“Safe for the moment,” said Soraya, irritated at the distraction from Lukus. “They're fast in their baskets in the bushes, yonder, guarded by two fierce parrots who started out the day in a bad mood.”
“What think ye, Grandfather?” chorused Soraya and Danneth as Neron looked up from Lukus's side.
“We can't move on until we've healed some of his injuries. He's at least four broken ribs that I can tell, his wrist could be broken, and he's got more knots on his head than eyes on a tater. And that cut on his leg...” He looked up to see Soraya already holding out the strip of sleeve from her gown for a tourniquet. “And you get that around his leg above the cut and tie it. Jerund? Cut me a stick about yea long, hear?”
“We'll make up a pallet for him,” said Danneth, as he and Strom stood up.
“Here's your stick,” said Jerund. “I'll get your herbs and ointments unless you've got something better for me to do, Grandfather.”
Soraya wasn't satisfied with the sleeve. She was already busy, ripping her skirts into strips.
***
Lukus awoke to a chorus of crickets. He slowly rolled his aching head aside to where a shooting pain stopped him, with the brightly burning campfire in the corner of his eye. He listened to the voices of his entire family by marriage visiting quietly with his beloved Soraya. He knew what she was doing, though he couldn't turn his head that far: she was managing to hold and rock both twins at once. He could make out Hubba Hubba and Pebbles perched overhead on a low branch.
“Hey!” he croaked, as he winced at the pain in his head. “I'm alive over here, after all!”
Everyone was on his feet, bringing relieved smiles over close.
“We never doubted it for a moment,” said Soraya, as she handed one baby to Danneth and another to Strom and hurried to kneel by his side.
Lukus managed a feeble ear to ear grin as she took up his hand. “I've decided that I agree with you, love,” he said.
“Soraya knitted her brow at the idea that his remark was delirious. “Agree with me about what?” she said, gently touching his forehead.
“About the trolls, of course,” he said with conviction. “They're much worse than any werebeast.”
“Oh my land yes, Lukus,” she said as she glanced up at everyone before her voice went oddly distant “They've always been that.”
Chapter 93
“Can you scoot forward?” said Demonica as she flattened herself against Spitemorta's ponderous troll goddess back in a struggle to stay on the Staff as they hurtled up through the air, skirts flapping and popping.
“If I move forward any,” said Spitemorta, “I'll not have a thing to hang onto.”
“Your ascent into the blue is nothing short of hair raising with no more than I have to hang onto. You can't move any?”
“No!”
“Well, if your buttocks are any where near as muscular as they are immense, you couldn't possibly need hands. Out of consideration you should have at least lengthened the Staff before we got astride it.”
“Do I detect apprehension in your abrasive reptilian demeanor, Grandmother?”
“No. But if I wiggle, I'll fall.”
“We both know you've enough room. Besides, I'm frankly shocked that you would even suggest some risky alteration of the Great Staff.”
Demonica clenched her teeth. She wasn't so sure that she liked Spitemorta's wee flourish of cleverness. “Land,” she declared, straightening up. “I've been looking at it ever since we got aloft, Grandmother. And we'll be beyond the beach in two shakes.”
“Brrr! Well good!” she shouted from amidst a whirl of wild hair. “You certainly break the wind, but it's still right cold. So since you're seeing things so quick, have you seen any sign of Marooderyn Imshee?”
“None. Since it's daylight, shouldn't we look for some caves, instead?”
“Well that probably is indeed the best idea, dear. I can't imagine any of them being out with it this light.”
“So you agree that we should hunt for their lair?”
“Yea. Try to remember what the place looked like in the skinweler when we scryed them.”
“Very well, out this way maybe, since the shore looks about right,” said Spitemorta, veering aside to follow a colossal colonnade of strange salmon colored limestone bluff faces capped with coal black basalt at the feet of the Eternal Mountains.
“There. Isn't that it? Are we that lucky? I mean, in the skinweler, isn't that the very one we saw?”
