Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “I thought we were talking about us,” he said, taking her arm and guiding her further into the garden.

  ***

  “O-ooh! That arrogant, dimwitted pig boy!” said Rose between breaths, at the top of the spiraled staircase. “How could I ever have believed he'd changed?”

  “Rose?” said King Hebraun softly, making her gasp and jump.

  She'd not seen Minuet and him following her all the way up. She turned to face them and panicked. What could she say to them? She began at once in trembling dismay, telling them everything as they carefully listened.

  “And so,” she said with a tremulous heave, “I told him I'd not marry him now, or ever.” She looked at their faces with tears filling her eyes and added a squeaky: “I'm so sorry!”

  “Rose,” said Hebraun. “it sounds to me as though you handled the situation in the only responsible and sensible way possible. Your Mother and I stand behind your decision completely. The timing might be a bit awkward, considering the large numbers of guests who've already arrived...”

  “Hebraun!” said Minuet, as Rose's tears brimmed over and began coursing down her cheeks.

  Hebraun went wide eyed and quickly gave Rose a shoulder to cry on.

  “Hey!” cried Lukus, charging to the top of the stairs, full of dash from having just been with Soraya. “How come you all are up here? Oh!” He saw Rose's reddened eyes. “So what's going on?”

  “I told James I'm not going to marry him, Lukus,” she said over her handkerchief. “The wedding's off.”

  “No! Rose, you're making this up, right?” he said. Of course he could see that she was not. “Whoa! So what happened? Is James the same old pea-slinging gwrtaith he always was, Rose?”

  “Lukus!” shushed Minuet. “Walls have ears.”

  Hebraun put his finger to his lips.

  Rose nodded. “Lukus is right!”

  “I am? You mean to say he actually shot peas at you? If he did, do you want me to...?”

  “Lukus!”

  “I'm just teasing, Rose.”

  “Please don't! I've simply been through too much. You're about to become betrothed yourself, so I'd think that you'd...”

  “That's it!” cried Hebraun, giving Minuet a jubilant nod. “Where did anyone last see Neron?”

  “I left Soraya at his chamber, just now,” said Lukus. “I think they might be taking a stroll out by the big fountain.”

  ***

  Lukus and Soraya's betrothal ceremony went quite smoothly. The guests were most gracious about the change in plans. “As long as they get what they came for, there's no scandal,” said Hebraun. Rose was happy for Lukus and relieved that things were working, but secretly felt a tinge of betrayal in the handshakes and good cheer of the guests. “All they really care about is that they are counted in attendance at the royal affair,” she thought. She studied the crowd closely, perchance to get a glimpse of James. She didn't. She was relieved. King Edmond had unpleasant words with Hebraun earlier in the day and she wouldn't have been surprised if James did something childish at the betrothal. She was very glad when the ceremony ended without incident.

  As She drifted through the crowd, however, she saw Spitemorta. “Was she invited?” she thought. “Mother and Father could not possibly have invited her, knowing what they do now.” Spitemorta looked through the crowd with an unmistakable gloat and then vanished before her eyes. “They didn't,” she said aloud with conviction. “That nasty witch wasn't invited at all.”

  A handful people nearby gave her odd looks as if she were talking to an imaginary friend. “Just what I need: people thinking I've gone crackers,” she thought as she wound through the crowd, heading for the door. “They'll be saying that's the reason my wedding was called off. That'll have suitors beating down my door. Who am I kidding? There aren't going to be any suitors after what I've done. So, what am I going to do with my life?”

  ***

  “Why is Grandfather Razzmorten always late?” said Lukus, as he sat on the crimson runner mounting the dais in the castle's throne room.

  “You always say that,” said Rose. “Then he finally arrives and you ask him, and he always tells you it's to give you practice having patience. I hate to think what you might do to him if you don't ask this time.”

  “Fine. It seems I have a choice, but by the way you're squirming around, I'd say you're more anxious than I am.”

  “Could be,” she said. “After all, I've been itching to see what changed in the forest after Ugleeuh died. I'm glad Grandfather invited us to go with him. I sure hope Fuzz and the dragons got back home safely.”

