“They?”
“She has her retainer,” said Andrev, “And what I thought odd was that he's from here.”
“Probably one of Demonica's service, don't you think? Especially if she's dead.”
“Sounds right. Shall I see the witch in?”
“Witch? You've shown in plenty of overbearing people over the years without calling any of them witches, Andrev. What did she do?”
“Absolutely nothing, sire. Except that she made my very hair stand on end for no earthly reason, and she has a staff with a ruby on it, the size of a small fist. And there for a moment, while I was attempting to keep her outside, I swear it actually gave off a wink of light.”
“Yann-Ber's Heart and Staff,” said Azenor with a sigh of resolution. “Well send her in, but only if she leaves them outside.”
Azenor caught the look of alarm which Andrev quickly hid with his bob of compliance, as he turned smartly about and walked down the carpet. He leant back with another sigh and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he watched him trot down the steps at the far end to set up a sudden echoing staccato with his heels on the stone floor before disappearing 'round the corner of the great archway. He looked down to study one of the several rings on his hands. There may have been distant voices. Suddenly there was a concussion that he felt through the floor as something distant dropped and shattered.
“Boull c'hurun!” he cried, sitting up rod straight.
Here came Spitemorta, making straight for him with the Staff, followed by Nolwenn a respectful distance behind, up the length of the carpet in short order to plant the Staff at his feet. “So,” she said, lifting her chin. “Do you fear tools in the hands of all your visitors, or just mine?”
Azenor ran his tongue back along his teeth as he met her gaze. She certainly gave him goose-flesh, but he was not about to let her know. “I'm afraid I've known about both the Heart and the Staff for quite some time, Your Majesty. I'm guessing that you just now used it to do in my guards and my serjeant-at-arms. Am I correct?”
“I don't like to be kept waiting, nor treated with any sort of suspicion. I'm merely here to tell you that my grandmother passed away and to ask for a good map which shows the boundaries of her holdings according to what you understand.”
“Of course,” said Azenor as if she had merely been swatting flies. “May I ask how she died?”
“Oh my,” she said as if the matter had just crept up on everyone. “She hadn't been useful in some time. She was just, well, in the way.”
“Oh,” he said, hiding a shiver by reaching for the bell pull. “I'll have one of our latest maps fetched up here directly.” He settled back in his chair and grew silent, watching her pace about the dais, looking distractedly at this and that. A page scurried in and left. The room fell back to the silence of pacing and staring.
“Ah!” thought Azenor. “Here comes the map. Now maybe she'll leave.”
Instead, Spitemorta took the map and retired with it and Nolwenn to a small reading table just beyond the range of making out speech, relieving him from his agony of self conscious shifting from foot to foot, but leaving poor Azenor trapped on his throne, drumming his fingers and unable to understand them for better than an hour.
At last Spitemorta surprised him, standing in front of him with the rolled up map.
He sat up at once, pulling his flushed cheek off the heel of his hand.
“Right now, my questions are all for Grandmother's overseers,” she said with a cold smile. “After I speak with them, you can expect me to return to see about discrepancies before I return to Niarg-Loxmere-Goll. And since we appear to hold more of this continent than you, there may be issues which need to be discussed in both our interests.”
Azenor knew that this was clearly dangerous for her to be saying, but simply could not overcome his paralysis.
“Now, I've heard her go on and on about your being less cooperative as time went by,” she said as she waltzed around the corner of his chair to pat him on the shoulder. “But then, she judged people a bit harshly, don't you think?”
“It did seem so at times,” he managed to say.
“Oh I've had a taste of it, myself,” she said, stroking his shoulder as if he were a cat. “I can't imagine you and I having problems like that. In fact, I see great things ahead for the two of us.”
“That's good to hear.”
“So I'll be back. Ta-Ta.”
“Of course. “I'll look forward to it.” Azenor rose and bowed, detesting himself for the very act of doing so, as he watched them amble out of sight beyond the archway. He started to sit again but instead, ran at the tea table, flipping it over with a furious kick. “For a moment,” he bellowed, “for one stinking moment, I was stupid enough to be glad that the old witch was dead!” He walked over to the table, set it upright and sat on it. “Oh my! And what about Karl-Veur? Is he wound up in this witch's web? Does he happen to be my next dead son?”
