Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  ***

  Razzmorten unlocked the library store room, slipped inside and lit several candles on the table and wall. He began at once whisking aside the cobwebs and thick dust as he perused the disorderly shelves and stacks of scrolls, books and reams of printed paper, tied up with twine and ribbons. He thought he remembered the looks of the First Wizard's ponderous leather-bound book, but everything he picked up turned out to be something else for the longest time. Just as he was beginning to despair he pulled it out from under a filthy stack of wholly unrelated tomes.

  He drew up to the table and began carefully turning its pages. This was most assuredly it, but it was oddly larger than he had remembered and its entries were made in extremely small print. He could see that he was in for a long evening. He removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes before pulling a candle out of its stick and replacing it with his glowing wand. He knitted his brow and bent over the entries like some hoary old anteater picking up termites in the gloom.

  “Yes,” he said at long last, as he sprang to his feet to circle the table once and sit down again. “Yes, yes! This is very good! Both the Staff and the Heart are incredibly labyrinthine. Particularly the Heart.” He pored over the pages for a spell longer. He banged the table with his fist. “Thank the very Glories of the world,” he said, closing the book and standing up to put it away exactly where he had found it. “One most certainly needs spell upon spell and profusions of dark rituals to call forth any but the most trivial of the powers of either the Heart or the Staff. And we're going to have to find the most secure place in the kingdom for this grimoire. If Demonica or Spitemorta ever gets hold of it, the whole world might just as well invite them to start ruling everywhere and save themselves all the horrible cost in lives and time to resist.”

  He made his way to the top of his tower and sank fully clothed upon his bed with a grateful sigh. He was just closing his eyes when he heard the gritting of Taflu just back from a night's hunt. “My word! It must be late,” said Razzmorten as he looked up to see

  Taflu's red eyes. “Was it a good night out?”

  “The best,” chirped Tafflu. “Did you know that there are at least two dozen whole asses right here on the castle grounds?”

  “My,” said Razzmorten, “weren't they kind of little?”

  “Yea, actually.”

  “Equus asinus, Taflu. Just plain asses. These asses don't have a whole. They belong to the crown, but I won't say anything.”

  “They're sure delicious. I think I'm really going to enjoy my stay here. No wonder Yann-Ber's so fond of this place.”

  “Because it's full of asses?”

  “'Course not. It has whatever a weary traveler needs.”

  “Oh. Well let's hope we can keep it free, so it can go on being a haven for folks and asses with good blood,” said Razzmorten amidst a huge yawn.

  “I'm for that,” said Taflu. And he flitted into the rafters to begin snoring with Razzmorten.

  ***

  Spark and Lipperella stood back to back in the middle the kite field, a broad depression ringed with leaning oaks on the plateau above the Dragon Caves, watching Flame, Brand, Blaise and Scorch gliding down in sweeping circles to land, skidding, tumbling and tottering in the white dust all about them. “Bravo!” they cheered as they applauded the fledgling aeronauts.

  “All right!” cried Spark. “Flash! Toast! Cinder! Cinderella! Come line up! Let's get you in the air!”

  Immediately four gangling dragonets, spiky with new feathers, scuttled forth to stand abreast, holding wide their trembling wings as they leant anxiously forward, ready for their very first launches.

  “Ready Flash?” said Spark, grabbing hold of him. “Let's go!”

  At once he charged forward, boosting and speeding the dragonet's stumbling run. The moment Flash picked up both feet together, Spark gave him an extra shove into the air.

  “Go Flash, go!”

  “Yahoo!” cried Flash, winging stiffly aloft.

  “Bravo!” cried Lipperella with a bounce as she clapped her hands. “Here we go Toast. Let's catch him, sweetheart. Let's not have the boys outdo us.” She grabbed little Toast and began running with her.

  Just as Toast began climbing aloft, Spark spied Edward and Laora scampering onto the kite field, leading Kast and Gweltaz who appeared to be in a big hurry.

  “Hey!” called Spark, with a proud two armed wave. “Couldn't resist seeing what it's like for dragons to fly after all these years, aye? Watch this!” He turned to Cinder. “Come on Cinder, let's show 'em how...”