  “No kidding. And I can't wait to see if the Peppermint Forest has become just another part of the Chokewoods. Do you suppose the smallies and the dorchadas would widen their territories if it did?”

  “Fates forbid,” she said. “But I'm glad Grandfather will be with us, just in case.”

  Razzmorten strode into the throne room with a rolled up paper. “Look at this broadsheet that was tacked up outside the printers,” he said.

  Minuet gasped as she and Hebraun read the paper together. “What does this mean?” she said. “Why weren't we notified about this before the printers?”

  “Who knows,” said Razzmorten, “but it is indeed a piece of news.”

  Rose and Lukus crowded 'round to peer over shoulders to read. “No!” cried Rose, as her eyes raced through the words of newsprint which boldly proclaimed:

  Foul Murder of Loxmere Monarch!

  King Edmond Found Slain!

  Edmond, King of Loxmere was found

  dead of multiple stab wounds in his

  royal apartment last week by his

  chamber - maid, Florence Dusben.

  Queen Myrtlebell vanished without

  leaving a trace at the same time, and

  has not yet been located by the

  Loxmere Royal Guard nor by the

  Loxmere Royal Army. It is presently

  assumed that she has either fled or has

  been kidnaped. A reward for the dis-

  closure of her whereabouts (or perhaps

  for her capture) is expected to be offer-

  ed by Edmond's only son and heir,

  James, Prince of Loxmere, upon his

  return to Loxmere from his honey-

  moon journey with his wife,

  Spitemorta, Queen of Goll.

  “Spitemorta!” croaked Rose, causing everyone to brace himself for an upset. She planted her hands on her hips with a look of fire in her eyes. “And right well matched they be by my reckoning. I can't think of any two people who deserve each other more.” She a gave a decisive nod and a smile, relaxing everyone.

  “Wow!” said Lukus. “Sounds as if Myrtlebell's gone too far this time. Looks like just a matter of time 'til she pays the piper. I'll bet she got the idea from Spitemorta and thought that she could get away with it, too.”

  “Lukus!” snapped Minuet. “There'll be no more of that. Do you understand the importance of discretion for heads of state?”

  “Of course,” said Lukus.

  “Good!” she said. “Then I believe you and Rose were about to leave with your grandfather to board the ship.”

  “We're ready,” he said.

  “Then have a grand time. Your Father and I shall await your return with news of the changes in the forest.” And with that she turned aside with a very happy expression for her adoring husband.

  STONE HEART

  Book 3

  PROLOGUE

  “Please forgive the interruption, Sorceress,” said Budog, as he and the other guard hove their captive onto the slippery stone floor, “but he's back again.”

  “You and Mazhev had better...'' said Demonica, turning aside from her prisoner on the torture table, writhing in his irons. “This had better be important.” Her ageless face seethed with fury in the wavering torchlight.

  “This thing says he has some real information for you, this time,” said Budog, nodding at his captive.r />
  “Oh, yes, yes!” pleaded the captive, as he sat up on his haunches. “This time I do have. This time I truly have what you want to know, Demonica, my love.”

  “Never address me in that manner again!” she shrieked, as she kicked him in the gut, doubling him over to lie straining, cheek down on the clammy floor.

  “Forgive me, Mistress!” he shouted, heaving in his first breath with a gasp. “Please! I quite forgot myself! I meant no disrespect! I swear!”

  “Very well, Yann-Ber!” she barked, as she lunged at his face and spat. “What do you think you have to tell me?” She stood back to study her saliva, glistening on the mass of boils swelling his face. “You'd do well to hope you aren't wasting my time, dearest.”

  An agonized moan from the man on the table caught Yann-Ber's eye. He shuddered at the sight of him, envying the wretched fellow's nearness to death. “Soon he'll be free of this,” he thought, “and maybe I shall be free as well, if what I bring suffices...”

  “Out with it, you vile kaoc'h ki du!” she screamed, flinging her knee into his face to crush his nose with a resounding pop.

