Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “No floors, no partitions. Nothing but just some of the outside wall. Now that's a right proper welcome home for those witches. And now, we'd better get our sweet pen ol out of here before they get back and catch us in the middle of our fun.”

  Herio and Bernard stepped forth from the rubble, swords held high, to the cheers of the soldiers of Niarg, and to their astonishment, to the rising cheers of the people of Goll as well.

  Chapter 145

  “Look at this stupid storm blowing in from the north-east, Grandmother,” said Spitemorta, as she drummed her fingers along the railing of the Sea Jewel. “It's already blowing from that way. We might not be able to leave Oyster Cove for days.”

  “Oh, it won't be too long, dear,” said Demonica as she studied the sky beyond the terns taking last minute swoops at the water. “The wind will most likely switch after it blows over. And I'm not sure how queenly it appears to be pacing back and forth like some caged animal.”

  “I'll jolly well pace if I want! You have the Heart. Can't you do something with it? Even Ugleeuh could change the weather, and that was without the Heart.”

  “'Change' is the word, Rouanez Bras. Changing the weather is one thing. Controlling it is quite another matter...”

  “Can't you stop this storm?”

  “That would be controlling the weather.”

  “So just what are you capable of doing?”

  “Considerably more than you, dear. I might be able to get it to blow the other way, but...”

  “Do it, then!”

  “You might not like what you get. It will stir things up. In front of a storm like this? You might get a waterspout for your efforts.”

  “I don't care, get this fleet on it's way to Niarg!”

  “Well things as they are,” said Demonica, squinting at the clouds, “waterspouts...”

  “Now, if you please!” cried Spitemorta, smacking the railing.

  “Very well,” said Demonica, raising her eyebrows as she drew a breath and fished for the Heart. She raised it to the heavens and began murmuring. The Heart began humming like some faraway tuning fork as its ruby red light glowed through her hands, even in the daylight. Suddenly, ruby beams shot from between her fingers into the sky to several places along the advancing shelf of clouds and winked out.

  With a sigh, she slid the Heart into its leather bag, yanked the strings and put it away, before quietly stepping back to have a seat on the bottom step of the poop deck stair to watch the sky. The wind let go of the waves and suddenly fell dead still as the pelicans on the pilings of the quay stopped preening and took flight. The advancing clouds continued to coast forth ahead of the baleful rumbling in the distance, even without the wind. They began churning as they came, and soon they were stirring into a giant wheel of cloud, as a new wind rose from the south. Suddenly a great column of cloud reached down from the center of the wheel to the water just beyond the quays, and with a deafening roar began advancing on the fleet of ships.

  “Smug witch!” cried Spitemorta at the sight of Demonica sitting calmly on the steps. She grabbed for her ears and stood frozen with horror as the great column came straight for the Sea Jewel, blowing her far out into the water and snapping off the main mast.

  ***

  “This doesn't look right in here,” said Spitemorta as the orderlies tucked her into her bunk. “This isn't my berth.”

  “Yes it is, dear,” said Demonica, “except that we've been moved onto the Flying Maiden. The poor Sea Jewel is being dry docked for a new main mast.”

  “Are we under way?”

  “Finally. It took quite a while to fish you out and revive you. And look what I found bobbing in the water,” she said as she tilted the Staff out of the corner far enough for her to see.

  “What did you think you were doing, Grandmother?”

  “What, fishing out the Staff? Don't you want it anymore?”

  “Give it to me!”

  “Sure,” said Demonica as she rose and laid the Staff on her quilt. “Don't you trust me?”

  “I don't care for your tone. And I don't appreciate your mischief with the waterspout.”

  “If you were listening, you'll remember my warning you about the possibility, Rouanez Bras...”

  “I just wanted the wind changed. There was no excuse for the cyclone.”

  “It's evident that you're not only inexperienced with the weather, dear, but that you have no idea at all when you're about to get in over your head. Remember who got you the armies you're so anxious to use.”

  Spitemorta sighed and turned her head away.

