“No!” cried Rose.
Fuzz was on his feet at once, taking her into his arms as Karl-Veur began carefully recounting everything that they had seen. “So the question is: where do we go next?” He said. “What do you think, Fuzz?”
“I think I know a beautiful princess who should not give up hope,” said Fuzz, giving Rose a gentle shake with his squeeze. “I think something's amiss with that corporal's plague story, for one thing. He said that nobody in the town died from it. Remember that I was captain here when the last plague went through. I simply can't imagine the whole bloomin' castle being dead from it without it sweeping throughout the entire town and countryside. And what about Razzmorten's cure? Now very well Rose, the castle is down, but that's not the end of the tale. Sooner or later, we'll find out what happened. Please don't give up hope.”
Rose nodded with a great sniffle through her hanky.
“Well it's not up to just me, anyway,” he said. “Right now I don't care just where, but I think that before any of us walk away from this pile of rope, we need to be in agreement on where we're going.”
For some time no one had a word to say, as a handful of terns swooped here and there, having a last search about for any more leftover egg in a hole thrown overboard by Roseen.
“Oilean Gairdin,” said Rose at last. “It's the next haven we could get to. It would have Roseen, Olloo and Obbree right where they want to be. And Lukus and Soraya and the twins are there. And the Dragon Caves would be half as far away as they are now.”
Everyone was already exchanging nods.
“Well Karl-Veur,” said Fuzz. “Good job we've got a nice red sunset, what? You know. Red at night, sailor's delight.”
“So. What kind of wind do we have?” said Karl-Veur, holding up a wet finger as he looked about overhead. “West, north-west. We'll go down the coast, no problem.”
“All right!” cried Fuzz with a clap of his hands. “We let down the main course foot! Main course clewlines and buntlines! Into position! All together! Let's let down the lines!”
***
On the morning of the third day, the sky in the east shot fiery red as the sun rose above the horizon. “Oyster Cove ho!” cried Karl-Veur, flinging at the nibs on the pilot wheel.
“Now just what is that?” said Fuzz as he peered over the forecastle railing. “Are those little cypress trees, yonder? Or could that be a harbor full of ships, or is it just plain too dark for me to tell what I'm a-seeing?”
“Those are ships,” said Obbree. “Six of them.”
“Whose, do you reckon?”
Before long, they had the sails furled and were gliding smoothly and ever so slowly, right for the quay. Presently everyone caught his balance as the ship gently bumped into place. “Brav!” cried Karl-Veur, flinging up his fists from the pilot wheel.
“Batten her down!” cried Fuzz, leaping over the side with a rope.
“So what are we all doing, standing on the quay without knowing what to make of all those ships, yonder?” said Roseen.
“They look Gwaelian to me,” said Olloo, pitching a spit beyond the railing. “And from here, I'd say they've been idle for a spell.”
“My word!” said Rose. “How could you ever tell from here?”
“White streaks of pelican poop is my first clue.”
“Then let's set fire to every last one,” she said, getting everyone's attention.
“Well,” said Fuzz. “If those ships belong to Spitemorta's Gwaels, They could well take our ship. But on the chance that they don't, I'd like to be able to sail down to the Dragon Caves to see Edward and Laora. And I'd allow that if we burn the ships, there'll be a lot less chance of being able to come back to ours. Now let's see if we can get everything off the Marner Medhow and on to our unicorns soon enough to get a good start for Oilean Gairdin.”
Rose led Carrey and her little Doolish unicorn down the gang plank and paused to look up at the great dark cliffs dotted with seabirds on the south shore of the cove.
“Remembering our climb?” said Fuzz.
“I remember your asking me to marry you,” she said, “but I also remember being afraid to look down, the whole way up.”
“Well,” he said. “I'm afraid that there's no other way to the Saddle, and unfortunately the Saddle is still the only pass over the divide of the Jutland Mountains and to Oilean Gairdin.”
