***
“Well,” said Lukus, as he examined the two packets of herb powder Mary had given him, “I suppose it's time to find out if this stuff's going to work.” He found his water skin amongst his luggage. He sprinkled in herbs from each packet, recapped it, shook it vigorously and heated it with some of his magical power. “There. Tea time.” He drank every last drop, gagging from time to time as it went down. “Gaugh! The reason it works is because it makes you so nauseated, you forget you're seasick.”
He looked up at a knock. “Come in,” he said. “Grandfather. Did Rose send you with a bucket for me to puke in?”
“Actually, no, my boy,” said Razzmorten, as he found a chair. “Your sister seems to be too wrapped up in her own affairs of late to notice her relatives.”
“It's great, isn't it?”
“It's been a very long time since I've seen Rose so happy. I'm only sorry that it was so long in coming and that it's happened in what probably will be the most dire times our world has ever seen.”
“You really think Demonica and Spitemorta will make good on their plans to take over the world?”
“Starting with the Elves I'm sorry to say,” said Razzmorten with complete conviction.
“I'm worried about Soraya.”
“So am I. That's why we must use every minute. So, tell me, how's Mary's seasick medicine working?”
“You know about that?”
“Of course, dear boy. Who do you reckon asked her if she had such a cure in the first place?”
“Oh. Well, I just took the vile stuff. I guess it works if I live. Say. The floor doesn't seem to be making my stomach churn. Maybe it's goin'o work.”
“She's good, you know, so I expect it will,” he said, as he found his spectacles. “Makes me sorry I didn't spend more time at herbal lore when I was an apprentice. Keep that in mind, Lukus. When the opportunity arises, you may want to learn about herbs yourself.”
“I'll give it some thought, but this isn't what you came to see me about, is it? What did you want?”
“I want to use this minute. And now that your seasickness seems gone, we can use this minute to go on with your training.”
“Sounds good to me, Grandfather, and it'll keep my mind off other things.”
***
Yann-Ber sat gingerly on his cot below deck. Lately his pain had been much worse, something he'd not anticipated. He pulled out the small silver flask from his doublet and studied it skeptically. Mary had called it the most potent painkiller which she knew of, though she had no idea if it would give him any relief at all, since his condition was so severe. He poured out a half glass of water from his pitcher and carefully added the five drops she had advised, remembering her caution not to exceed that amount. He swirled the cloudy mixture and stared at it for a moment before tossing it down. He waited. She had said it wouldn't take more than five minutes.
After what seemed a ridiculously long time, he sat back with a sigh of despair. “Another waste of time,” he groaned. “She meant well.” He closed his eyes. He was so tired. He wished he could just drift off to sleep and never have to awaken. “Ha!” he said, sitting up suddenly. “If I'm not to go over five drops, it must be poisonous at doses above that. Demonica said suicide wouldn't work, but since I've not tried it, maybe she lied.” He studied the flask again. “Well, here goes,” he said, as he tipped the bottle, drinking it down. He lay down on his cot and drifted off into blessed oblivion.
***
Demonica found Budog and Mazhev having a most enjoyable time tormenting the prisoners in her dungeon with a feast laid out beyond their shackled reach. They sat at a table and gorged themselves, washing down their meal from a large flagon of one of her rarest years. She watched in the shadows, waiting for the sneaking wine stealing pigs to notice her. The prisoners saw her at once but said nothing.
Budog waved a greasy piece of roast at them from the point of his knife as gravy ran down his chin to spread out amongst the bristles on his neck. He bounced with a gleeful open mouthed chew, flaunting his gluttony. Suddenly he stopped short at the sight of their interest in something on the far side of him. He turned his head to see and dropped his jaw and the piece of hog he had hanging out of it.
