Monday, September 26, 2016

Minuet Sees King Hebraun off to Battle

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"Begging your pardon, sire," said Dunvel as he shifted from foot to foot, "but shouldn't we be on our way?"
"Polite all at once are we?" said Hebraun without bothering to look at him. Presently Minuet swept back into the room with Herio, who was now completely composed and wearing some of Lukus's old clothes. She took her seat immediately as she guided Herio to stand right beside her. She took up Hebraun's hand and squeezed it. They held each other's eyes for several heartbeats of understanding and then turned as one to look at Dunvel.
Hebraun rose from his throne without a word and drew Minuet up to stand beside him. He nodded ever so slightly at his guards before fixing his eyes on Dunvel.
"See him to the courtyard and wait for me there," he said as they stepped up to surround Dunvel.
Dunvel shamelessly flung a conceited look at Herio as he turned to go.
Hebraun spared a kindly glance at Herio and then took both of Minuet's hands and looked into her eyes. "I love you more than words can tell," he said.
"And I love you," she said as they squeezed hands.
Hebraun stepped smartly from the dais with her, as Herio scrambled to follow, out into the courtyard where the guards waited with Dunvel.
He paused by Vindicator, his huge white march streiciwr brenhinol stallion unicorn and kissed Minuet farewell. He quickly found his stirrup, threw his leg over his mount and looked down at Herio. "I need you to stay here to protect the queen."
Herio drew himself up and nodded fiercely as Minuet drew him to her side.
"Besides," said Hebraun as he gave a beady-eyed nod at Dunvel, "You might want to testify when that thing has its trial."
Herio's eyes flashed as he nodded and stood proudly beside his queen.
Hebraun shared one last gaze with Minuet then urged his great white unicorn to the gate and vanished. Herio turned aside to see Minuet's eyes brimming with tears as she stood Stone_Heart_Cover_for_Kindletall and proud, making her way back to her duties. He trailed along beside her after pausing to see Dunvel being led away to some place fitting. Herio's face firmed in resolve. That goblin would share his brother's fate if he had any say in the matter.
Ch. 47, Stone Heart


Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps

Friday, September 23, 2016

Who Are the Elves?



Elf woman in a magical forest
Elf woman in a magical forest

ElvesHomo sapiens ginkgoliberiensis R., area race of humans indigenous to the Maidenhair Woods of the Eternal Mountains of the Eastern Continent, characterized
Beautiful male elf in the magic forest. Fantasy. Fairy tale, magic.
by ivory colored skin, eyes with various colors of irises highlighted with opalescent flashesAn Elf who is 240 years old has the biological maturity of a Human [In our writing, 'Human' is a race of human] of about seventeen. therefore, one can multiply the equivalent number of Human years by (240/17) to find how old he would be as an Elf. Elves haveDarkness, 3d CGannual birthdays as we do, but they also celebrate their "naming day" every 14.1 years. An Elf's seventh naming day has particular importance and is celebrated on his 99th birthday.

Up until a millennium ago all Elves spoke Old Gwaelic Elven and lived on the western forestneanderthal_660pxslopes of the Eternal Mountains, with most of them living in or near the village of Baile Gairdin. At that time, nocturnal raids by Gwaelic trolls, Homo neanderthalensis gwaelii R., known to them as Marfora Siofra, drove nearly all of them across the Orin Ocean to the Jutland Woods of the Northern Continent where they live to this day, speaking a nearly unchanged version of their ancestral tongue called Jutish Elven. A handful of Elves stayed behind on the Eastern Continent to flee across the mountains, far out into the table flat grasslands of the Great Strah to a greatULURU rock they named Carraig Faire, which kept them out of the reach of the great predatory strike falcons living there. In time, their way of speaking changed entirely into
beautiful elf girl. fantasy young woman in woods

a new language known today as Gwaelic Elven.
Elves play an important role in each of the books of The Heart of the Staff which are now Elf_Killers_Cover_for_Kindlein print: Good Sister, Bad Sister, The Collector Witch, Stone Heart The Burgeoning and The Reaper Witch They remain important in the final book of the series, Doom. The Elven exodus occurs a millennium earlier in Elf Killers.
Heart of the Staff Complete Series Box (1)








Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Who is Yann-Ber?

