Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “So we're planning on rescuing Captain Bernard, right?” said Philpott.

  “They outnumber us five to one,” said Razzmorten with a nod, “so I can't be sure before we talk if we'll try that yet, but Hebraun did turn us into damned good shots.”

  ****

  King Theran sat on a stone bench in the shade of a spreading red haw in the garden of his inner ward with some paper clipped to a tablet, a quill and a bottle of ink. Three ewes sharing the shade on the far side of the tree panted with the summer heat and chewed their cuds. Theran gave an eye watering yawn. Soon his eyes were closed as the shadow of a leaf waltzed from side to side across his cheekbone.

  One of the ewes suddenly stood, shaking her bell. The dove overhead shot away from her nest with a whistle of wings. Theran opened his eyes with a snort. “Did you scare my dove, Arianrhod?”

  “Well not intentionally, sire.”

  “Well look 'ee at her nest,” he said, pointing into the leaves. “You can actually see her white eggs through the bottom of it. How those nests hold together in a storm is beyond me.”

  “Yes. Sire, you have someone wanting to see you, upstairs.”

  “Fiddlesticks!”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Writing down every bird I heard or saw out here. See? It's quite a list for the middle of summer... So who are they?”

  “The young Beak prince and princess, all the way from Marr.”

  “Oh! Do they look travel worn? Would they appreciate freshening up before seeing me, do you reckon?”

  “They seem anxious to see you.”

  “Well shit fire!” he said, hurriedly gathering up his things. “Go send them in. I'm on my way... Oh I forgot about your knee. I'll see them in myself. Take your time.” Three steps down the path, he stopped short and turned around. “Now you didn't say anything about troops. Was anyone with them?”

  Arianrhod shook his head.

  “Well,” he said, hesitating a moment before hurrying on.

  He was delighted to find Donnel and Tramae sitting in the antechamber of his throne room, and though the sight of their tattooed cheeks was quite a shock, particularly so on Tramae, he made no mention of it. “It's simply wonderful to see you both again,” he said as he showed them in. “This is quite a surprise. Your father gave no indication on the slate when he said that he was sending aid. I see you've brought no army. Have you magical powers which you never mentioned when you were here?”

  “No Father Theran,” said Tramae. “Neither of us has powers of any kind. We've become warriors, so our protectors may aid us in battle if we please them, but that's all. However, have we have indeed come to fight at your side.”

  “Yes, and I brought these,” said Donnel with a fierce look as he withdrew three of the secret darts from his tunic.

  “Donnel!” gasped Tramae.

  King Theran paused to look at them carefully as he took a seat on his throne, but he did not offer to take them. “I understood that your father wouldn't be sending me the magic stopping darts,” he said. “Did he reconsider?”

  “No sire,” he said, avoiding Tramae's eyes. “Father will not share this weapon with anyone but Beaks. And if he thinks that leaves you out, he's wrong. Tramae and I are Beaks, and Myrtlebell was our half sister, and you're Myrtlebell's father. So you're family and ought to have the darts.”

  Theran didn't know what to say. He looked at Tramae.

  “I do agree with Donnel,” she said. “But Fa will almost certainly need a trying lot of convincing before he sees it.”

  “I appreciate what you are doing Donnel,” said Theran. “But I'd rather not vex your father and lose his friendship. I certainly hope he never thinks that I would come between him and his children.”

  “Did he not come between you and your child when he forced Myrtlebell to agree to wed him?” said Donnel, “It's not likely he would have let her visit here with Edward. I am right proud of Fa, but he's being dangerously bull-headed, and his refusal to share the darts with you is just plain wrong. The darts are the only thing which could possibly stop the witches, and he knows it. We don't want anything to happen to you Father Theran, so please take them.”

  “You're right, Donnel,” said Tramae. “But if Fa thinks that you've gone behind his back...”

  “So it all depends on one's point of view, aye?” said Theran.

  “That's what I'm saying,” said Tramae.

  “The two of you have no idea how it cheers my heart to see you both again, nor how much it means to me to know that you'd risk Brude Talorg's disapproval to help me. But I'm afraid I must decline your gift... Say!” he said, holding his hand to his ear. “Do I hear something?”

