“Then I'll be delicate,” said Lukus, as she grabbed his arm to peck his cheek.
Directly he walked up behind their captive troll to find him chained to an oak at the edge of the big tent, listening intently. “As if you understood it all,” he scoffed.
“Oh, he's been a-looking us up and down for every word that's come out of our mouths all evening,” said Neron, looking up with a grin. “Perhaps he thinks we're talking about eating him, aye?”
“Oh I certainly hope so,” said Lukas, remembering the terror in Soraya's eyes when the troll had grabbed her.
“So is this about Ariel?”
“Well no...”
“So how is she, anyway?”
“She's finally slept the afternoon away after a night without sleep...”
“And you gave her a wee spoon of dill seed tea?”
“We didn't know about that...”
“Best thing for colic. So what's up?”
“Arwr spied two riders coming from the north. He's on his way to find out about them, as we talk.”
Neron deflated with a sigh. “How long has he been gone?” he said from under his hoary brows as he took a heavy seat and looked up.
“No longer than it took me to walk twenty rod.”
“Captain Faragher,” said Neron, “ready your lancers. The witches just might've found us.”
***
“Hold it Abbey,” said Lance softly as he drew Stepper to a halt. He craned about, studying the stands of birch, tree by tree.
“I don't hear a thing,” said Abaddon as he brought Sheba alongside. “And I don't see anything, either.”
“Neither do I, Abby.”
“But that makes no sense, Lance. Why stop and act all careful for nothing?”
“Hush! We're being stalked and no mistake.”
Abaddon rolled his eyes and folded his arms, but got quiet in spite of himself and began looking about. “You reckon it's Momma or Nana Demonica?” he whispered.
“Fates forbid!” said Lance with a shushing whisper, as he went back to listening. After a moment he shrugged. “All right Abbey. Let's ride, but stay quiet, will you?”
“Sure, if you tell me why you're all crazy over hearing and seeing nothing.”
“Too quiet, maybe,” he said as he paused, drawing forth his colt's foot to cock his crossbow, “but I'm not really sure. It just feels like everything all 'round is waiting for something. Maybe I'm wrong, but we've got to be careful...”
“Stay!” boomed a huge bristling diatryma, suddenly dancing into the path with springy strides. “Don't shoot!”
“Lladdwr? Ceidwad?” cried Lance, lowering his crossbow. “You scared the holy Pitmaster out of me, and I was right ready to loose one at you, the instant you came out into the open.” He removed his bolt at once and let down his string with his colt's foot.
“But I'm sure glad it's you, though I know not which one you be. Where'd you come from?”
“From amongst my companions, back a way,” he said, giving himself a thorough shake and dropping his head to look Lance in the eye. “I'm Lladdwr and Ceidwad's cockerel, Arwr. You appear to wear the colors of the House of Loxmere. Should I know you?”
“I am Lance, Lord High Steward to the House of Loxmere, First Steward to King James of Loxmere, at your service.”
“Then you do indeed know my parents. They have spoken well of you at length. And who is this young companion of yours?”
“I am Abaddon, Prince of Loxmere.” he declared, already sitting up straight in his saddle.
***
“If I have an army again, an army of grown men, I can finish off Niarg and go on!” cried Spitemorta with a giddy bounce. Even if she had thoroughly enjoyed Demonica's wound, the fact that it had occurred during a magical strike sobered her.
“An army! Now we can go after what we want while we take all the time we need to learn how to use the Heart and the Staff.” She gave a grand allegro and ballon, colliding with an end table, toppling a vase onto the floor. “Ha!” she huffed, catching her breath and her balance all at once. She sat suddenly on the settee with a plump of satin.
“Drat. Not you, stomach.” She stood and yanked the bell pull.
Herio appeared in the doorway for the very first time and hesitated.
“Well, enter!” she snapped.
“How may I serve you, Your Majesty?” he said, bowing exactly as Nimue had instructed.
“So how'd you get in?” said Spitemorta, eyeing him minutely.
