his heels.
“You can stop right there, Lieutenant Argan,” he said, raising his chin as he ambled over for a look. “What did you bring me?”
“Karl-Veur's son. Sir!” said Argan at attention. “I heard him speak of the empress as 'the witch.'“
“And two dragons, I see,” he said, slowly circling to look each of them up and down. “Good. They're just the same traitors as fire heads, in spite of what Azenor had to say. And the son? What would one expect? As a matter of fact, I had someone on his way to take him into custody.” He stopped short at Argan's side, staring up at the side of his face as if he could make out his very character. “And have you any idea who else I sent for?”
“No sir!”
“Why it was you, Lieutenant,” said Caradog with a flicker of a smile. “So it was very good for you that you made these arrests.” He slowly turned aside, smacking his hand with his hunting crop as he resumed his ambling circle. “Now you can take your prisoners down to the dungeon so that they die in the morning with Azenor. But before you go, I need to give you a further assignment. When you're done, I want you to find Karl-Veur's hwr. Yuna, isn't it?”
“Yes sir!” said Argan.
“Hey!” shouted Yann-Ber.
Caradog gave Yann-ber a furious smack across his face with his hunting crop.
“Yes,” he said as if he had merely been shooing a fly. “Find Yuna and bring her to my quarters. I've a few questions she could be most helpful by answering...”
“My mother is no damned hwr!” shouted Yann-Ber. “And she knows nothing! You touch her and I'll see you to the Pit!”
Without warning, Argan struck Yann-ber with the pommel of his sword, knocking him to his knees to weave for a moment as if he might collapse. “Enough of that!” he roared, yanking Yann-Ber to his feet. “Now move traitor, or you'll get a better one!”
Poor Yann-ber was still reeling by the time they had reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs. “Damn it!” he said as he staggered to keep from colliding with the wall. “What did you crack my skull for? Are you with the empire now?”
Argan grabbed Yann-B
er by the shoulders and shoved him into the wall. “Shut up!” he whispered, showering Yann-Ber's ear with spittle. “If anyone heard that, we'll wake up deader'n doornails. Damn you! And no! I'm no sudden toute kisser for the empire. Didn't you hear him? They were going to arrest me. Now I do beg your pardon for thumping you.”
“All right,” croaked Yann-Ber. “But if you hit me any harder at all, I mean at all, I won't live through it.”
On they went down the stairs with Yann-Ber stumbling from wall to wall. At the bottom landing, Cinder and Cook traded toothy nods before Argan threw open the door to the dungeon guard room. “More traitors for the execution in the morning,” said Argan to the two guards who stood up from their stools at the sight of them.
“I don't much like those,” said a guard with a squint at the dragons. “Those curses spit fire.”
“So lock them up,” said Argan. “I made it down here with them, didn't I?”
“We've got cells for them,” said the other guard, picking up a ring of keys.
Cinder and Cook drew sudden breaths and drenched the two guards with belches of blinding fire that whooshed to the ceiling as the guards writhed and fell to the floor as tumbling coals.
Argan fished out the keys from the coals with the point of his sword.
“Heat's no problem for us,” said Cinder as he took the glowing keys and unlocked the door to the hallway of cells.
They found Azenor and Karl-Veur in separate cells at the far end of the hall.
“You've taken quite a beating,” said Argan. “Can you manage?”
“Don't worry about us,” said Karl Veur.
“We're in better shape than we look,” said Azenor. “Now pray that that our troops stand ready for us to give the word.”
“Can you two fly with all four of us?” said Argan.
“A few miles should be no problem,” said Cinder.
“Then we escape by getting upstairs with all haste and flying away from the castle,” said Argan. And with nods all 'round, they made a mad dash up the steps.
The stairway opened into a great polished ballroom with murals of lyoths and birds of paradise. “Are we all here?” cried Argan in the echoes, checking for everyone at the top step. “Then let's go!”
“Halt!” bellowed a voice the instant everyone was running, as crossbowmen stepped abreast into all four doorways. Feet slapped the hard floor in hesitation.
Argan was not about to stop. “We're dead anyway!” he hollered as he sprinted for the far door.
“Certainly!” cried Captain Caradog as he stepped in front of his guards in the doorway with his dirk to Yuna's pale throat. “But must she die because you wouldn't stop?”
***
Captain Nevitt looked at his compass and studied the Great Plough and the North Star in the moonless sky as he stood on the forecastle deck of the Lostgwyns.
“So what do you reckon?” said Bernard from the railing.
“I'd say that we're well within a quarter hour of eleven bell,” said Nevitt. “On your orders, I can give the signal for all ships to beat to quarters, form line astern and set all sails. Full sail, we should rise into sight of the shore right quick, and be far enough in for the dinghies and coracles to beach by midnight. You all will be blind as bats going ashore with no moon for another hour.”
“Give the word then. Lots of us know the beach, and we ought to have help seeing with above three hundred dragoon a-setting things alight.”
In short order, a great torch was lighted on the stern castle as shouts erupted, barefooted sailors pounded across the decks to haul on lines and drums thumped in time for everyone to ready his weapons and gear. Sails slapped overhead, everyone steadied his footing and the Lostgwyns came to life. Soon sails could be seen as faint apparitions scattered over the black water into the distance beyond sight.
The drums beat on until the fleet had formed a long line abreast, facing the shore.