***
It had grown dark enough in their room that Edward was either going to have to go to bed or light a candle. “Where's Laora?” he said. “Looks like I'm stuck with running to the hearth in the kitchen with a couple of candles.”
He was just on his way when Laora appeared, bouncing with excitement and herded him back into their room to tell him all about Abaddon and his message to Edward.
“He really said that?” said Edward.
“Those are his exact, exact words,” she said as she landed beside him with an exuberant pirouette, flinging her tail from her feather mattress to his bed. “Edward! It must be awful, knowing your own momma murders everybody.”
“Yea. My mother was the nicest momma...” he said as his composure faltered.
Laora came to his immediate aid with a squeeze of his hand and quick nibble of the hair behind his ear.
“And so is Aunt Lippy,” he said. “And Aunt Lippy would want us to give Abaddon a chance, wouldn't she?”
“I feel sorry for him, Edward. What must it be like to have everyone hate you because one of your kin did something horrible that you had nothing to do with?”
“All right,” he said. “Should we ask him to go exploring after breakfast? Do you think Flame or Toast would fly with him?”
“Flame's a show off. Let's ask Toast. She's gone to see if she can catch any voles while there's still light.”
“Sounds good. Asking Toast, not the voles.”
“You're picky, Edward. I love voles.”
And with that, they dashed outside to find her on her way in from the grass at the edge of the oasis in the failing light with a scrambling sack of frantic voles in her fist.
“Hey Toast,” said Laora. “Would you like to go exploring with us in the morning?”
“You and Edward never ast me to go with you ones before...” said Toast as she grabbed out a vole and bit it in half.
“You've been too slow...” said Laora, pausing to study a fat sphinx moth going from flower to flower up an agave spike. “Got ye! I'm not even asking you if you want half, Edward.”
Edward stuck out his tongue.
“You seem fast enough now, Toast. We wanted you to fly piggyback with Abaddon...”
“Pooh!” said Toast. “Why would I want his sweaty behind pressed against my feathers all morning? How personal.” She fluffed up her feathers and gave herself a good shake. “He's not even family like Edward.”
Edward gave Toast a quick squeeze. “He actually is,” he said. “He's my nephew. And if he is, he's your nephew.”
“What are you doing, Laora?” said Toast. “Hands off the sack! You had your moth.”
“Oh come on,” cried Laora, springing up and down. “Just one teeneensy vole?”
“Not if I have Abaddon the sweaty butt on my back all day,” said Toast. “We're even. I'll have to reach all the way back there and straighten out every single feather with my bare mouth. So much for my dust bath. So boo on you.”
“Right after breakfast?” said Edward.
“All right, hairy little brother... But I...get all...the vole-sies, Laora,” she said, skipping away into the darkness.
On their way in, they found Lance and Abaddon sitting on stones outside the mouth of the kitchen.
“Hey Abaddon,” said Laora. “I thought you went to bed.”
“I'm working on it,” he said, not looking up.
Laora poked Edward in the ribs.
“Lance?” said Edward. “We were wondering if Abaddon could go exploring with us tomorrow, after breakfast. That is, up in the air...”
“Wow!” gasped Abaddon, looking up suddenly.
“Do you object, Lance?” said Edward.
“Why would I object?” said Lance, hiking his brow for a knowing glance at Abaddon. “Abby's old enough to speak for himself.”
“Well Abby, we wondered...”
“Yea!” said Abaddon, remembering his princely deportment at once. “That would be acceptable.”