  And with that, fifty naked Beak soldiers rushed into the throne room with pikes and swords, led by Talorg himself.

  Chapter 163

  Spitemorta sat at the board in the kitchen at Peach Knob, staring out the open back door, so lost in her own thoughts that she paid no attention to the scolding pair of robins with their young on the ground just outside, nor did she notice any part of Bethan's busily stepping in and out of the summer kitchen with her soap making or Peredur weeding carrots in the garden beyond. She spooned honey over the gob of butter melting into the hot bun in her hand. She gave a moan of delight as she lunged with a greedy bite and licked her fingers. “Mmm, my!” she said with a last glance over the bowl of comb swimming in honey and the buns peeping out from under the warm tea towel draped across the breadboard, as she rose and stepped back across the bench. “Maybe later. Time to find General Coel.” She grabbed up the Staff from where it leant against the board, stepped outside and set it to hovering in the air.

  Castle Niarg was not at all far away, flying by the Staff. In short order she found herself circling Coel's camp adjacent to the rubble of the castle. “I love it!” she thought at the sight of the soldiers and prisoners below, already shouting and pointing at her. She swooped down to a smooth landing in the midst of everything.

  “You!” she cried, the moment her shoes slid to a stop in the dust. “Piggy eyes!”

  “Me?” mouthed a sweating man with a shovel, as he straightened up and pointed to himself.

  “You know who you are, Piggy Eyes.”

  He threw down his shovel and planted his fists on his apron strings.

  “Where's General Coel?”

  “In the mess tent, yonder,” he said with a toss of his bald head as he stooped to pick up his shovel.

  “Don't bother picking it up, Piggy Eyes,” she said as if he were a school boy reaching for a paper wad. “You'll not be needing it.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “I should say you don't. What do you do in front of a sovereign?”

  I take off my hat when King Vortigern goes by in his coach. But I lost my hat in the fight. And you ain't Vortigern.”

  “Idiot!”

  “Just what do you expect me to do?”

  “Set an example, Piggy Eyes. You have to bow before me when I address you, and you have to wait for my permission before you dare return to work.”

  Piggy Eyes was on his knees at once, putting a print in the dust with his forehead before hauling himself back to his feet. “Now may I pick up my shovel?”

  “And I told you that you'll not be needing it. Didn't I?” she said, suddenly looking aside at the soldier just beyond Piggy Eyes. “You!” she hollered.

  The wide-eyed soldier immediately dropped to his knees.

  Spitemorta threw back her head with laughter. “Now up, Knee-Drop,” she said as if she'd never been laughing. “Run and fetch me four ropes, five fathom long and find four unicorns to pull them. Now!”

  “Please Your Majesty!” cried Piggy Eyes, falling to his knees at her feet. “I have a family!”

  “Then die well, fighting for the very last shreds of your life,” she said, “and I'll spare their lives, but if you give us a disappointing death, then poof! Everyone dies.”

  She threw her leg off the Staff and stood
up. “This is going to take time,” she said as she looked this way and that. “Hey!” she shouted. “You, you and you! Come over here and hold down Piggy Eyes while we wait.

  “See this?” she said, holding up the Staff as the three came fourth. She suddenly pointed it at the ground directly in front of them, blowing out a bushel of dirt, momentarily blinding them to staggering about, digging at their eyes, as rocks and clods came pelting down all about the rubble. “Now, if Piggy Eyes gets away, that will be your chitterlings.

  “And Piggy Eyes?” she said, turning to him. “You no longer have the choice of bolting away, forcing me to give you a quick death.”

  “Please!” he said.

  Spitemorta shook her head as if he were merely demanding candy before supper. She heaved a sigh of resolution and began pacing. Everyone stood in deathly silence for what seemed like a very long time. Catbirds exchanged medleys of calls from the shade as a breeze chased through the nearby treetops. “Ah, here!” she said at last, looking up at Knee-Drop leading forth four great unicorns, bred to carry men in armor, each bearing a coil of rope. She instructed him to hitch each animal to a rope tied to one of Peggy Eyes' limbs while poor Piggy Eyes was reduced to whimpering and wailing out, begging for Spitemorta to spare the lives of his dear wife and children.