“Looks like it could well be. At least it's a perfect reason to slow down right smart. I don't know about you, but I'm freezing to death. Yes, it does look awfully familiar,” she said, as Spitemorta turned abruptly toward the cave in the limestone bluff face. “In fact, let's land far enough to one side of the mouth not to be seen by what ever is inside. There. Land down there on that limestone ledge which slopes down to the cave and we'll soon know what we have.”
In short order they found themselves standing on the ledge, hidden by scrubby pines and junipers, ten rods south and a bit above the mouth of the huge cave. “Thank the Fates,” said Demonica as she whisked at the seat of her skirt as though she had been sitting on dirt instead of the Staff. “What a relief to be on the ground. How do you endure it?”
“It's not half bad,” said Spitemorta as she rolled her eyes before peering at the cave through the boughs of the junipers. “I got used to it within just a few minutes, the first time we ever flew. How come you haven't managed yet? And what are you thanking the Fates for when you don't believe in them?”
“Never did. I'm just trying out my role. How do I look?” she said as she pulled a mirror out of the air to study herself.
“Look?” said Spitemorta as she stopped still with a puzzled look before turning 'round to see. “Winged harbinger of the Fates,” she said with wide eyed astonishment. “No wonder you were afraid of falling.”
“Askelloù an neñvoù is what we call them in Head, though of course no one has seen one.”
“Yea? And maybe no troll has ever thought of one, either.”
“You truly don't believe that these are impressive?” said Demonica as she ran her fingers the length of the snow white primaries of one of her wings. “Well, how about this...?” She suddenly clamped her teeth and squeezed shut her eyes with a wince, sending out a brilliant iridescent aura from the crown of her head.
Spitemorta shook her head and turned back to peer between the branches of the juniper again. “My,” she thought. “There are moments when she can sure act childish for a three hundred and some year old.” She studied the bluff face as a waft of breeze sighed in the pines. A raven croaked out resounding declarations from somewhere near the top of the bluff overhead before being answered by another nearby. “Well,” she said, “one thing's certain: that cave's easily big enough for some huge extended family of trolls, or a whole clan.”
“Yea?” said Demonica with a nod, “And I suppose you see that two of those fires are still smoldering, so they're home all right. In fact, look out across there. It looks like the entire mountainside has a whole string of caves right about this far up. See? If all of them are occupied, we've just found our army of Elf Killers.”
“Shall we go find us some trolls, then?” said Spitemorta, before hesitating at the sudden recognition that the material which formed the huge talus pile cascading from the cave mouth to the foot of the bluff was entirely animal bones. “My. They've either been here a long time or they sure eat a lot. Do you see that?”
“Yes I see. But no, we'd better wait until dark, when they come out. I think our plan of making a big show by dropping out of the sky is still the best. I'd be surprised if they've seen anyone fly before. But showing up in their cave on foot just might not convince them, which could be 'way more dangerous than we could handle. I'd rather have them cowering before we walk amongst them.”
“I suppose you're right, Grandmother, but it's going to be a very long day on this ledge waiting for it to get dark. And we still do
n't know for sure that trolls even live here.”
“What about the fires? What about the bones you pointed out yourself? I can see them spilling out of each of the other caves, too. Where've you been just now?”
“Sure, fire and bones. Of course someone's there, but we don't know if they're trolls.”
“Very well, I'll just go down there and have a look. I'll even peep in if I have to. But if I do, I want you to follow behind me close enough with the Staff that we can make a getaway if I accidentally stir them up.”
“I'm right behind you,” said Spitemorta with a sigh as Demonica turned and began picking her way along the ledge to the cascade of raucous croaks from the ravens gathering overhead.
***
Lukus sat up carefully in his blankets and took the steaming stew Soraya had brought him. The naked branches overhead waved in the cold wind. A woodpecker hammered before galloping away through the air. She stayed quietly by his side as he ate, while Hubba Hubba and Pebbles sat together with closed eyes in a ruffled ball of feathers on the door of the coach. When he finished, he gave her a grateful smile and squeezed her hand, then drew it up, kissed it and held it to his cheek for a moment with his eyes closed. Neron had nearly healed his wounds with his astonishing powers but he still felt very weak and incredibly lucky. “I think you've gotten me well enough to travel today,” he said roundly as he stood up and steadied himself against the wheel of the coach. He looked at
Neron. “We've been here neigh on to a week and I'd feel better if things weren't jeopardized on my behalf. Besides I'm not so keen on being here when another troll stumbles through.” He drew back his quilt and threw it around his legs again.