  Yann-Ber wailed out in pain and clapped his hands over his face, his eyes still bearing the strength to give his wife a look of hatred. “Your daughter is dead,” he sputtered from between his bloody hands. “And your granddaughter has ascended the throne of Goll...” He closed his eyes for a moment and reeled, coming to grips with his pain. “They say she's got her hands on the Great Staff, you know, the Staff of Power, though no one seems to think that she uses it.”

  “Just how sure are you?”

  “I wouldn't dare aggravate you with anything I was unsure of, Demonica.”

  “So how do you know, Yann-kaoc'h?” she said, suddenly lifting her knee as though she were going to strike him again. He winced and fell sideways, catching himself on his elbow. She threw back her head and made the halls of the dungeon ring with her laughter. “You stinking pomander of pustules, just how is it that you manage to know this?”

  “A few still deny that she has the Great Staff at all,” he said, pulling himself upright, “but she certainly had no staff of any kind when she came to the throne, and then she suddenly had one, right when her mother died. Too many reliable people have seen it. And you said...”

  “This time you've actually learnt something, Yann-Ber,” she said, suddenly brandishing a high spirited gloat. “So. Back to Norz-meurzouar it is again.”

  She turned to Budog and Mazhev. “And you two finish up this mess for me,” she said, waving her manicured hand at the man on the torture table. “I have far more important business waiting on the Northern Continent.” She swept past Yann-Ber without a glance, heading for the door.

  “Wait! Demonica, please!” cried Yann-Ber, lunging after her on knees swollen huge from boils, only to tumble forward onto his hands from the pain.

  Demonica stopped in the doorway. “I don't have time for this, Yann-Ber.”

  “The curse!” he shouted through the blood on his face, as he rocked back and forth, coming to grasp with the pain in his knees. “You promised me! You gave me your word that if I found out the whereabouts of the Staff, then you'd end this curse. And she does have it. You'll see. Please, Demonica! Have mercy! I'm your husband! You cared for me once. Please!”

  “Are you certain you want that, Yann-Ber?” she said with a light in her eyes, as a ruby lipped smile spread across her face.

  “What else could I want?” he rasped.

  “So be it,” she said, making several signs in the air before turning crisply and walking out of sight.

  “Demonica!” he shouted. “Nothing has changed! I still live! What treachery is this?”

  The stony echo of her footsteps halted, then began again and stopped as she came back into view. “On the contrary, Yann-Ber, your death has been irrevocably scheduled, in spite of how slow and agonizing you may think it.” She threw her head back with a peal of laughter. “You see, dear heart, I always keep my promises.”

  “But, so do I.”

  “Ah! Ah! Ah! But not to me. Remember that it was your faithlessness to me that earned you your nightmare spell of boils. So, as I was saying, I do keep mine, and you will most assuredly be dead within the year, though it will seem such a long time to someone with your lack of patience,” she said, glancing at the crimson toes of her shoes as she adjusted the pleats down the front of her gown.

  “I'll kill myself.”

  “You can try, Yann-Ber,” she said with a demure smile, “but unfortunately it will never work.” At once she turned and strode into the hallway, here and there erupting into laughter as her reverberating footfalls passed beyond hearing.

  “You witch!” he screamed as he tottered onto his feet, only to be seized by the hair and thrown flat onto the floor by Budog who pinned him mercilessly with both knees, yanking his arm around backward until it snapped, making him wail out in pain.

  “Hurt your little armsie, stinkfish?” he hissed through his rotten teeth. “Too bad that's all I broke.” He yanked Yann-Ber to his feet by the hair and pointed him toward the torture table. “Thing is, you stink so much, I can't concentrate on my work here.” He shoved him flailing for balance towards the door. “Now. If Mazhev or I even see you again, we'll play with you awhile like that fellow on the table.”

  ***

  The hurried staccato of Demonica's footfalls silenced as she crossed from flagstone floor to carpet on her way to the dais of her audience chamber, where she kept her scrying crystal on a pedestal beside her seat. She whisked away the heavy red velvet covering and gazed at once into its translucent depths. A fiery glow whirled away its murkiness. Glimpses of other places took shape. At last she nodded with satisfaction.