“The big lady, down in the scullery...Bedivere, I think she said, hired me...”
“Oh. Dish Bitch. So where's Nimue? I expect this done right.”
“Shall I do your bidding or do you wish me to find Nimue?”
“If you're capable, you do it. If you're not, get her, and don't you dare come back. Do something stupid, and I'd just as soon kill you.”
Herio stood there with a very dry mouth, hoping that his legs wouldn't tremble. He wanted to shift his feet, but dared not. “So what may I fetch for you, Your Majesty?” he heard himself say. He also heard Spitemorta's stomach rumble.
“Strawberries, shortcake, honey and cream and a pot of tea,” she said, putting her hand to her stomach, “and you'd better know the meaning of quick.”
Herio flew down the stairs to the kitchen, trying not to fall.
“You look white, Hero Boy,” said Bedivere with beady eyes as she paused to spit her snuff into the same bucket she was squeezing her mop into.
“How can I take her strawberries when they won't be bearing for at least another month? I mean, how do I live through this?”
Bedivere threw back her head and made the cavernous kitchen ring with her laughter. “You take her hot spice cake. They're taking some out of the oven, any minute. Get some cream and honey. Doris heard ye stumbling down the stairs and started the tea. Hit's past time, anyway. The queen won't even notice. Or, if she happens to need to kill someone, you won't make hit back downstairs. That's why I said you might not like the job.”
Herio had scarcely sorted through any of this when Doris fit a tray into his hands and gave him a nudge and a nod. At once he found himself with a fire in his chest, pounding his way up the stairs. “One more storey,” he gasped as he reached a landing, set the tray on the floor, and began unbuttoning his doublet to let the wind from the window cool him. “Nope, no time,” he said, grabbing up the tray and tramping up the last flight.
“What if her bloomin' cake cools?”
At the top he paused for the briefest moment in a furious struggle to calm his breathing and regain his poise. “Why did I go and do this?” he thought, his heart still pounding in his ears. “I'll trip up and die long before I ever manage to find out anything.”
He was already at the door. He drew a breath and stepped into the room. “Your repast, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head above the tray. “Where shall I put it for you?”
“Over there,” said Spitemorta, waving distractedly at a small table under the window without looking up.
He put down the tray, almost giddy with relief. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Majesty?” he said with a bow as he began backing away.
Spitemorta stopped what she was doing and looked straight at him for the first time, as a wave of white hot fear swept through him. “Not now boy,” she said, tapping her lips. “What was your name?”
“Herio, Your Majesty.”
“You're dismissed Herio,” she said, waving him off impatiently. He backed out to pause just out of sight to regain his composure.
Suddenly there was laughter from within, as Spitemorta lifted the cover from her cake. “Yes, yes, yes!” she cried. “If I could only see Auntie Minuet's face when she gets back from the Jutwoods to find Razzmorten's tower. Too bad he wasn't in it.” There was laughter mingled with sounds of silverware and saucers. “You'd better be on your feet right away, Grandmother. Won't poor Auntie Minuet be surprised when we have another swat at her precious Niarg with a grea
t tramping army from Gwael? She won't know what hit her.”
Herio gasped and dashed down the stairs.
***
Arwr stood up and blinked thoughtfully, shook his great hay load of feathers and dropped his head once again to look Lance in the eye. “Now isn't Spitemorta the queen of Loxmere-Goll?”
“Yes. Abaddon is her son.”
“Is this treachery?” said Arwr, drawing back to fuzz up his neck.
“Wait! You don't understand...”
“Well no, actually. What little I know about you puts you above foul play, but you surely understand how any connection with Spitemorta would understandably...”
“I have no connection with her. I am in charge of Abaddon because King James sent him away with me to protect him from Spitemorta and Demonica.”
“Yea,” said Abaddon. “He abducted me. My Momma has no idea where I am!”