“If you're up to shaking and pounding all day, we're ready to go,” said Neron with a willing nod as he stood up and stretched. “And the wind's coming in from the north-west and there won't be a fire...”
“I'm right ready,” said Lukus, looking about, as the party quickly gathered up their things, “though I won't be much help.”
Presently they were underway for Niarg. Jerund rode up alongside the bouncing coach and leant from his saddle, holding out a small dark twist of leaves. “Great-Grandfather said chew this and don't spit it out,” he said, handing it through the window.
“Tell him thanks,” said Lukus as he sat back in the seat and tentatively nibbled at the twist. “Wow! This is so bitter, it puckers me up like a knot on a post.”
“Aquilaria, most likely,” said Soraya as she shifted and adjusted blankets and babies. “Sláinte ollmhór. We'll see.”
“I sure hope we stop at the inn in Sweat Pea tonight,” he said, nodding with a thoughtful chew.
“Why?” she said with amused curiosity. “What's so special about it?”
“I remember it as having the most heavenly food anywhere. Rose and I ate there just before you and I met. We didn't spend the night, though, because we were afraid of being recognized if we dallied.” He looked up with a smile into her gorgeous opal eyes.
“It's jolly good, too. Had we stayed, we'd not 'ave been waylaid by your brothers, and I might never have met you.”
“Oh, we were fated to meet love, so we would have anyway.”
“I'm more glad than anything that we did, but I don't know about 'fated.'“
“I do.”
“Yes, I 'spose you do...”
“Now, tell me about this glorious food. Do you mean to tell me it's better than our Elven fare in Oilean Gairdin?”
“Well, keep in mind that I knew nothing of Elves back when I decided this,” he said with a passing sheepish look.
“Sounds inviting, or fun at least, and Sweet Pea's probably about as far as we'll want to travel today. So I expect you'll get your wish, love.”
“Ha!” thought Lukus as he gave a nod and a bounce in his seat. “Now that Soraya knows, it'll happen.”
A sudden sizzling pop and a deep yowl made them jump in time to hear something heavy crash and wallow off into the brush.
“Werebear!” hollered the driver from above. “And broad daylight in the bargain!” Two more crackling reports echoed away through the timber. “He's down! They got 'im good!”
The coach came to a stop as Neron, Danneth, Strom and Jerund rode through the thicket to converge on the downed bear.
“Maybe I should ride Starfire and help out there,” said Lukus, straining out the window to see what was going on.
“You most certainly will not,” said Soraya sharply. “I was afraid of that. The Aquilaria's got you all wound up. Great-Grandfather wants you to feel better, but I'm sure he doesn't expect the sláinte ollmhór to have ye healed already. Now you'll stay put and spare your strength or I'll have to spank ye myself. Do you think I want to raise these two babaí alone?”
“I'll be sitting right here, then,” he said with wide eyes.
“Do you feel well enough to step out, Lukus?” said Neron, peering in.
“Why yes...” he said, throwing a bewildered glance at Soraya before stepping out.
“Soraya's right, Lukus,” said Neron, “You do need to stay in the coach. But you just reminded me. This is troll country, as you're right well aware...”
Lukus laughed. He could see the old king's eyes dancing.
“...And since you need a proper claymore for trolls, and since you broke your wee rapier in the ribs o' the last one, I want you to have this...”
Lukus's jaw dropped as he accepted the stunning blade with wide eyes. He knelt at once. “You honor me beyond words, sire.”
“I'm merely looking after my granddaughter. You need the right tools to protect her, besides you're one of us now. This is Gearr Téigh Síós. I've had it with me since the days when we were driven out of Lobhadh by a far worse kind of troll. It's cleaved a few of their stinking heads. I'll tell you about it sometime, but right now you need to get back on board so we can be on our way.”
“I won't be doing anything foolish, love,” he said at the sight of her as he got back inside and took his seat. “Unless we come under attack and have no choice, I'll stay right here by your side.”
