Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

Coel planted his feet and nodded at Spitemorta.

  “Twenty year and you still fail at showing proper deference to a sovereign,” she said. “And what a failure it is, too, when you happen to be the very first person in all history to present himself to the absolute ruler of the entire world.”

  Coel heaved a sigh. “I have some news, I believe...”

  “You've already arranged everything for my week of celebration, I suppose?” she said as if they were discussing the delivery of this week's milk.

  “I'm afraid I assumed King Artamus was alive and well when I walked in, Your Majesty...”

  “Your Omnipotence, General,” she said, clicking her fingernails on the glassy arm of her throne.

  “I must not have gotten that...”

  “Your Omnipotence. That would be a fitting way to address the very first person ever to manage ruling the entire world, don't you think?”

  “Why indeed, but your position may still have its problems. There seem to be Elves walking about in town.”

  “Elves?” she said, sitting up at once.

  “Yea...” he said, interrupted by a pink flash of lightning and an immediate deafening boom that startled both of them. “Yes. Four of them with glamouries of Human [see glossary] ears. Well, their company numbers four. Two local gaffers working with one of Captain Pennoyer's men insist that one of them is the Elven king Neron from the plague days of King Henry, and another one is an expert mercenary tracker by the name of Sulacha, whom he says was with King Hebraun at Cwm Eryr and Ash Fork. And the other two could be Humans for all they know...”

  “Get them,” she said.

  “Certainly, Your...Omnipotence, once I know just what you mean by that.”

  “Kill them. Absolutely. But first I want to know every single thing you can find out before you do. And just why have you allowed them to remain out and about, General?”

  “Now I've paid close attention over the years when you've told me to watch for Elves,” he said, taking the liberty of scratching behind his ear, “but I might be able to do the right thing if I knew why I'm watching. Why are they important, Your Omnipotence?”

  “What have they been doing?”

  “They've merely been seen out and about as far as I know. They've not violated anything...”

  “Go and arrest them,” she said, lifting her chin. “And I want them interrogated.”

  Coel bowed without a word and turned about for the door.

  “Now!” she barked at his back.

  “He has to be impressed,” said Demonica, appearing where Coel had been standing.

  “What?”

  “Well, you have him addressing you as 'Your Omnipotence,' for one thing.”

  Spitemorta rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh as she slumped back into the cushions of her throne and stared out the window at the rain.

  “And I'd say he does have a point, dear. Your exalted position may still have its problems.”

  “So?”

  “Well I see that you are indeed going after your Elves, but if a single one of them survives, their prophesy will be a terminal problem for everything we've taken these years to accomplish.”

  “And that's all that concerns you, isn't it, Grandmother?”

  “What else should I be concerned about, dear?”

  “How about the life of your granddaughter?” she shouted, bolting from her great chair to thrust her livid face at Demonica. “Doesn't the prophecy say that the one who wields the Heart and Staff will be destroyed? That's me. Aren't you one bit concerned about me?”

  “Put that way, not at all,” said Demonica as she ambled up to the throne and had a seat. “Now I could've been before you took my life, but I'm afraid your murdering me simply ruined my concern for your life. And you know very well that you'd feel the same way if we traded places, dear, so there's not much point in your scalded look.” And with that, she vanished.

  “Very well!” shouted Spitemorta in the echoes from the polished reaches of her hall. “Every last Elf first. And when I'm done, I will find the very spell that rids me of you.” She stopped short and held her breath, listening for laughter in the echoes.

  ***

  Neron, Sulacha, Olloo and Obbree had been in Niarg for better than a fortnight, taking a very careful accounting of how things were, and they had been through one perilous encounter after another, until at last they managed to get a detailed parchment of the floor plan of Spitemorta's castle from Captain Strutly, who was still a prisoner of the guard, in spite of his having overseen the castle's construction. They stayed at first one tavern and then another to avoid being figured out by the suspicious. And after a night in the Silver Dragon, across from Fates' Hospital for the Sick, they spent the early morning out and about, dashing in and out of the rain, trying to find out what was in store for the Niarg prisoners who had built the new castle, now that it was finished. Before noon, they returned to the Silver Dragon and were the first guests to find a table in the rambling common room amidst the warm clatter of pans and dishes spilling out of the kitchen with the smell of fresh bread, hog roast and sour cabbage.