  “Be glad I had you pulled out.”

  “I'm surprised you bothered at all, Grandmother.”

  “So am I, sweetheart,” she said as she rose to leave, pausing to pat her through the quilt as though she had just put her to sleep.

  ***

  As the cheering died away, Captain Bernard found himself standing with Herio and Captain Strutley, surrounded by an army awaiting orders. “I don't know what to expect if we try to cross the countryside with those kegs of gonne powder,” he said as he removed his helm and wiped his brow.

  “I don't follow,” said Herio.

  “I'm wondering if they're safe to travel with. The Gwaels left them here, don't you know. I wonder if fire is the only way to set one off. What happens if someone drops one of them? Herio, see if you can find someone who can tell us about it.”

  “I'm on my way,” said Herio, setting out at once to find Bedivere.

  “Listen to that baby,” said Bernard, looking away to the gatehouse. “Won't that wench do her job yet?”

  Strutley shook his head and spat.

  “That's pretty bad. You know, she's risking death after what I told her upstairs.”

  “Well, there's something you ought to see, sir. I'm sure she'll show you,” said Strutley as he motioned to the gatehouse with a toss of his head.

  “Well, go bring her outside, Captain,” said Bernard as he set out for the gatehouse. In short order she was brought out to stand before him, as Nasteuh continued to make the inner ward echo with her howls.

  “Captain Strutley says that you have something to show me,” said Bernard.

  “Not out here, if you're really to see,” she said, looking him over dubiously.

  “There's an empty storage room just inside, Captain,” said Strutley.

  “Show us.”

  Once inside, the woman began unlacing her bodice with a sigh.

  “And what's your name, my dear?” said Bernard.

  “Blodwen,” she said through her teeth as she peeled away bloody linen pads from each breast.

  “Fates!” said Bernard. “You've been mutilated.”

  “And marked for execution the moment I fail to nurse.”

  “Now, are we right? Is that baby indeed Spitemorta's?”

  “Yes. Her name's Nasteuh, but she's no baby. She has a mouth full of little razors and she hungered after my blood as much as my milk. You'd do us all a favor if ye just kill her. If you ones leave me with her, that's exactly what I'll do. I'll not be made to nurse her. I'm going to be killt the moment the queen returns, anyway.”

  “I can't kill a baby!”

  “Yea?” she said, pausing to tie the laces of her bodice. “Well, Spitemorta has killt better than a wet nurse a day, for either running off or for just plain giving out, like me...”

  “I'm not going to kill a baby...”

  “Then you can just run me through right now!” she cried, backing away.

  “I won't kill you either, if you tell me how you'd feed little...what did you say? Nasteuh?”

  Blodwen's jaw dropped. “Well, I do have an idea,” she said with a twitch of a smile. “The queen's madly picky about her milk. She has a huge flock of Gollmore dwarves...”

  “Goats?”

  “Tiny things, but they give a lot of milk...”

  “So you're in charge,” said Bernard. “You don't want to stay here, do you? You come with us with Spitemorta'
s flock and take care of her damned baby.”

  “Oh thank you sir!” she cried as she suddenly threw her arms around him. “And damned baby's right. You've had that right from the start.”

  “Sergeant Bryn, you and Corporal Bevan be in charge of helping her with the goats...”

  “Captain,” said Herio, stepping into the doorway. “Sparks, hot coals and flames are the only things which set off the powder, but moisture ruins it.”

  “So we could just haul it in a good wagon?”

  “Yea, if you could keep out the rain.”

  “Captain Bernard?” said Sergeant Philpott, as he stepped in behind Herio. “The prisoners are demanding to be allowed to go with us back to Niarg. Some even say they want to be executed if they can't come with us.”

  “But didn't you explain to them that they're free now and can go where they please?”

  “Yes sir. And they insist that they're doomed if they stay.”

  Bernard heaved a great sigh. “Tell them we move out right at noon, and that's my order to everyone.”