“Well, you just earned your pointed ears, husband,” she said as her look softened.
“That claymore is the Sword. He's had it for a thousand year and he'd never give it to anyone but an Elf.”
***
Easing herself stealthily through the salmon colored dust, Demonica got another whiff of the overpowering reek wafting from the mouth of the cavern. “My word!” she thought as she wrinkled her nose and stopped, “I hope this is not what they'll be like on board ship.” She turned to see by Spitemorta's clabbered look that she was also smelling it. She studied the ground carefully before going on. She had nearly reached the mouth, and the ledge had become quite broad. There were footprints everywhere in the dust. Every place that was level was thoroughly tramped, particularly around the rings of stones enclosing the fires, where the dust had turned grey from mixing with ashes. “How many fireplaces?” she thought. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... eight, nine...” she nodded around with silent wide eyes, “eighteen. Eighteen places to cook simultaneously.
That's a lot of trolls inside.”
How it stank. There were raw, cooked and rotten joints, ribs and vertebrae strewn everywhere. “What's that noise?” she thought as she tiptoed up to the edge of the mouth. “Snoring. That has to be what it is. They sound like bison.” She turned aside and tiptoed back to Spitemorta, holding her finger across her lips and shaking her head as she went. She motioned for Spitemorta to come look at the track she was pointing to.
Spitemorta came, looked at it and shrugged. They quickly made their way back along the ledge to the far side of the junipers. “Well, what did you make of the track I pointed out, back there?” said Demonica, the moment they were hidden from the cave.
“What was I supposed to make of it?”
“Well, have you ever in your life seen a human with a foot broad enough to fit it?”
“No, but I haven't just studie
d people's feet.”
“Oh, go on,” said Demonica, grabbing herself by the hair and dancing 'round once in exasperation. “That was without a shadow of a doubt a troll footprint. That cave is full of trolls. And so are all the caves along the cliffs here. Humans do not have such broad feet. Humans don't go snoring in bedded-down herds enclosed in putrid stench in the middle of rotting filth in the middle of the bloomin' daytime!” At the sight of Spitemorta's alarmed look, she saw she had grown loud enough to overdo it and snapped shut her mouth as her voice echoed away over the rocks.
“Very good, Grandmother. You've convinced me. They're trolls. Now all we have to do is enjoy ourselves out here on this Fates forsaken ledge while the sun reaches its zenith and then spends all afternoon taking its sweet time until it sets, west of those rocks. Then if we're really good and lucky, we'll be able to convince the monsters that we should be worshipped rather than eaten.” She sat down on a rock with a sigh. “I still wonder if these stinking trolls are really worth any of our trouble,” she said, flinging a piece of juniper twig. “Tell me, how could we really need them if we have the Staff and the Heart? There's surely some easier way of doing all of this with the right magic.”
Demonica stared at her as if she had grown another head. “You are the most singularly obstinate blockhead, dear!” She shouted with a hiss of a whisper. “You haven't paid attention to anything I've told you for the past month, have you? You might as well write your will and plan your funeral if you start brandishing the Staff and Heart at every whim. You most certainly do have a great deal of power at your fingertips, but consider how many there are in the rest of the world, even just in Loxmere-Goll. You step out in the open with the Heart and the Staff and you'll become a target. Somebody will get you. Even if you can flick your fingers and make multitudes fall, somebody will get you. But even if you could get away with it, who would you have left to rule?”
“All those who didn't oppose me, Demonica,” she said, making a face.
“You can't be serious. Who would that be, Rouanez Bras? Do you really think enough people would be left to even manage ordinary affairs? Who'd raise your food? Who'd make your clothes, clean up after you or collect your taxes? Who'd pay them? It's the ordinary little people who don't have any better imagination than to work hard for you, and it's those same little ordinary people who fear the black arts. You let them see you use magic to strike down an enemy, and they'll be convinced it's the black arts which you're using and they'll kill you out of fear, even if you had them convinced at first that it was their enemy which you struck down. They'll do it. Mark me, they'll find a way. Now be realistic. We've come this far and you'd throw away everything we've worked for because this last little effort is messy?”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 101