  “So, dearest Granddaughter,” she said, raising her brows. “You have done right well, but not so very well that you wouldn't benefit enormously from having me as your new nanny for that fine young son of yours.” She flung wide her arms and spun around once, suddenly riveting her stare back into the crystal. “I'm so sorry, dear, but your present nanny is about to have such a horrible accident.” She paused, studying certain particular details in the orb before scooping it into her robe. At once, she raised her staff, made some magic signs and vanished.

  Chapter 55

  “They're in the trees, aren't they?” said Queen Spitemorta, straining to see aloft as she drew her raven-black unicorn to a stop. “Easy, Nightshade.” She patted his withers and stroked his silver mane.

  “Yes, that's supposed to be their habit, all right,” said the older woman, on a brindled grey unicorn in the deer path behind her. She lowered the hood of her cloak and looked about overhead before giving a shrug. “So?”

  “So I don't like them watching us. I still say we should've used a traveling spell to come here. We'd be spending our morning back in Goll instead of here in the Chokewoods being spied on by cannibals.”

  “You're as skittish as Nightshade, there,” said the elder with a calmness that Spitemorta found nettling. “I don't understand why you people up here waste your patience on cyflymder unicorns. Roudennegs like Gwenole, here, are as steady as the rock my keep is built on. I'm right glad you managed to find her for me. Now listen: I wouldn't worry so much if I were you. You look altogether like your mother did when she first arrived here, so I can't imagine the dorchadas being anything short of terrified by you. Besides, malicious parties can make good allies. You never know when they might be useful.”

  “I am indeed out here in this place on the strength of what you've said, Demonica. But there are times when I can see that I'm being advised by my son's nanny. You seem to forget that I'm queen and that I have this...” she said, suddenly drawing forth the staff from across the tops of her panniers and shooting out a lavender flame from the end of it, sending a dorchadas plummeting to the ground in a ball of flame. The dorchadas kicked a time or two before the flame went out. Spitemorta rode forward and prodded his crumbling cinder with the staff.

  “This is my
forest! I am queen!” she called out, addressing the huts and the dangling skulls in the treetops. “Many of you must fancy yourselves brave. So if anyone amongst you wishes to contest this, come forth!”

  The forest canopy was quite silent as scores of obsidian eyes stared out from the late summer leaves with indigo-black cat faces bearing lemon-yellow manes.

  “Good!” cried Spitemorta. “Then you'll come to my service at my bidding, knowing that you will die if you refuse!” Joy surged through her. She could see their helplessness. She rode forward, head held high. They rode in silence along the deer path under the twisted boughs of the choke oaks until they seemed well beyond the outlying grounds of the dorchadas.

  “Well done, dear. Everyone was quite impressed,” said Demonica at last, “but it was unwise for you to leave your back open to attack.”

  “Oh come now, Grandmother,” she said, wheeling 'round to ride alongside her. “Just as you said, those heathens were terrified. They thought Ugleeuh had risen right up out of the Pit and returned to reclaim her perverted realm.”

  “No doubt. But the dog most likely to bite you from behind is the one who's too afraid to come at you head-on.”

  “You forget that I've been queen of two realms for better than five years. I've had no problems. What have you done to learn to command others besides be a governess?”

  “Not much. I've only been the most powerful sorceress in the world for something just short of three centuries...”

  “Well, as I said before,'' said Spitemorta, interrupting to hide her faltering aplomb, “a traveling spell would have saved us from all this...this inconvenience.”

  “You chose to ride the high-strung cyflymder, dear. As for traveling spells, those are another problem altogether. It seems that when my daughter gave you the staff, she must have led you to believe that they are appropriate for any sort of traveling.”

  “She didn't give me the staff...”

  “How'd you come by it?”

  “...I took it.”

  “Well. That's my granddaughter,” said Demonica, stopping Gwenole in the path and leaning aside to look squarely into Spitemorta's face. “By that, I gather that she showed you nothing at all about traveling spells, aye?”