Chapter 172
General Coel leant across his big table, studying a great map titled, “Brastyr Cleth,” which was Gwaelic for Northern Continent. He stood up, rubbed his face and stretched as he paced about the huge one room upper storey of Pilar Paleys, which his soldiers had begun calling Nyth Hok, or Hawk's Nest. He had spent so much time bent over the map that his elbows were getting sore. “Dampnya this!” he muttered, scooting a chair out of his way. “If I'm going to be on a campaign at the end of a short tether to that witch, I've got to have every square mile and section memorized or she'll have us in a fine kettle o' fish.” He ambled to the open row of windows and sighed, looking out beyond the houses to where the South Road vanished into the countryside. “Now where the bloomin' yffarn is Cunedda? Spitemorta's been gone at least two days above a fortnight. My ball distributors are back. Should I vex her and send out a detachment to look for him?” He shook his head and went back to his map.
Presently the door clicked open and a draught whirled through the papers in the room. “I'm terribly sorry sir,” said a soldier standing in the doorway,” but you weren't hearing my knock.”
“Corporal March,” he said, backing upright off his elbows. “So that's what that was. I thought it was a damned big pigeon.”
“You mean the little ones here knock?”
Coel grinned and shook his head. “What is it, then?”
“Maybe I was being too funny...”
“No danger there.”
“Well maybe I was, because this is serious,” said March, taking a breath. “They're back. The army's just reached the edge of town.”
“That's good, isn't it?”
“Not without General Cunedda, I wouldn't reckon, sir.”
“You've spoken with them and he's not?”
“He's dead, and no mistake, but Lieutenant Pennoyer, who's in charge, says he needs to speak directly to you, sir.”
“Now what happened to Nist? I'd think he'd be in charge.”
“I didn't see a single regular in the vanguard. Perhaps they're in the rear.”
“Saddle me three unicorn and have them downstairs on the double.”
***
Coel was waiting for the knock this time.
“Sir!” said March with a crisp salute. He shook his head as he struggled to speak after his sprint up the stairs. “Unicorns. Right below. But there's no point. I think Pennoyer's on his way up right now.”
“I'd say,” said Coel. “He's right behind you.” He waved them in to seats by the table. “I'm putting on the kettle, but the water's cold and there are only three or four bright eyes in the ashes. So...?”
“I don't have one thing good,” said Pennoyer, holding up his twist. “May I?”
“Here's the crock to spit in,” said Coel. “Well let's start with Cunedda. What in all crak-taran happened?”
“Spitemorta killed him in one of her fits when she showed up at Castlegoll and found out that all the Niarg prisoners had escaped.”
“That's nice of her,” said Coel as he squatted on the hearth and fed kindling to the coals. “You know, I'm beginning to agree that 'Reaper Witch' fits her. Well now, March here didn't see any regulars. Did they stay in Goll to work on her castle?”
“No sir,” said Pennoyer, settling his dry chaw into his cheek. “There's not one soul a-working on it. Captain Nist was the highest ranking after Cunedda, as I'm sure you know, so the witch put him in charge and ordered every last one of us from Gwael to come straight here...”
“You mean except for the regulars, then?” said Coel. “I'm confused. If Nist and the regulars didn't come, did Spitemort
a send them after the escaped prisoners?”
“Why no...”
“I'm sorry. I'll shut up. Just tell your story.”
“Well now that you mention it, I reckon it is possible, but if that's what they went and did, I don't understand the secrecy.”
Coel cocked his head to one side.
“Captain Nist and his hundred and something regulars marched all the first day with us until we made camp that evening. Then he put me in charge of all the mercenaries and told me to take them straight to Castle Niarg. I asked if he could tell me what he was about to do, and he told me no. Then he and all the regulars marched off straight west. I had no idea why at the time, but straight west might have been a start after the prisoners, now that you mention it.”
“Now, let's see,” said Coel, glancing up at the cry of a herring gull flying right by the open windows. “You said you hadn't thought that Nist might have gone after the prisoners. What did you think?”