At the sight of meat plunking into Budog's wine, Mazhev stuck out his foody tongue through his half chewed cud. “That's disgusting,” he spat. “Are you sitting on your rump feeding your face or are you sitting on your face feeding your rump? And your dirty belches stink rotten...” Suddenly he looked from Budog's horrified face to see Demonica, glaring murderously at the pair of them.
She came to the table, suddenly bearing a demeanor of genial sweetness as she approached. Wordlessly she picked up the flagon of wine and studied its label. “My,” she said as she set the wine back on the table. “You two have truly developed a taste for the finer things in life. I'm altogether stunned at the sacrifices you made to purchase this particular vintage. The ones in my cellar each cost nigh on to a half a year's wage for either of you. Have you sly dogs been gambling with fools from the mainland again?”
Budog and Mazhev exchanged a desperate look. Could she have just provided their explanation for the pilfered wine? Or had she set them up to compound their guilt?
“Looks like we've been found out, Mazhev,” said Budog, floundering desperately at playing for enough time to see just what Demonica's game was.
“Uh, yea...” said Mazhev, with a cringing grin, “looks like...”
Demonica was amused at their pathetic attempt to deceive her. She would most definitely have a lesson for them. It would have to wait. For now, she needed the stinking chwiled-du to do something for her. “So, clean up this mess and report to me in my throne room in ten minutes,” she said, neatly grabbing up the wine as she turned on her heel and glided out.
Budog and Mazhev let go of pent up breath as they rolled relieved eyeballs and set about whisking away the remains of their gluttonous frolic. Demonica could be terrifying. They had been perilously lucky this time.
***
They found her impatiently pacing the throne room. Recognizing this as a bad sign, they bowed low immediately.
“We're right ready to do your bidding, Demonica,” said Budog.
“Rise,” she commanded. “I need you to go to the mainland. Go see Smole at my catoptrolite mine. I'll need a large number of small scrying globes made up from the prophet crystal. At least a hundred to start, I should think. And I want five thousand of them to follow as soon as humanly possible. And get him ready to make a great deal more, upon my word. We will need a huge number in time. Understand?”
“Of course, mistress. But...” said Mazhev.
“But what?” she said, with a dangerous tone to her voice.
“Just that Smole takes forever with things. I can't imagine him cooperating with making a hundred anything, let alone thousands.”
“That's easy. Tell him that if the job is beyond him, he'll be replaced.”
“It shall be so, mistress,” they chorused, as they thumped their chests.
“Indeed,” she said, watching them go.
***
The heavy heeled footfalls of riding boots suddenly dropped their echoes as Brutus, Captain of the Guard tramped into the throne room. “Your Majesties,” he boomed, dispensing with formalities altogether, beginning with his delivery before coming to a rigid halt before them. “We've a calamity upon us, an outright affront to the honor of Loxmere-Goll. Every single one of the largest sukere plantations from which we've had tidings in this short space of time, in fact, every single sukere farm we've checked in any way at all has been turned to smoking ash overnight. I have witnesses who say they saw dragons breathing great gouts of flame on the fields and then fleeing towards Niarg.”
“Where are these witnesses, Captain?” said James, leaning forward from his throne. “These are right serious charges.”
“Indeed,” said Brutus, cracking a nod. “I shall bring forth the peasants who saw the beasts, sire.”
He thumped his breast and pivoted on his heel.
“This is unbelievable,” said James in his wake. “If this is even partly true it implicates Niarg in a plot to start a war. King Hebraun is the most peaceable king ever to sit on the throne of Niarg. What could have caused him to do such a thing?”
Spitemorta knitted her brow. It was a mistake marrying James. He was too weak to rule. If he'd had any idea that it was she who did in his idiot father, he probably would have gone running back to his precious Rose. Now here he was defending the tart's father when he should be furious over Goll's destroyed sukere crops. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with this, James?” she hissed. “I wasn't, but did you?” he said with a gimlet eyed look. “You never did explain why Rose shot you with an arrow, or for that matter, what you were doing that even had you anywhere near her, when you were supposed to be on the coast discussing trade agreements with the ambassadors from the Eastern Continent.”