  “I saw something down the street,” said Neron, standing up without warning. “I'll be back directly.”

  “Shall we have 'ee a pint ready when you get back?” called out Sulacha.

  Neron paused in the doorway to shake his head. He set off down the street, scattering a flock of pigeons. Over the open door of a shop was a sign that read: “Brokerage,” and directly below it hung another which read: “Sellout Ouzh ar Skinwel.”

  He lunged across a puddle and stepped inside.

  “Morning, sir,” said the one-eyed man in a leather apron. “Dry enough for ye?”

  “No,” said Neron. “I was kind 'o hoping it would rain.”

  The one eyed man heaved a few wheezy squeaks, which was his relentless reply for things he thought his customers offered as funny. “What can I do ye for?” he said.

  “I might be interested in that stone ball,” said Neron, nodding at the skinweler nestled on a velvet pillow on the shelf behind the man.

  “Nope,” said the man with one of his wheezes as he crossed his arms. “I see you never learnt to read. That bottom sign outside says: 'See and hear Empress Spitemorta for free, every morning at ten,' in proper Niarg. And that means it's not for sale.”

  “Yea, I must have been confused. I stepped in here with the silly notion that, 'Sellout ouzh ar skinwel,' meant, 'To watch skinweler,' in proper Headlandish.”

  Just as the one eyed man was remembering his squeaky laugh, Neron smote him with a spell of slumber, buckling his legs and toppling him into the shelves behind him like a sack of potatoes.

  Neron quickly stepped across him, scooped the skinweler into his bag and paused long enough to fold a pouch of gold crowns into the sleeping fellow's hand before stepping back into the street. “Meddling bird,” he muttered. “I don't care if I did leave old One Eye enough to buy a new shop, he might never get his hands on another one of these balls. Confounded Ocker! Thanks to him it'll probably be much better in the long run if no one knows that I have it, which is right unhandy when there couldn't be a better way for me to watch Spitemorta from the New Dragon Caves so that I can help the twins.”

  The sun was coming out as Neron made his way, stepping across the puddles.

  “All it takes to make it smell like spring this time 'o year is a little rain and a little sun,” he thought as he came to the stable where their unicorns were quartered. In the corner stall that held his mount, the bottom timber which rested on the foundation had its heartwood rotted away. He stepped into the stall, gave his unicorn a hurried pat and rolled the skinweler out of sight into the timber. He was back outside at once, making for the Silver Dragon. A heady waft of hog roast in the street greeted him as he stepped through the doorway under the sign with a dragon carved on each side. By now most of the tables were taken, and the room was alive with the sound of dining patrons. Olloo and Obbree had finished eating and were laughing a
t Sulacha's banter with a pretty waitress as he took his seat.

  “Hey!” called a red faced man over the noise in the room from the door of the kitchen with an impatient toss of his head for the waitress.

  “That's nice,” said Sulacha, scooting back his chair. “He didn't even let her take your order. I'll just go ask them to fetch you a pint and a...”

  “Don't,” said Neron, leaning across the table. “That old curse knows me from before the plague. We've gotten far too comfortable out and about. Here. It would be 'way better if you paid instead of me. He probably never even noticed our ears. And pay for our rooms. We'll be outside.”

  Obbree sat on the bench outside the tavern door, thoughtfully packing slices of twist into his toothless mouth as Olloo paced and studied the sky and Neron rolled a loose cobblestone about with the toe of his boot. “She's really let the streets run down...” he said.

  “I paid the old man's wife,” said Sulacha as he appeared. “He wouldn't even talk to me. Something's eating him.”

  “And that means we'd better be getting clean away from here,” said Neron. “You coming, Olloo?”