“Well before we broke camp, I searched about for an hour or so. I grew up herding cattle, don't ye know, so I'm something of a tracker...”
“And?”
“And I clean lost their tracks. The ground was hard, but I still expected to see mashed grass. They had to have tried not to mash it. I mean, why would they hide their bloomin' tracks? Are they going back to Brastyr Howldrehevel? Or do you reckon that the witch got them?”
“Why would they go home now? All they can do when they get there is report on their own losing of the army, their losing Spitemorta's daughter and losing the Niarg prisoners. How would that impress Vortigern?”
“It would scare me to go do that, sir,” said Pennoyer, leaning forward with his first brown spit. “But General Cunedda was going to send someone to tell Vortigern about Spitemorta ordering soldiers to their own slaughter like so many chickens and taking command of the armies without knowing the first thing about running a war...”
“You knew that?”
“He wasn't quiet about it,” he said, scraping a fleck of chaw back from the bristles on his lip with his teeth. “I think he'd got to the point he thought letting Vortigern know what's been going on was more important than his own life.”
“Cunedda was even smarter than that,” said Coel. “And he did such a good job of convincing Nist, that Nist went to take the blame for everything that's gone wrong to save the rest of us. Don't ye reckon?”
Pennoyer gave a thoughtful nod.
“We'll not speak of it,” said Coel. “Go rest and get something to eat. We march for Loxmere at first light.”
***
Spitemorta did indeed enjoy indulging herself with a good hour's worth of torturing James's second steward, but she was not especially happy about giving up the adulation she imagined she would receive at the great celebration the next day to announce her arrival in Loxmere. Very well. Demonica was probably right. But if such a celebration was premature, a mere dinner for the nobility the day after the next day seemed about right.
All of the peerage and other people of importance within riding distance of Castle Loxmere were seated up and down the long board in the great hall. Chairs screeched in the echoes above the din. A cavernous hush settled onto the room as Spitemorta rose to her feet. “Lords and ladies,” she said. “As you are well aware, I am Queen Spitemorta, monarch of your new kingdom of Niarg-Loxmere-Goll. And I declare that we are growing...” Applause erupted at once. She looked from face to face, waiting for it to die away. “We are about to enjoy a prosperity which exceeds any we have so far known...” More applause. “In fact, we are without a doubt the new well-to-do of the continent. And so compelling is this that we are being joined by kingdoms 'round about and far and wide. It is to oversee and to orchestrate this triumphant development that I have come to occupy your throne. And to celebrate, we shall have a bite to eat and a bit of entertainment.” She clapped her hands and two guards hurried in and up to the head of the board, bearing a man tied to a chair.
Their applause died away at once as they saw that the man had no fingers on his hands which were smeared and caked with dried blood. There were wide-eyed gasps as they recognized that the lolling face, eyes swollen shut from merciless beating, belonged to James's well regarded second steward Pike.
“This amusement does have a sober message,” said Spitemorta as she strutted about the chair. “You see, even though Steward Pike here learnt that King James deliberately and wantonly betrayed this kingdom, he chose in the very face of this to remain loyal to him, a most regrettable and willful act of treason.” The only sound in the entire hall was the creaking leather in the soles of her slippers. Suddenly she leveled the Staff and blew apart Pike's head with a penetrating boom that could be felt through the floor and everyone's clothing, as his body remained in the chair, sizzling and sending up a roiling column of purple smoke in the rigidly hushed room.
“Bravo!” cried Demonica, only to be heard by Spitemorta.
“Shut up!” screeched Spitemorta.
“You certainly do have their attention, dear...”
“I said shut up! How dare you make a fool out of me!”
“I believe you're doing that all by yourself. Or have you forgotten that you're the only one who sees me?”
“She's possessed!” whispered a man at the table.
“Come with me!” snarled Spitemorta, as if she had an embarrassing child by the ear. And out she went, slamming the door beyond the curtains at the head of the table.