  “Uh...wait...Spark...” said Kast, looking wide eyed.

  “We didn't come for this...” said Gweltaz as he shared a guilty look with Kast. “I mean we would have, right enough, but...”

  “There may be ominous tidings,” said Kast. “Whee!” he said as he ducked a low sweeping pass from above by Flash. “We were sent by the council to fetch you at once...”

  Lipperella gave him a steely-eyed look.

  “Why? What's happened?” said Spark.

  “All we know is that a message globe arrived a short while ago from the Jutland Elves and the council is in a great hubbub over it,” said Gweltaz. “They're waiting for all the representatives to arrive before having it deliver.”

  Spark drew a breath and let his shoulders droop as he looked at his brood and then at Lipperella. He had so wanted to enjoy this moment.

  “Go ahead, we'll be fine,” said Lipperella.

  “Yea,” said Edward exuberantly. “Laora and I will stay and help.”

  Spark saw that Kast and Gweltaz were taken aback by the Edward's boastfulness as he quickly knelt to hug the pair of them, before setting off for the Council chambers.

  “Edward's right good with the little ones,” said Spark, once they had gotten a dozen rods into the leaning oaks. “He's already encouraged Laora enough that she's taken several short flights near the caves. And until this morning, she was the only one to fly, so far.”

  “That's remarkable,” said Kast. “Isn't she the smallest of the clutch?”

  “Yea,” said Spark. “But size hasn't held her back with him there to cheer her on.”

  “He's really been a help to you and Lipperella, hasn't he?” said Gweltaz.

  “Yes. And more so by leaps and bounds each day, though sometimes I feel like it's been a horrible sacrifice for him to have stayed behind when Fuzz and Rose wanted him to go with them and be a part of their new family.”

  “There's still time for that,” said Kast.

  “I hope you're right,” said Spark, groping for furnishings to steady himself in the dark, as they stepped into the Council Chambers.

  “Good!” boomed Lord Chancellor Padrig, as he stood. “Now we are all here. Representatives: silence please, while we summon this message from the Jutland Elves.”

  He addressed the message globe. It glowed as colors within it swirled to form the face of Prince Lukus of Niarg, standing next to Soraya and King Neron.

  “Hail dragon friends and allies,” said Lukus. “I regret bringing ill tidings, but Wizard Razzmorten, their Majesties of Niarg and King Neron all agree that it is vital that I do so. The Dragon Clan is in danger. Spitemorta of Goll and her grandmother, Demonica of Head are blaming the clan and Niarg for the destruction of all of Goll's sukere fields. Goll's citizenry is furious and clamoring for vengeance. War is imminent, but we have no idea how the witches are setting things into motion. We will contact you at once the moment we know more. We regret bearing such news as this, but we know that you must be alerted.”

  Lukus paused to look aside at Soraya and then Neron before continuing: “Please forgive the insertion of a personal message, but... Spark: Soraya and I want you and Lipperella to know that she has given birth to a fine healthy set of twins. We have a son and a daughter.” He grinned grandly and then gave instructions for the return of the globe before bidding them farewell.

  As the globe sped away, the council began talking all at once. The discussions were s
till going on when Spark dragged his drooping tail into his grotto to find Lipperella fast asleep on the cushions in the parlour, where she had been waiting for his return.

  Spark sank down beside her and kissed her forehead.

  “Spark, you're finally back,” she said, opening her groggy eyes. “What did you hear?”

  “The worst. Spitemorta and Demonica blame Niarg and the dragon clan for their sukere crops being burnt to ash,” he said as he collapsed onto the cushion beside her. “And Razzmorten, Hebraun, Minuet and the Elves think that they are about to declare war on us. Of course the council is back into the debate of whether or not to abandon the Dragon Caves and if so, whether to go to the Black Desert or the Wilderlands.”

  “Dear Fates,” whispered Lipperella, as she leant against him.

  “There is a tiny bit of good news... Well, not really tiny, just very far into the future, if you're charmed by Elven Lore...”