“You seriously imagine that I must answer to you, James?”
“Absolutely! You're my wife.”
She threw her head back for a throaty laugh. “But not your property,” she said, suddenly icing over. “You're in dangerous territory, love.”
He stared at her as if he had just noticed her horns.
Captain Brutus chose that moment to reappear with a dozen ragged peasants that Spitemorta recognized as the vagrants she had hired to torch the fields. She sat back on her throne an eyed them with cool interest as though she had never seen them before.
James went on studying her face for a moment, then looked up at them as though she had no connection with the emergency.
The vagrants began going prostrate until he told them to rise. They did so at once, but continued to cower. James glanced at Spitemorta as he rose to pace before them.
“What's your name?” he said, stopping before one of them.
“Sidney, sire!” he barked.
“You can relax, you're not in the military. Just tell me what you saw, Sidney.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I was tending my sheep up in the pasture when...”
“Your master's sheep...”
“No, mine...”
“Really. Very well, go on.”
“Well, I was tending my sheep when this awful dragon rushed past me. Scared the water out of me, if you know what I mean. Anyway I followed it, and when I caught up to it, it opened up and blasted out flames all over, setting the sukere field afire just right now. It was all burnt and gone 'fore I could find anyone to help put it out.”
“Thank you, Sydney. That will be all,” said James, as he stepped before the next witness. Each of them had nearly the same tale to tell. He listened patiently to each one before sending him on his way on the condition that he remain available for further questioning.
“Didn't they seem a bit nervous to you, Brutus?” he said, glancing at Spitemorta.
“They're lowly ones, sire. I'd guess an audience with both Your Majesties at once was a lot for them.”
“Yes, I suppose that's possible,” he said, as he took his seat and scratched his jaw. “You're dismissed then, Captain. I'll let you know if I need anything further.”
“Very good, sire,” he said. He thumped his chest and left.
Spitemorta was seething inside. James had outlived his usefulness. She had so hoped to keep him around until he produced another son for her. It would be such a bother to have to find another husband to do the job.
***
“That's correct,” said Razzmorten. “Signs and spells are merely magical directions. They direct the power that's already at hand. Wizard's fire, however must be called forth from your surroundings. You call it forth in order to direct it with your will.”
Lukus nodded thoughtfully.
“Good. Then I think that's enough for today. Practice what you've learnt, but take care not to overdo it. The power to summon comes from within, and you can be seriously taxed before you realize. Best to rest and eat in between.”
“I will, Grandfather, though if it's all the same to you, I'll wait a while first. I'd like to go above for some fresh air. I've not gotten much opportunity for that in previous voyages.”
“That's a fact,” said Razzmorten. “And I could use some fresh air myself.”
***
Yann-Ber opened his eyes, surprised to not only find himself alive but truly rested and in far less pain than he had been before he passed out. “Yes. I am indeed alive.” he said as he strained to sit up. “The pain's not gone, but nearly so. Now I wish I hadn't drunk the whole bloomin' thing.” He sighed. He might as well go topside and see what everyone else was doing. “I sure hope it's time to eat.”
Once on deck he saw Fuzz and Rose off to themselves, chatting. He smiled at their good fortune. He had always wanted love, himself. “Demonica. Boy, that sure wasn't,” he murmered with a shudder. She had destroyed all that was good about him and made him hate his very life. He steadied himself against the mast, taking care not to stumble on the coil of rope on the deck. He looked again at the happy lovers. “Somehow, somehow,” he prayed between clenched teeth as he smacked his fist against the mast, “some way I'll get her before she destroys those two and their whole world.”