  Just as the noose of the last rope was slipped over an ankle, Spitemorta looked up at the sound of crunching gravel to find General Coel walking straight for her.

  “What's this all about, Your Majesty?” he said, with no twinkle in his eye.

  “So,” she said, as if she had him red-handed somehow. “Your man found you, but failed to give you any details?”

  “He gave me all kinds of details, but I'd rather hear them from you, if you don't mind.”

  “Why should I ever mind?” she said with a fleeting look of fury. “This soldier of yours refused to bow and I'll not have it. If he gets away with that, it won't be long before all of your men are acting the same way. That stops here and now. Do you have a problem with that, General?”

  Coel motioned her aside. “You might want to consider, Your Majesty, that my men are subjects of the crown of Gwael, and that we are here by agreement,” he said in low, even tones. “They're obliged to defer to you and to treat you with respect, but they have no need to behave as if they were your own subjects.

  “I'm afraid he refused to treat me with respect,” she said, smacking the end of the Staff on the ground at his feet. “Your men owe me the respect due to a ruler of two continents. And I will have it.” And with that she turned on her heel and went straight back to Piggy Eyes to see if everything was ready to dismember him.

  “Now look this way,” she said to the four unicorn drivers as she raised her hand.

  “Guene!” wailed Piggy Eyes. “I love you, Guene!”

  Down went Spitemorta's arm. The unicorns began taking up the slack, mercilessly yanking Piggy Eyes about as the ropes danced and lifted off the ground.

  “I'll see you in the pit, witch!” bellowed Piggy Eyes as his voice became a scream.

  At that, Coel tramped forth, cleaving with one mighty whistling swing of his saber the two ropes which bound Piggy Eyes' legs, releasing him to be yanked forward by his arms.

  “General!” shouted Spitemorta.

  “Not 'till I'm done!” roared Coel as he cut the other two ropes.

  “This minute, I'm afraid, General,” she snarled as she leveled the Staff at him. “You seem to be the insubordinate. At least Piggy Eyes told me where you were when I asked rather than to undo my work like a fool.”

  “Have do then,” said Coel, standing straight as he sheathed his saber with a smack. “You'll have a mutiny, I'm afraid. And not a blooming one of them will ever bow to you now. Who's going to manage your slaves and build your new castle?”

  “Shut up Grandmother!” she shouted as she swung aside and jabbed the Staff at no one that anyone could see.

  “Of all the names I've been called, it's never been that one,” said Coel with sudden wide eyes.

  “Bravo, Rouanez Bras!” came a voice that only Spitemorta could hear. “There you go, making enemies of the very soldiers we worked so hard to get. Are you planning to conquer the world all by yourself?”

  “Stay out of this Demonica!” she snarled through her teeth. “I know what I'm doing.”

  “That's good,” said Demonica in Spitemorta's ears alone. “Then you're quite aware that you're making a stunning spectacle of yourself, right?”

  “No! I'm keeping order.”

  “So forcing General Coel to defy you is earning you respect from his soldiers, then? Wouldn't fooling them into thinking that you care about them be time better spent?”

  “Beat it, Grandmother! I have a lot yet to do today.”

  “Like finding another army to fight for you, after you've run off the Gwaels?”

  “If I must. Now shut up!”

  General Coel scratched himself behind the ear and quietly took a respectful step in front of her again. “Now I thought I had this straight, Your Majesty,” he said, giving her a serious look. “You told me that you killed Demonica. So just what kind of sorceress games are the pair of you playing?”

  Demonica threw back her head with laughter that only Spitemorta could hear. “You've got him confused, Rouanez Bras.”

  “Damn you Demonica!” she shouted as she stepped astride the Staff and leaped into the heavens as if she had been launched by a trebuchet.

  Knee-Drop sidled up to Coel and helped him stare into the sky where she had disappeared. “Was all of that a glamourie, General, or was some of it real?”

  Coel gave his head a half shake. “You tell me,” he said.