  ***

  “Well, it took us better than a full day to get here, sir,” said Captain Strutly, removing his helm from his sweat plastered hair as he sauntered over to Bernard, pausing here and there to look down and kick at things in the weeds grown up in the square of Dúradán Deannaigh.

  “That's the price of refugees, goats and wagons,” said Bernard as he set down his helm and yanked at sprangles of pigweed, grown up under a bench. He sat down with a sigh and wiped his brow, as a catbird in the elm above gave out a relaxed string of cries and cat calls.

  “This place has got a foul feel to it, if you know what I mean,” said Strutly as he took a seat beside him. “Those old ashes I just walked through, you reckon they're from an Elf roast?”

  “I wouldn't doubt it.”

  “I didn't think so much about it when we were camped off in these woods, but these abandoned houses make me wonder if there aren't trolls still 'round and about, though I don't have any real reason to believe so.”

  Bernard shook his head with a long sigh as he picked up a stick and began trimming it. He pulled up weeds in front of the bench and began smoothing the dirt with his boot. Above the catbird, a mourning dove called, answered by another well beyond the houses.

  “So?” said Strutly.

  “Well, here's what I have in mind,” said Bernard as he began to draw in the dirt.

  “We'll leave the goats, the hogs and the cattle and the refugees here in Duradan Deannaigh with a detachment to protect them from trolls or anyone else who comes along. Then, we take everyone and his unicorn and haste to below Ash Lake...”

  “You mean to ambush the Gwaels from the bluffs on their way upriver? That would sure make a good place to...”

  “No it wouldn't. I don't think so, anyway. Well, it would if they weren't expecting anything. But they went downriver, right through there. And those Gwaelian mercenaries, at least, have a reputation for being shrewd. The bluffs look like a good ambush spot, and

  I'd bet money that when they come this way, they'll send runners up the banks to scout the bluffs before they get there.” Bernard paused to look Strutly in the eye.

  Strutly bit off a chaw of Elven twist and gave a nod.

  “Well, on down the river it gets wooded,” said Bernard. “It's wooded the rest of the way along the Jut of Niarg. Anywhere from there on would make a good ambush. You want to take half the men over to the Loxmere side, while Herio and I have the other half right across the river from you?”

  “Sure.”

  “We'll get the bastards before they even think of sending scouts upriver. And we stand some chance of having odds like at Ashmore. I didn't see a single longbow amongst them when I counted their coracles. Also, I sent Hubba Hubba and Pebbles on to Oyster

  Cove to wait for them, so we'll know they're a-coming well before we ever see them.”

  “Sounds good,” said Strutly with a conclusive nod. “So what do we do with trolls if they try to jump us?”

  “Kill 'em. It was easy enough to do at Ash Fork. Right now I'm more concerned about the Gwaels. Even with our advantage, we'll have our hands full. Those curses are mean business. And Spitemorta and Demonica are even worse. If they're still with them, we stay hidden and let them go on by, but with their dirty business over with, I've got a hunch they'll fly on back and let the Gwaels take their time.”

  “Do you reckon the witches have reached Castle Niarg yet?”

  “I hope so, though I'm also concerned about the queen.”

  “So am I,” said Strutly as he paused to take his first spit, “but you know, Queen Minuet's a fighter like King Hebraun was. Those witches would have to kill her to best her, don't you reckon?”

  ***

  The Gwaelians dropped anchor at the mouth of Niarg Bay, well beyond the Port of Niarg and came ashore in coracles. From there they made straight for Niarg Castle in the town of Niarg, tramping and jingling through the shadows cast by the waning moon in the silent countryside. Just before the first light they slipped through the streets and surrounded the castle.

  “Are we in position, General Coel?” said Spitemorta, Staff in hand as she cradled her helm in her other arm.

  “Nice and snug, Your Majesty,” he said. She turned on her heel and stepped away, wending through the ranks of soldiers, from the back side of the castle to the front, looking for Demonica. She noticed that it was just starting to get light and glanced at the top of the castle proper, wondering where Minuet's apartment might be, only to stumble in her armor and catch herself in front of the men. “We'll make you beg and plead!” she muttered. At last she found Demonica standing with General Cunedda at the front gate, studying a huge flag draped above the gateway. “Why on earth would they have their colors displayed at night, Grandmother?”