“King James bade me keep the prince hidden until it was safe enough to arrange for him to come for him. Not long after, Spitemorta put James away in the dungeon at Castle Goll to rot. Someone helped him escape and we think he may be right nigh here. You all haven't come across him, have you?”
“No, nobody like that, and I doubt that anyone else has either. I have heard no such tidings.”
“Well, he mightn't have been recognized,” said Lance, pausing to slide off Stepper to dig out a stone from under his shoe. He patted Stepper's withers and put away his farrier's knife. “He doesn't look at all like himself. He's gone lank from starvation and he has a full beard and a bandaged head. He's dressed like a peasant and he's afoot with three young yeoman guards.”
“No Lance, that simply doesn't fit anyone I've seen lately, but you could ask my companions on the chance that I've missed something,” he said as he turned about with springy steps. “I think it's best if you two stay right here while I dash on back to our camp to see if it's all right to take you there, all things considered.” He thrust a one eyed look at Abaddon.
“I'm not daft and I understand very well that you're referring to me, you half ton chicken!” shouted Abaddon, making Sheba step about and swish her tail. “I keep secrets, deep dark ones, and Momma will never know anything about you or your stupid companions! I don't even want Momma to know where I am, either.”
“You don't?” said Lance. “Since when?”
“I keep forgetting you're stupid. Can't you guess what Momma or Nana Demonica would do to me if they found us?”
Lance had no reply. Arwr opened all the feathers of his neck and quickly closed them, standing wide eyed and still as a post.
“All right, stupid!” he shouted. “With me helping find James, they'll kill me right alongside you!” Suddenly he was seized with great whooping sobs.
Lance traded quick looks with Arwr and pulled Abaddon out of the saddle and walked about holding him while he wailed. At last he was quiet except for the lingering shudders on his sighs.
“Are you going to be all right, Your Highness?” he said.
At this, Abbaddon gave Lance a quick tight hug and slid out of his arms. “You won't let that happen, will you?” he said in a small voice as he looked up. “You're not going to let them find me, are you?”
“I'll give my life to stop them, Abbey. That's the best I can do.”
Abaddon looked frightened, but quickly hugged him around the waist and clambered astride Sheba.
“If there's nothing further, Lance, I'll dash back to camp,” said Arwr, as Lance remounted Stepper. “I'll be right back and let you know either way. I do feel awkward not simply taking you straight there...”
“You needn't explain further, Arwr. We'll be here, waiting by the creek, yonder.”
Arwr was already gone.
“Fast isn't he, Abby? They're the fastest thing on legs, and they can keep it up all day if they've a mind to. It hardly matters how far he has to go, he'll be back before you know it.”
“Maybe all day, but how about after sunset? It's getting dark.”
“We'll just have to see what we're going to see,” said Lance, ducking under a branch as he urged Stepper off the path toward the calls of frogs along the creek.
“What was that?” said Abaddon, quickly catching up. “That wail...”
“Great grey owl. Made your hair stand up, aye? You get in near the mountains and there's lots of them, and the further North you go, the more you'll see...or hear, anyway.
“How big are they?”
“Oh, a good sized one might go from your fingertips about two thirds of the way up your arm, head to tail. But you'll need to tramp these woods a long, long time to ever catch sight of one of them. I've only seen them maybe two or three times in my life, but
I've heard them night after night for months on end, particularly when I was growing up in Bedd Chwiorydd Tair. Mother Alvita used to tell me about a pair which used to nest year after year in that old rotted out hollow, 'way up in Longbark's trunk.”
“So what if the giant chicken doesn't come back in the dark?”
“Well, we'll camp until he shows up in the morning...”
“Out here? Why not just go on?”
“Oh fiddlesticks! The owls won't get you.”
“I'm not afraid of any stupid owls, any more than I'm afraid of that stinking chicken.”
Lance gave a sigh that could be heard over the crunch and rustle of leaves under the unicorns' hooves. “His name is Arwr, Abby, as you know very well, and you'd best be a-calling him that, since he deserves your respect. Besides, you underestimate him. I'd allow he weighs well above any half ton.”