  “What are you talking about?” she said with a yawn.

  “Lukus and Soraya are parents. They had a son and a daughter.”

  “Wonderful. But what has that to do with the future and so forth?”

  “Now you got me yawning. Well, did you do know that the First Wizard was the child of an Elf and a Human?”

  “Seems like I did.”

  “You also know that the Great Staff and the Heart of the Staff were created by the First Wizard?”

  “Yea. We got that figured out when Razzmorten was here.”

  “Well, he had all the power to do that because he was begotten by an Elf and a Human. And only a wizard from such a union will have the power to defeat and destroy the Heart and Staff and the person who wields them...”

  “Whoa,” said Lipperella, sitting bolt upright. “You're saying that the only ones who would have the power to stop Demonica and Spitemorta outright would be Lukus and Soraya's twins?”

  “If you hold with Elven Lore.”

  Chapter 88

  Rose awoke to the calls of a mourning dove in the juniper outside her window, in the bed she had slept in since she was three years old. She lay there listening as it replied to other doves far and wee. The sunshine reached across her room and lit her bedposts with an amber light. She sat up as a brilliant vermilion cardinal landed above the dove and took up a melodious delivery to the world. At once, Mali pounced on her, ragged purr leaking from her nose as she began kneading the comforter. Her room had its familiar beauty for each month of the year.

  Suddenly it was all spoilt. Here they were, on the brink of war. “Spitemorta!” she cried. “How could any one person be so evil?” She gave Mali a final silky stroke and slid out of bed. She made short work of dressing and combing her hair, being keenly interested in getting down to breakfast to find out what Razzmorten had learnt from the First Wizard's diary. She had made a decision that she hoped Fuzz and her family would understand. When she entered the dining hall she was disappointed to see that Razzmorten was not in his chair. Yann-Ber was in Lukus's seat and Fuzz had not yet arrived, either.

  Hebraun and Minuet smiled cheerily at her.

  “It would have to be the very last day of the world for them not to do that,' she thought.

  “Good morning,” she found herself saying in spite of her doubts, as she took her seat. Everyone around the table babbled the same greeting.

  Fuzz appeared and Rose found herself cheered by his arrival, but Razzmorten's chair stayed empty. “Has no one seen Grandfather yet, this morning?” she said, as the meal began.

  Hebraun and Minuet both shook their heads as Fuzz and Yann-Ber looked up from their eating to see their reply.

  “It was no doubt quite late when he went to bed, Rose,” said Hebraun. “The First Wizard's Diary is entirely in Old Niarg Standard as I remember. I looked at it when your grandfather was trying to find something in it, years ago when Razorback was on the rampage, seems like. That's not all though. Old Number One had the tiniest, most cramped handwriting I believe I have ever seen, and it was full of strange abbreviations and all sorts of peculiarities.”

  “I can certainly believe that,” said Rose, “but, Grandfather's spent his life wading through that kind of thing...”

  “Yeap. Up to his knees,” said Hebraun with a healthy nod. “But Razzmorten's a perfectionist. He doesn't like making mistakes on trivial things, let alone making them with this much at stake. You saw how hard it was to get him to put his hunch into words yestereve. He took his time with the diary, last night. You can mark that.”

  “I'm sure you're quite right, Father,” she said. “Grandfather's always been that way. I guess we'll just have to love him anyway.”

  “Well now, I'm right comforted to hear you say that, Rose,” said Razzmorten with a puckish grin as he passed behind her unnoticed to draw back his chair.

  Rose turned scarlet but quickly recovered as the room fell dead silent, watching him lace his porridge with honey. He added a dollop of heavy cream, then stopped to peer round the room over his spectacles. “I daresay,” he said, setting down his spoon. “This must be how it is for the bugs in my collection. I see I'd better report my late night's research so that I can eat in peace.”

  “Please eat, Father,” said Minuet with a chorus of murmuring agreement by everyone at the table. “We're burning with curiosity, of course, but all of us would be right pleased to wait while you eat.”

  “Well, I know it seems terrible of me, but please, if you all don't mind very much,” he said. “It was hunger that actually woke me this morning.”