  “Oh,” said Olloo. “I was just staring at Spitemorta's castle yonder. I've never seen such tall walls, nor any sort of building made of stone, black as coal...”

  “Then it's time we let you all have a closer look,” said a voice from behind Neron, startling everyone as they found themselves blocked by an officer and six pikemen in black tunics with Spitemorta's red hourglass. “Bind them before we start.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Neron politely, “but what is this all about?”

  “Didn't you ones want to see the castle?”

  “We'd be delighted for you all to take the time to show us. But you surely understand our being perplexed by the shackles.”

  “Merely for your safety. You wouldn't want to run away before you get to see the dungeon. I'm Captain Pennoyer, by the way, Imperial Guard. And You?”

  “Arthur Shacknasty at your service. And this is Gawain, my head man,” said Neron as he rattled his chain with a wave at Sulacha. “We run cattle all over Ashmore and most of the lands 'round about.” He nodded at Olloo. “He's Olwen. And the other fellow's Obraith.”

  Pennoyer hesitated as his eyes darted over the four of them. “Kind of seems like I've heard of you,” he said with a shrug. “But it doesn't matter. Folks have been pointing you out, and the empress herself wants to see if you're Elves...”

  Neron threw back his head with a laugh. “Now that would be something,” he said.

  “In our neck of the woods, they claim that every last Elf was killed and eat by her pack of trolls above twenty year ago. We're more likely to turn out to be some of them. Well let's have a look at the castle, if you're still going to show us.”

  “Right this way,” said Pennoyer with a bow, as everyone began to walk.

  “It's certainly impressive,” said Olloo, cheerfully enough. “But I'd swear it has a mood to it that feels like it's brooding.”

  “The empress wouldn't tolerate your saying anything of the kind,” said Pennoyer, “but you're not the first person who's had that to say about it.”

  Arthur, Gawain, Olwen and Obraith traded quick and careful glances.

  ***

  Spitemorta was not in a good mood. She had spent the rest of her morning tramping about the castle, shouting and throwing things at sounds she took for laughter.

  She had just returned to her throne in such a state that she very nearly forgot herself and broke the Staff over one of its arms. “Who knows what that would do,” she said, stopping herself mid swing. “I never get to have the fun I want!” And with that she collapsed onto its cushions.

  She was sprawled there in a very sullen state when Coel came marching up the carpet. “Get out of here!” she shouted in the echoes of her gargoyle pillars. “I don't need your petty news!”

  “Elves,” he hailed, immediately turning square about on his heel and marching for the archway.

  “General!” she shouted. “How dare you walk out on me. What about Elves?”

  He stopped at once and turned about. “Your Omnipotence, Captain Pennoyer has all four of them in the dungeon,” he said, coming back up the carpet.

  “Have they admitted what they are?”

  “They think it's funny...”

  “Then I see that you've not cut off any fingers yet.”

  “Well, the lord amongst them calls himself Arthur of the house of Shacknasty on Ashmore. He claims that he may well have the largest herd of cattle in the old kingdom of Niarg. He seems like a nice fellow...”

  “Fools!” she said, raising her chin.

  “Do you want to question him?”

  “Go find Treth, the tax assessor,” she said, pushing herself upright with her elbows. “Ask him if he knows of any Shacknastys. And before you go find him, I want you to deliver a message to Arthur Shacknasty.”

  “I'm listening.”

  “Go to the kitchen and get the largest meat cleaver they have. Then I want you to take off Arthur's right hand just above the wrist. It's a message from Demonica. He'll know exactly what it means.”

  Chapter 178

  In spite of what Laora had been so certain of those years ago, Abaddon and Toast were not bonded at all, but instead grew up together being the very closest of friends.

  Abaddon's bond was the Elven heart bond he shared with Ariel, and though it made their hearts beat as one, it also bound him to whatever her fate might be as she prepared herself for the day she was to fulfill the Elven Prophesy. While he waited, he spent the years flying the Black Desert with Toast, hunting game and endlessly watching for Spitemorta.