Chapter 162
As it turned out, it took better than two full days to move the five hundred soldiers and all the refugees and livestock from Goll up the slope of Mount Bed, down through the small first crater to the entrance, past the grottos and caverns where the Fairies lived and through the length of the long lava tubes to the far end of the Fairies' farm from where Longbark stood in the enormous second crater. In spite of the joy of their wedding, Celeste and Meri had scarcely a moment to rest in the pandemonium, so that now, after breakfast on the third day, they found themselves with Alvita, Nacea and the Damned Baby and Rodon, Ocker, Urr-Urr and the diatrymas, “out atte the fer ende,” seeing to the needs of the multitude, leaving Minuet, Razzmorten, Herio, Hubba Hubba, Pebbles and their brood, and Blodwen to themselves, back in the kitchen. Blodwen (bless her heart) was nearly in a state of euphoria at being allowed to stay with them, and had taken quite a liking to Minuet.
Minuet sat at the board knitting when Razzmorten came back into the kitchen with his stone ball and sat next to Herio across from her.
“What are you about to scry?” she said, slipping a stitch before looking up.
“I'm afraid Bernard will need looking after, if we're ever to be any help to him,” he said, not looking up from the ball between his hands on the table top.
“Well?” she said after a spell.
Razzmorten nodded without breaking his gaze.
“Have you found him?” she said.
“He doesn't appear very happy, but it looks like they've got him cleaned up.”
“That's something at least. Maybe the witches want him alive, then.”
“'Maybe' is right,” he said. “It looks like it's time I went and had a talk with him. However, it looks too risky to get to him. They've put him in a private room in someone's house with guards outside, and if I give him a start and he yelps, somebody just might come running. But I'm going anyway. I need to find out things and have a look about.”
“You scare me, Father. Doesn't Demonica want you dead?”
“Oh, she's full of things like that...”
“Spitemorta sure is,” said Herio.
“Father! She certainly is full of things like that...”
Suddenly everyone gasped at the sight of Razzmorten as a bristly faced young mercenary from Gwael, wearing the black tunic and red hour glass of Goll. Hubba Hubba, Pebbles and the Snappers flew madly about the kitchen, scattering feathers.
“Oh my stars!” said Blodwen, lunging after her overturned pan of apple slices and the capsized basket, bouncing and rolling apples across the floor.
“Demonica really will kill you if you pull that stunt in front of her,” said Minuet as she adjusted her knitting along a needle.
Razzmorten threw back his head with a laugh.
“I'd be honored to go with you, sir,” said Herio. “Could you fix me an hour glass tunic?”
Razzmorten shook his head. “Two of us would be asking for it, Herio.”
They heard wings in time for Ocker to land on the board in front of Blodwen. “Hello, Apple-Slice,” he said, running his beak down a flight feather.
“No!” snapped Blodwen, covering her pan with her arms. “Beat it!”
“Hey Apple-Slice,” he croaked, walking right up to her pan with a cock of his head. “Better look out for Urr-Urr.”
At the sound of wings behind her, she threw her chin to her shoulder to see.
Ocker grabbed up a huge beakful of slices and flew to the mantle.
“Look out Blodwen!” cawed Hubba Hubba, right before Urr-Urr grabbed a slice from the other side of the pan.
“Shut up Two-Head,” said Ocker, setting his mouthful at his feet.
“You're in on it too, Hubba-Hubba?” said Blodwen as she watched Urr-Urr fly away with her prize.
“No!” cawed Hubba-Hubba. “I was only trying...”
“Thanks Two-Head,” said Ocker. “Urr-Urr would never 'ave got hers without your help.”
“Hey! I was not trying to help Urr-Urr.”
“Don't you birds ever learn?” said Blodwen as she covered her pan with a bread board.
“You're the one who won't learn, quiente,” said Ocker. “We had you figured out the moment we saw you. That's why we're still having to give you lessons.”
“Hey Wiz,” said Hubba Hubba, pointedly turning his back to Ocker. “Do you think we're going to stop the witches so we can go home to Niarg?”
“That'll take even more lessons, Two-Head,” rattled Ocker. “I know Demonica.”
“A!” said Meri as he stepped 'round the corner with Celeste. “The verray peple to spek with Ich didde wante. Thou certeynly a sodeyn sowdyorlich aura dost haven, Razzmorten.”
“Why thank you.”