  Up in the blue, Spitemorta pointed the Staff toward Peach Knob. “I don't have time for this, Demonica,” she shouted into the wind. “And if you're going to keep making a fool of me when I'm dealing with my underlings, all agreements between us are off!”

  “Ah! So we have agreements, have we? Now here I thought everything had ended in the cellar of Castle Goll. In that case you'd better think things through before your temper sends you off on journeys you can't begin to manage. You simply cannot afford to alienate the Gwaels. You need their soldiers. And while we're at it, what are you going to do about losing your daughter? Having her marry Vortigern's son was part of the deal. That will be a problem unless you get her back, dear.”

  “I didn't lose Nasteuh, Grandmother. She was kidnapped. How's that my fault?”

  “Perhaps you could employ trustworthy help, dear. Of course for that to work, you have to treat them decently every once in awhile.”

  “Yea. Like old Eldwin, your hired man for years and years, until he made one stupid mistake and got put in your dungeon?”

  “Eldwin's mistake was indeed stupid and could have led to my death since he let Razzmorten catch me completely by surprise. But this is about you, dear, not me. So tell me, what do you plan to do for an army if the Gwaels pull out on you?”

  “There's the Dark Continent,” said Spitemorta. “And I'm landing out here in the orchard, so shut up and let me go inside without scaring the old sow who cooks for me.” And with that she planted her feet in the brome grass and clover beyond the panting sheep in the shade, chewing their cuds. Instead of going inside, she found an attractive bench in a forest of hollyhocks in the shade of a cool brick wall of the manor house.

  “You can't seriously believe Emperor Azenor will commit his forces to help you take over the world, Spitemorta,” said Demonica, suddenly appearing right beside her on the bench. “Are you becoming delusional?”

  “Damn you!” cried Spitemorta, pausing to look her over. “He will when I become Empress Spitemorta of the Dark Continent, Grandmother.”

  “What ever makes you think Azenor would marry someone like you? He despises me, for one thing, and I am your grandmother. Besides, didn't you tell me that James was a mistake you'd not repeat?”

  “Azenor?” scoffed Spitemorta. “Azenor is disgusting, Grandm
other. With all your holdings, I own more of the continent than he does, and in my book that makes me the ruler, not him.”

  “You may have a problem convincing him of any part of that one, dear,” said Demonica as she paused to look up at the house. “And speaking of appropriated property, why have you taken up residence at Peach Knob? Isn't it just a bit quaint for you?”

  “Don't change the subject. I have the Heart and Staff, and Azenor's aware of what they do. So I'd allow that his resistance won't amount to much. Once he sees how it all is, I'll have access to enough soldiers that even Gwael will think twice.”

  “Yea? Well if you're able to manage that, I trust that you know better in the meantime than to count your chickens before they hatch, since you surely see the huge lot you have to lose by alienating your Gwaels. But at any rate, it should be interesting watching just how well you avoid having your aspirations hanging in the balance.”

  “Beat it, Grandmother.”

  ***

  Brude Talorg stopped short at the sight of the darts which Donnel was hurriedly putting away in his tunic. He reached over his shoulder to find his scabbard as he caught Donnel's eye, and with a fuming hiss through his nose, sheathed his claymore. “And why should I not call you traitor?” he bellowed.

  “Fa!” cried Tramae. “What are you doing here?”

  “I'm here to ask you that!” shouted Talorg, not taking his eyes off Donnel.

  “Tramae and I are here to serve Father Theran in your name,” said Donnel, standing up to Talorg's gaze. “How does that make me a traitor?”

  “That has na neoni, not nothing to do with it,” said Talorg. “Your treason was stealing away with the weapon in your tunic to give to an outsider.”

  “I am Prionnsa of Marr, next in line to the throne,” said Donnel, “which gives me the right to the darts.”

  “Only with my leave!” barked Talorg,

  Donnel calmly folded his arms. “King Theran is no outsider, Fa. He was Mother's first husband and Myrtlebell's father. That makes him father to a Beak.”

  “His blood flows nowhere in the kingdom of Marr.”

  “So Myrtlebell was not a Beak, even though Mother's blood pumped in her heart?”