  One of their favorite patrols was the Altan Ollmhor, a mile and a half deep gorge which was cut across the foothills of the Machlud Mountains by the Wraith River as it ran from the alpine Powlen Oer to the Dread Sea.

  They set out in the cloudless blue sky of early morning for Altan Ollmhor. It was a very long way from the New Dragon Caves, so they knew that they would have to fly without hunting the entire way if they were to get there in time to do the things they wanted. The mountains rose to meet them as they flew, changing from white peaks which might be clouds beyond the horizon to a looming rocky barrier on the far side of the great crack of gorge which ran across the barren countryside.

  “Hey Abaddon,” said Toast as she quit beating her wings to ride the updraughts from the gorge. “There's our lookout.”

  Abaddon craned for a look as they swept out over the river, a good mile and a half below, and circled back over the table flat rocks of the lookout.

  “Well if you're not going to say anything, I'm landing,” she said. She swooped down at once for a trot to a halt across the rocks.

  Abaddon hopped off at a run with his bow and his bag and walked to the edge to peer out across the sheer walls of the gorge as Toast gave herself a thorough ruffling shake.

  “Ready?” she said, letting one of her flight feathers slip out of her teeth with a snap.

  “For what?”

  “A dive over the edge so we can drop like a rock all the way down to the river, for starters. And I promise I'll slow down enough for you before we hit the water. And a good long swim and maybe even a water fight for old time's sake.”

  Abaddon looked away into the breeze. “Nope,” he said, tapping at a tooth. “You go. I'll just sit down right here.”

  “That's no fun. Why?”

  “I'd be pure blue gooseflesh.”

  “Yuck, Abby! I hate bruised meat. Besides, you don't have to act like a goose. I already told you I'd slow down...”

  Abby rolled his eyes. “I mean I'll freeze on the way back, all wet, up there where you like to fly,” he said.

  “Go on! You'll have time to get dry. I'll have to go through all my feathers while they dry before I ever can make it all the way back up here.”

  Abaddon was shaking his head.

  “Very well,” she said, walking up to the edge. “Jus
t be a big poop if you must.

  Just make sure you're a-sitting right there when I get back up here. Don't make me hunt all over for you.”

  Abaddon nodded.

  With a huff, Toast turned and dove for the river.

  Abaddon crawled to the edge and peered after until he could only guess that she had reached the water. He sat up on his haunches and looked around. “Ha!” he thought, freezing where he was for a moment. “A spoon-eared blackrabbit. And another one.” He began easing over to his bow. After a small eternity, he loosed an arrow, dropping one of them. He was off at once after the other one, between the scattered agaves along the rim of the gorge.

  It turned out to be four of them. He was just dressing the last one when Toast appeared. “Want one?” he said, holding up one of the heads by the ear.

  “Oh good,” she said, grabbing up the head. “Don't mind if I do. That bath made me hungry. I had a fish, but it got away. So you're not mad at me or anything then, aye?”

  “Mad? Where'd you get that idea?”

  Toast smashed the head with a rock. “Sometimes it's hard to tell when you don't talk much...” she said, watching him as she set aside her rock and twisted off her first bite.

  Abaddon yanked out the last rabbit's entrails to fling them into the gorge.

  “Wait Abby! I want those, especially the kidneys...”

  “Here,” he said, without looking up.

  “It’s Ariel, isn't it?”

  Abaddon turned away with a sigh.

  “Isn't it?”

  “It's coming, don't ye know,” he said, squeezing shut his eyes and shaking his head. “Someday before long and nobody knows when. And she and Daniel spend all their time...”

  “And it's tearing you up, isn't it?”

  “And if she goes off and dies somewhere, it'll just...”

  Suddenly she had her feathered arms around him. And she was certain that she felt the shudder of a sob the moment he pulled away. “Abby,” she said. “She loves you.

  You know she does.”

  “Of course!” he said, keeping his back to her. “And she's a hopeless thrall of the Prophesy. I hate the idiot Elven Prophesy! We'd be married by now. But there's no way that will ever happen until it's all over. And that's if she lives. If she lives.”