“Ich in the morwnynge shal bese ylevyng,” he said with a sad glance at Celeste. “And Ich was wondren if eny of ye han a message whiche thou woldest un-to Lukus and Soraya or may be un-to the Elven lyche me to taake.”
“I'll have a letter for Lukus and Soraya by then,” said Minuet.
“And I've one for Neron,” said Razzmorten.
“And thou, Herio?” said Meri.
“I've nothing, I'm afraid,” said Herio. “Lukus doesn't even know that I'm his adopted brother.”
“Which I'll explain in my letter,” said Minuet. “I only wish the rest of my news was as good.”
“O hit bethe badde tydyngges to comen un-til the twyn babies aren ygrowen,” said Meri.
Razzmorten had no time to visit. He excused himself and went to his room. He sat on his bed and studied his scrying ball again. “Most of the soldiers appear to be off duty,” he said, “so I reckon that's what I'll be. And it will let me get away with having my ball in my shoulder bag, but there's no way I'll get away with having the staff with me. It'll be risky enough being a strange face off duty. And leaving without the staff will really drain me.” He began mumbling a traveling spell.
Suddenly the air smelt heavily of stale ashes from a huge fire as he got his bearings from behind a thick coppice of saplings growing out of a mulberry stump where the Castle Goll stable met the outer curtain. “My word!” he said as he began studying what he could see through the leaves. “Philpott's 'blown to smithereens' is an understatement. Only two or three walls standing and nothing else. And it's right odd that the castle grounds are being used to quarter troops instead of the prisoners who might build a new castle.” Tents were pitched next to each other with overlapping pegs in rows throughout the ward. Soldiers were milling about everywhere, visiting, playing catch or squatted in circles, rolling dice. He was well aware that Bernard was in a house beyond the curtain, but he was not about to try reaching him, even though he wanted to see just how the house was positioned and how it was guarded. He began sauntering about, pausing here and there, listening to snippets of conversation, counting and making estimates.
Soon he was outside the curtain, looking at the rows of tents in the orchards and paddocks. “What luck,” he said when he found the compound for the Niarg prisoners at the very edge of town. “I'd a
llow that they don't fear us any more, and that they want the prisoners as far away from Bernard as possible.”
The better houses nearest to the castle where they held Bernard all appeared occupied by quartered officers. As he stepped into a vacant alley, he suddenly felt followed.
“Halt soldier!” cried an echoing command.
Razzmorten turned carefully about to see two guards approaching with their pikes leveled.
“What's your assignment, soldier?” said one of them as they came up to him.
“I'm off duty.”
“No one's supposed to be back here, ky caugh,” barked the other one. “Who's your commanding officer?”
“Nobody!” he belched in a deep guttural roar, lunging forth with his snapping lion's face.
With a shriek, one guard wheeled about and fell in his armor as the other one ran for all he was worth, back to the street.
With a pop, Razzmorten toppled sideways onto the bed in his grotto. He shuffled into the kitchen looking dazed. “Herio,” he said. “Where's Ocker?”
“Razzmorten!” said Herio. “Out at the far end with Meri and Celeste, last I knew. Why?”
“Well make damned sure that Meri keeps Urr-Urr and him out there while you find Philpott and bring him in here, right now. I've got things I don't want ravens to hear.”
Herio was gone at once.
Minuet took Blodwen's hand and caught her eye.
Blodwen nodded.
“Well,” said Razzmorten as he shared a look with Minuet. “I believe everyone here can hear what I have to tell, but I'll have no distractions.” He sought out the shiny black eyes of each of the Snappers, gave a conclusive nod and folded his arms to wait on Philpott.
It was not long before Herio returned with Sergeant Philpott, gnarly and determined. The room fell silent as they took places at the board.
“I was just at Castlegoll, as Herio probably told you, Sergeant,” said Razzmorten as he took an apple and passed on the bowl Blodwen had nudged him with, “ and I am right certain from what I was able to hear there that Spitemorta has murdered Demonica. And, Spitemorta is at the ruins of Niarg Castle right now, getting ready to build her dream house...”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 172