  “Rose,” said Minuet, “tell us your plans for your wedding.”

  “Well, Mother,” she said with a smile for Fuzz, “we were hoping that you'd help us with all of that.”

  “By all means dear, but surely you've some ideas?”

  “Well, I do have a few thoughts, I suppose...”

  “Sounds like a start,” said Minuet.

  ***

  “We're sailing across an entire ocean on that?” screeched Spitemorta at the sight of the Sea Jewel, “We'll sink.”

  “How dramatic, Spitemorta,” said Demonica. “The Sea Jewel's one of the most sea worthy ships afloat today, in spite of how it strikes you.”

  “Really. And just how could you know such a thing?”

  “I've had years of dealings with Jockford and his ship, Spitemorta. Just get on board, will you?”

  “Not likely,” she said, turning square about and heading back to the coach. “You're on your own, Demonica.”

  Demonica grabbed Spitemorta by the arm, yanking her around to face her. “I'll tell you this once, Granddaughter:” she snarled, “you insult me by forgetting that I know well my business. The Sea Jewel looks as she does for her protection. She's a specialized vessel. She's stealth afloat. Even pirates pass her by, but because of her deceptive draught, she'll stand up to weather that would have any of your miserable royal firkins on the bottom. Now I'm boarding and you can either follow me or go whimpering home to your handsome king of two insignificant countries.” And with that, she marched up the gangplank.

  Spitemorta clamped her teeth and headed for the coach. She put her foot on the treadle and stopped. She could still feel where Demonica had had her by the arm. She furiously wrenched away from the assistance of the wide eyed footman to glare at the ship which her Grandmother had just boarded. “Unghh!” she growled, as she stamped back to the ship with a white knuckled grip on the Staff. She tramped up the plank and glowered at Demonica. “I reckon I can keep this trough off the bottom with magic, then!” she said with a snarl, as she smacked the deck with the heel of the Staff.

  Demonica threw back her head and roared with laughter, bracing herself on her knees as the tears ran down her cheeks. Without warning, she snapped shut her mouth and paused, staring gimlet eyed at Spitemorta. “Follow me,” she said abruptly as she glided away, down the companionway.

  Spitemorta managed to get below just as Demonica's skirts disappeared into one of the cabins at the stern. When she reached its door, she fo
und it closed and locked. She knitted her brow and pounded.

  Demonica jerked open the door. “Oh, it's you. You're next door,” she said, as if she were expecting someone else entirely and Spitemorta had merely confused the cabin numbers.

  “Stop playing games, Grandmother!”

  “I will when you're ready to, Spitemorta. Quite frankly, I wonder what's gotten into you. But I can tell you this: we've absolutely no time for any of it. Where's your skinweler?”

  Spitemorta sullenly lifted her bag.

  “You need to start showing your good citizens how you're hard at work on their behalf...at Castle Goll. And you need to keep them convinced of it every day until we return,” said Demonica as she nodded at the bulge in the bag. “It won't do at all to let any of them believe anything less. The more they see their faithful queen not only working for them, but allowing them to watch her doing it, the more they'll trust and believe in you without question. And a trusting, loyal populace will fight for you without complaints, Spitemorta. By the time we return, your people will all be clamoring for their very own skinweleriou, particularly if you charge enough.”

  “Charge enough? Why not just hand them out?”

  “And miss out on the sly tax? It's an opportunity. It'll help pay for a war. And the more they have to pay, the more they'll believe what they see. Charge them half a year's wage. They'll be standing in line. Once every household has its own skinweler, you'll be able to watch for anything disloyal and eliminate the traitors before they can spread dissent. Absolute, total control, that's what you'll have.”

  By now Spitemorta had fished out her skinweler to admire.

  “Now, go next door to your cabin and look around for a spell and come back and tell me if you truly think there's a single berth on any of your ships that even comes close to the sheer opulence of your quarters. Make yourself comfortable, then send your vision to your people. Once you've done all of that, meet me aloft for our midday repast.”

  Without warning, Demonica closed her door firmly with a click.