Chapter 82
Spitemorta called in Samuel, her new guard whom she had chosen to replace Morgi. She knew that he was ambitious. His sense of fair play consisted of doing whatever it took to benefit him personally. He also had minor magical abilities, like those of a hedge wizard, she thought. What she liked best about him was his complete lack of morals. He was the sixth son of one of the chamber maids and was always about the castle when she was growing up. She came to expect to see him hauled out by his ear for another beating, anytime she heard shrieks and cursing. It was nearly always his doing. As his voice changed, his pranks became diabolical and he was often accused of mutilating pets, though by this time he was too sly to catch. Had anyone bothered to ask Spitemorta, she would have known. No one ever did though, for she was far too sly herself for anyone to have considered asking. She watched from hiding with rapt fascination as he tortured to death pet after pet in the most delightfully inventive ways.
One day, he saw her watching. He was furious and frightened until she convinced him that his little secret was safe. In time they became friends, or rather accomplices (friendship being beyond either one of them), and she learnt that he had great hopes of becoming a powerful sorcerer. In pursuit of them, he went to the trouble to cultivate dubious connections who convinced him that blood sacrifices would give him access to the very Pitmaster, himself. To her knowledge, none of that went anywhere. “How sad,” she thought, “but he'll be perfect.”
“I want you to round up those twelve men who were brought here several days ago by the Captain of the Guard,” she said, clicking her nails on the arm of her throne. “I'm sure he can tell you where to find them, but don't tell him why you want them. Should he ask, merely say that you were told to keep track of them for the crown and let it go at that. If Captain Brutus presses you for more information, tell him you're not at liberty to give him details.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I'll see to it at once”
“Please do,” said Spitemorta with a smile “And Samuel?”
“Yes, Majesty?”
“I trust I don't need to tell you to forget this entire incident? It will certainly be in your best interest, if you do.”
“No problem. I already assumed that's the way it was. Why wouldn't it be the way it's always been?”
“Good. Of course, I'm queen now. Bears checking, don't you know. You've just one day to do this, so I suggest you get to it immediately.”
“I'm leaving now, Majesty,” he said, bowing minimally before hurrying away.
Spitemorta leant back, looking satisfied. “Very good,” she said softly. “James won't be back from Loxmere for above three days. I'll have plenty of time to get the mess all cleaned up before he returns. I might even have time to play with a few of them. I might
even allow Samuel to watch.”
***
“Did Smole give you any problems, Budog?” said Demonica as she studied the unloading of two panniers full of freshly ground scrying globes which he and Mazhev had returned with after several days on the continent.
“Oh, he thought he would,” said Budog with a laugh. “But when he thought better of it, he figured he'd rather be able to father a few more children.”
“I'm not surprised,” she said. “But I wonder if his wife wouldn't prefer it otherwise? He's one stinking ugly hoch.”
Budog and Mazhev had a nice knee-slapping laugh.
“So since you took care of his inclination to drag his feet, where are the other seventy-five crystals?”
“They're coming,” chorused Budog and Mazhev, suddenly quite wide eyed.
“Coming?” she said. “Your job was to have them here.”
“He and his four hired hands worked non-stop for a week on these,” stammered Budog. “We saw to that...”
“We left 'em still hard at it,” said Mazhev, “so in three weeks...”
“Three weeks?”
“Well, that's what we hadn't had the chance to tell you yet,” said Budog, “that Smole said without a doubt he could turn out what you want, but you'd have to agree to pay the additional hands he'd have to hire...”
Demonica sighed and stared off into the distance, thumping a tooth.
“He figures one hand can turn out five in a week,” said Mazhev.
“That's what it looked like to us, too, from what we saw,” said Budog. “He said he'll need you to pay for him to hire a hundred people to turn out a thousand of 'em in a fortnight. So with a hundred people, five thousand should take ten weeks...”
Demonica, continued staring for a moment. “Very well,” she said suddenly. “Go immediately and tell him. I'll pay for his hundred new hands. In fact I'll send the money with you. And tell him I'm going to expect no less than a thousand a fortnight for the next fifteen fortnights.”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 88