  “Yellow's really not their color, dear.”

  “So? Maybe they changed...”

  “I guess you're too young to remember the plague. See those yellow crosses painted on each side of the gate? Those are plague warnings. And I guess you didn't notice that the drawbridge is down and that the portcullis is up. You can just walk right in.”

  “Yes, Corporal Turant?” said Cunedda, turning aside.

  “Now that it's light enough to see,” said the corporal, “we've found yellow quarantine flags all around the castle, like this one here, and we've also found better than a hundred fresh graves on the north side of the curtain and one huge mass grave between here and there which looks the most recent.”

  “It's a trick,” said Spitemorta. “Surely if there was plague in Niarg, word of it would have reached Goll.”

  “The dead don't talk, Your Majesty,” said Cunedda. “And have you heard any chickens yet?”

  “Chickens? They don't get the plague, do they?”

  “No, but they don't stay around if they don't get fed.”

  Yes, but Razzmorten and Minuet have such strong magic...”

  “The plague killed the First Wizard, dear,” said Demonica.

  “But I can't believe Razzmorten would let this happen when he was the one who found a cure for the plague all those years ago.”

  “Maybe he didn't have his ingredients handy,” said Demonica. “Why don't we send in someone and see what happens?”

  “Corporal Turant,” said Cunneda with a smart bounce on his heels, “take a dozen reliable men and search the castle for survivors.”

  “In there, sir?” said Turant with a sudden look of horror.

  “Those are your orders, soldier. And you will not disclose your mission to your men until you're inside. Understood?”

  “Yes sir!” he said with a crisp salute before setting out amongst the men.

  “Will you stop pacing?” said Demonica. “Why don't you go talk to that handsome General Coel you've been eyeing and calm down?”

  “Shut up!”

  At that very moment Turant appeared under the portcullis, returning with his men.

  “Halt!” c
ried Cunedda, stopping them on the drawbridge, a good five rods away.

  “Attention! Report!”

  “Yes sir!” cried Turant. “We found no one alive, sir.”

  “What did you find, soldier?”

  “Just corpses, sir, some bloated, some rotted. They had huge lesions. They could not have died easy, sir.”

  “Any sign of the queen and the wizard?” called Spitemorta.

  “I'm not sure, but there was a red-haired woman in the royal apartment with an old man who had a long white beard and hair. They looked like they died together. They were covered with sores.”

  “Damn them!” hissed Spitemorta.

  “Loose!” cried Cunedda, as a score of crossbows twanged, dropping Turant and all of his squad.

  At once Spitemorta and Demonica shot far into the sky on the Staff above the shouts of the soldiers to take pass after swooping pass at the castle as Demonica aimed her ruby beam at turret and wall, sending ton upon ton of stones rumbling and bouncing into the gardens. The moment the entire castle had been turned to a pile of rubble in the settling dust, they turned to the curtains and smote down their walls as the ranks of soldiers scattered and fled. After a final triumphant loop far into the air, they swept down to land lightly before General Coel and General Cunedda.

  “Demonica and I will be flying back to Castle Goll, gentlemen,” said Spitemorta as she removed her helm to let fly her raven hair in the gathering morning breeze. She nodded at the ruin. “I daresay we've done everything here. Please come to my throne room, the moment you return.”

  Cunedda thumped his chest and bowed his head as Coel smiled and bowed.

  Spitemorta returned his smile and quickly covered it with her helm before shooting away with Demonica into the deep blue morning sky.

  “Well then, Rouanez Bras,” said Demonica, shifting her weight on the Staff in the icy wind. “Are you silent because you missed out on killing Minuet yourself?”

  “As if you don't feel swindled since you didn't get Razzmorten.”

  “Well, at least we're rid of them. Isn't that what matters the most?”