Suddenly the drums ceased and everyone was silent as the ships glided on, dividing the calm waves, the rigging groaning like leather through the timbers. At less than a half mile out, the boatswain on the Lostgwyns raised his pipe and gave a two noted peep which was repeated down the line of ships on each side and all sails were doused. Sailors began feverishly unfolding feather-light one-man Elven coracles and putting them into the water as soldiers swarmed down the sides of the hulls on rope ladders to man them, and the diatrymas and strike falcons were lowered in slings to wooden dinghies.
There were snippets of talking, grunts and murmurs and the splashing of paddles as three thousand and nine hundred tiny vessels formed a line in front of the fleet. When everyone was ready, Bernard gave the word which was swiftly relayed to the ends of the line. All talking stopped as each and every soldier worked his oar to keep his vessel abreast of the others. In the blackness, the only ways one had of knowing where he was were the slosh of nearby oars and the lack of stars ahead which had to be the beach.
Presently, the waves felt different. Without warning, there was a pair of pounding booms which Bernard could feel through his armor, as two gargantuan fans of orange flames streaked far into the sky. “Dragoons!” he cried, as he stumbled into the knee-deep water. “They've set off the empire's gonne powder!” Dragoons could suddenly be seen everywhere up and down the beach, diving and hurling flame after flame onto the cries and pandemonium of enemy below.
Bernard tramped out onto the sand. “For Niarg!” he bellowed with a great wave of his longbow. “Let's go home!”
***
Spitemorta sauntered to the balustrade of the south balcony of her bower (a storey below her solar) and raised the back of her hand for a yawn. “We may as well go back in, Abbey,” she said. “Look at those lightning flashes in the south-east. There must be a storm coming in off the ocean and I'd just as soon be inside when it gets here. Besides, a big rain will at least put Niarg’s little rebellion on hold until tomorrow. It's undoubtedly safe to get a bit of sleep,” she said, stifling another yawn. A barn owl, looking like a ghost amongst the gargoyles on the roof, gave a long hissing rasp and leaped into flight.
“I didn't see the lightening,” said Abaddon, rising from his bench to follow her inside, “but if I didn't know it was a big rain, I'd say it was a pair of big barns afire. And if you don’t mind, I'd feel better if I stayed here and slept on the daybed in your sitting room, just to stay nearby in case the rebels do something unexpected. I'd really be upset with myself if I missed seeing the witch die.”
“It's a storm,” she said, smug that her son wanted to protect her. “The couch is yours.” Suddenly she gasped. “They’re here! I just felt them breach my wards, and there are more of them than just the twins, but I can't tell how many.” She rushed inside and grabbed up the Heart and Staff on her way to her sitting room.
“What do you need me to do, Mother?” said Abaddon.
“Just stay nearby and we'll see when the time comes.”
She threw open the hallway door. “Sergeant Lagasek,” she said, waving him inside from amongst the other guards. “The rebels are in the castle. You all know what to do.” And with that she pointed the Heart and Staff up and down the hall before following him inside.
Lagasek quietly stepped through the apartment and vanished behind the curtains of Spitemorta's canopy bed.
“He's good,” thought Abaddon.
Spitemorta grabbed up her satin robe from the end of the bed, slipped it over her gown and pulled back the spread from the bolster and pillows. She hesitated with her knee on the mattress for a thoughtful moment before turning about and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Here,” she said as she thrust the Heart and Staff into his hands with a nod at her dressing screen. “Hide yonder until your witch betrothed arrives.”
“But I've no idea under the shining sun how to use these,” he said with a look of shock.
“You told me you wanted to kill her,” she said with a squint.
“More than anything!”
“You should know how
to use wizard's fire.”
“I have for most of my life...”
“Then all you do is point the Heart and Staff and use your wizard's fire. And they'll hurl a lightning bolt for you instead,” she said, looking him up and down. “But if you aren't up to it, give them back and I'll do it.”
“Oh no,” he said, tightening his grip. I've spent my years fearing that I'd never have the chance.”
“Ha!” she said as if she had known this all along. “Well there they are, yonder's the screen and I've got this.” And she took her skinweler from its stand on the tea table and made herself comfortable in bed.
***
It had been the first day of the year that anyone might be inclined to call hot. At the very least, it made a pleasant enough evening that Rose had the trestles and board set up out in her agave rose garden so that she and Fuzz could have supper with Lukus and Soraya and Spark and Lipperella. They gathered 'round a plain but sumptuous meal of blackrabbit, potatoes and squeaky cabbage along with hot cornbread, butter and honey, as a sphinx moth buzzed about the agave spikes in the deepening shadows.
They kept themselves quite busy with their meal, visiting right along about the weather, the garden, the sheep that got out, the gorgeous quilts that they had seen, anything at all to avoid the fact that it was the evening of the twenty-ninth of April. By the time that it was completely dark, they fell silent, listening to the first poorwill of the year. Presently Lukus was on his feet, pacing about in agitation. He paused, drawing in a breath as Rose caught his eye and nodded. “So it is indeed time,” said Soraya.
***
A woodcock was twittering somewhere high in the air over the orchard at Peach Knob as Daniel and Ariel made sure that they had the corn pollen which Meri had given them. The very moment it was midnight, Razzmorten rolled his scrying ball into his bag, joined hands with them and with Minuet and Neron, and vanished. They appeared in the darkness of the great kitchen of Spitemorta's castle, tiptoeing amongst the help who were snoring away on their straw pallets, drawn up to the brick ovens and the long mound of glowing coals in the huge hearth in the redolence of pork roast, griddle muffins and lye soap.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 215