A man with yellow slashes in his sleeves shoved back his chair and shot to his feet.
“I'd sit down,” said a fellow across the board from him. “You might not live if you leave. Didn't you see what she did with that stick?”
“Walking out is probably treason,” said another.
“Demonica!” cried Spitemorta in the sitting room beyond the door. “Where the stinking Pit are you?”
“I'd mind how I sounded through that door,” said Demonica. “I happen to be sitting right here.”
“Why did you do that?” she said quietly, in spite of the veins standing out on her neck.
“I could ask you the very same thing, dear.”
“It was going perfectly until...”
“Really! I missed that...”
“I had the attention of every single person in that room.”
“Yea,” said Demonica. “And they're undoubtedly still sitting there, paralyzed. But you seem not to be hearing the things I'm telling you...”
“And just how's that?” said Spitemorta, folding her arms. “This is not yesterday. And this is not at all the gala affair I had in mind for a celebration.”
“Go ahead and rule. Execute those who would stand in your way. But you need to be led by a well planned strategy, not your flaming passions. You may have the power of the Heart and Staff, but you'll never be without needing the support of anyone who might help you along the way. It's time you outgrew your childish showing off.
“And do use the bell pull right behind you, dear. If we're going to be in here talking, your admirers need to be eating, don't you think?”
Spitemorta rolled her eyes with a long suffering sigh and yanked on the sash.
“So, what about General Cunedda, dear? I know you fancy Coel and all, but you do need to realize that Cunedda is every bit as important to your efforts...”
“Oh, go on! If it weren't for Cunedda's bungling I'd still have the fifteen thousand soldiers he lost. And he lost every one of the Niarg prisoners in his charge. He was a waste of time. And I do not 'fancy' General Coel!”
“Well not his face so much,” said Demonica. “So just why do you refer to Cunedda in the past tense?”
“He's dead. And unlike you, he went away.”
“And just how did the good general die?”
“Spectacularly, Demonica,” she said. “And just why would you even ask? Weren't you there?”
“Oh I was, dear. I just wanted to see how much responsibility you'd actually take for what could be your biggest blunder ye
t. Even if Cunedda were incompetent, which I seriously question, only Vortigern had the right to execute him for it. Your taking matters into your own hands is a serious affront to him at the very least and he may well take back his soldiers when he finds out. Don't you think you've already let him down enough by losing your daughter?”
“I did not lose Nasteuh! How many times do I have to tell you that she was abducted? And as for answering to your high and mighty heathen king, I don't think so. He ought to be apologizing to me for saddling me with such an officer. He should thank me for sparing him the trouble of getting rid of the man. And Nasteuh just may turn up, Grandmother. Coel's soldiers are still out searching for her and have strict orders not to return without her.”
“I see. So now you've chosen to reduce your fighting forces even further. Meanwhile, your daughter is almost surely dead. If she were not, you'd have heard something like ransom demands at least. No one, and I do mean no one, is going to keep that little biter for long if they don't have to. I'd say you'd better get ready to be the next princess of Gwael, granddaughter.”
At that moment there was a knock as the door across the room came open. “What do you require, Your Majesty?” said a page.
“Has no one instructed you on how to address a monarch?” barked Spitemorta.
“Uh...”
“I'll deal with you later. Tell the drooling idiots in the kitchen that our guests are still waiting to be served. So go. Now!”
***
A dry breeze stirred the crowns of the trees in the early afternoon sun. Chickadees called and squirrels dashed across their path to the far sides of tree trunks as Rose, Fuzz and Karl-Veur, and Olloo, Roseen and Obbree rode their unicorns amongst their seven strike falcons. Rose was fairly bouncing in her saddle, anticipating seeing Lukus and Soraya again. “Fuzz!” she cried. “I see the crystal windowed cottages of Oilean Gairdin. We're here... And oh Fates, why are there weeds everywhere?”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 182