“Do you think his friends will be too scared to have Queen Spitemorta's son in their midst, and he won't come back because of that?”
“He'll still come find us, either way,” he said, coming to a stop in a sea of frog calls as he patted Stepper on the withers and threw his leg over his rump. “Well, here's the creek. You know, Abby, I've not the vaguest idea who he's traveling with, and he didn't offer to say, either. I didn't think it proper to ask.”
“Well that's no way to find out.”
“We've offered who we are, Abby. We will find out. But whoever they be, they've no love for your momma nor your nana Demonica and apparently wouldn't want any part of being found by them, either.”
“Seems like the whole world feels that way. How come I couldn't 'a' been born to a nice momma, Lance?”
“I don't know the answer to that one, but if it helps at all, I wasn't born to a nice momma, either.”
Abaddon slid off Sheba and led her down the bank to the water's edge, silencing the frogs nearby. “Yea. I remember the Fairies talking all around that one once, not really coming out and saying it. You know how they tell you things sometimes, without really saying the words.”
“Yeap,” he said, as he settled himself against a nice sycamore. “Sure do. They lead you to thinking what you need to be a-thinking, that way. They're good at it.”
“Hey, Lance, did you really mean what you just said a little bit ago? I mean, did you really, really mean it?”
“What? No nice momma, or Arwr's sure to come back...?”
“No, stupid! You'd give your life to save me from Momma and Nana...?”
“Of course. I'm your friend and I consider you to be my friend.”
“Even though I say mean things to you a lot?”
“Oh yea. I know you hurt a lot inside Abbey. I hope someday you'll find happiness with your friends and family who really do love you. Meanwhile, you're my friend.”
“You think James really loves me? Or does he just feel, well, responsible for me 'cause I'm his son?”
“My word! Where did that come from?” he thought. He tossed a stick at the water.
“That's a grown-up question, Abby,” he said. “Look. “I know he loves you, but I also know that your spitting in his face has caused him untold pain, I'd imagine pretty much the way you felt when you discovered that your Momma wasn't even out, trying to find you.”
“Yea I see,” s
aid Abaddon, looking at the twig he was snapping into small bits, as if he could see it in the failing light. “I reckon if he feels that way, it's pretty awful. But I don't really know him, Lance. I wish...I just wish you were my dad.”
Lance was stunned speechless at this, but at that very moment, a mage light came bounding toward them through the trees. At once it came to a halt, hovering before them.
“Is all well?” boomed Arwr with a heavy rustle of feathers behind the light. “The pair of you look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Well actually a ghost would've been a relief, compared with whom you might've been,” said Lance.
“This is Prince Lukus of Niarg, husband to Princess Soraya of the Elven House of Cuchulainn...”
“My word!” said Lance. “I do beg your pardon. I couldn't see a person astride Arwr for the life of me, because of the light. And I haven't seen you since you were twelve or thirteen. And this is Abaddon, Prince of Loxmere-Goll...”
“Prince of Loxmere, if I may,” said Abaddon, “though I suppose it's still no use, putting them at ease about...”
“By no means, Your Highness,” said Arwr. “We're here to lead you back with us.”
“I'm finding my stirrup...” said Lance.
***
Herio flew up the pitch black stairway in the pounding echoes with a bed warmer full of coals from the kitchen. “Sure would be jolly if the moon were out,” he panted, as he stumbled onto the landing, lit only by the black overcast sky through the window. On he went, two steps at a time in the dark. At his door, he was forced to pause with his keys.
“I don't understand having everything under lock and key. I've never seen a place besides this... Of course this is where we are... There!” he said, finding the keyhole at last.
“You sound like a team and all the jingly harness, traces and singletrees,” rattled Hubba Hubba with a clack of his beak. “You'd wake the rotting dead.”
“Well, I've got news enough to wake 'em, and you'd want to hear it, even if I hadn't awakened you.”
“All right, what?” he said, furiously going through his feathers.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 143