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Yann-Ber is born a prince, the eldest son of Azenor of the House of Dark, the emperor of Head (Pennvro) and the Dark Empire. He is a bright and prodigal child, doted upon by hisMeeting-Place-Nov03-D4267sAR father and destined to sit on the throne. He grows into a dashing and handsome young man who marries Princess Yuna of the House of Egg (Vi), who by astonishing luck happens to be his childhood sweetheart. Mere weeks into his marriage, the sorceress Demonica casts a spell on him, taking him away from her.
castles_fortress_rock_the_hill_castle_on_10_desktop_1920x1080_hd-wallpaper-489720Demonica is shrewd and ruthless, an heiress of a vast fortune in mines. For generations, she has manipulated the throne of the Dark Empire from the shadows by providing ships, arms or mercenary armies at opportune moments, keeping it perpetually indebted to her. She marries Yann-Ber hoping to eventually sit on the throne.
In spite of his dependency upon her, Azenor fears Demonica and disinherits Yann-Ber. Demonica regards Yann-Ber with cruel disdain from that moment on. She eventually catches him with another woman and casts a crippling spell of boils upon him, and sends him out on desperate forays to find the Great Staff of Power. He eventually locates it in Stone Heart, only to have her reward him by promising that he will die after another year of horrible torment from the spell.
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Yann-Ber sets out for Niarg at once to find the wizard Razzmorten. Perhaps he can undo her curse.
Stone_Heart_Cover_for_Kindle






Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps

Friday, September 16, 2016

Troll Attack!



NNeanderthal
imagesOn the eve of their exodus from the Eastern Continent in Elf Killers, a party of young Elves is ambushed...
Aedan glanced up the tall trunks as a breeze chased through the treetops and died away amongst the echoes of the bellbirds. "Make sure that each one of the kids has a nice wet ball of sphagnum on the seedlings, if you would, Oísín," he said as he sank into the ferns to sit on his heels. He watched as each young Elf dutifully opened his vasculum in turn for Oísín's inspection.
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"All that's left of the sunlight is 'way up in the treetops," said Oísín with a nod. "You reckon it's still safe to try for the blue maidenhair at the summit?"
"I was hoping for all four kinds," said Aedan, as he ran his hands through his hair. "Looks like I let the time slip away. Listen! Hear that purple-rib, yonder?"
"Sure do..."
"Well, he thinks it's a-getting dark..." he said, suddenly looking about for a muffled snap in the leaves.
"Oouyuyf!" bellowed a troll covered with black and red ochre hand prints, as he took a sudden tramp out of the pawpaw leaves to run a spear under Aedan's collarbone and out his back.
Neanderthal"Run!" cried Oísín as he loosed an arrow into the troll, sending it staggering about to stumble and fall as the wide-eyed young Elves scrambled to their feet and vanished into the woods. Trolls were starting to appear everywhere. As quick as he could manage, he loosed four or five more arrows, striking one of them and scattering the others. He dropped to his knees where Aedan lay on his side in the ferns.
"Go!" grunted Aedan, blowing blood off his lips.
"Here..." said Oísín, starting to scoop him up.
gall7a"No!" coughed Aedan. "They'll get you if you even try. I'm gone. Go! Save the kids! Damn it! Do it!"
Oísín jerked up at a waft of wind by his ear in time to see a huge rock land and roll through the leaves beyond him. He was on his feet at once, wheeling 'round with his drawn bow to find two trolls about to run him through with a spear. He loosed his arrow
at once, killing the one with the spear as the other one fled out of sight. "I can still carry
you, Aedan!" he cried.
"Get out of here! Please!"
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Oísín was immediately underway, batting aside branches. "We'll never forget you!" he hollered as he hurtled out of the brush to take huge bounding strides down the side of a steep hogback.
The troll tramped to a halt beside Aedan and pummeled his chest with his fists. "Ooot-ooot, ooot-ooot, ooot-ooot," he cried with a look of crazed triumph, slinging spittle from the black and red ochre paint on his face. "Gnydy!"
whippoorwill00"Ay-ooo," sang out Gnydy, planting his spear with a fierce nod of his cap of mud caked hair as he appeared on the far side of Aedan. He jabbed the point of his spear into Aedan's thigh, drawing blood. "Should-we hair-drag the grabup-squeaker, Dyr?" he said as he licked the blood off his spearpoint.
"You-want to haul-meat both-ways?" said Dyr with a beetle-browed glare, as a purple-rib took up calling nearby. "We'll-quarter him on the way-back.
"Should-we stamp-him to heads-mash?"
"Nobe mudful hollowhead. Let-him gurgle-bleed to cold-meat. There-go all-the Dyrny-brutes. Let'sgo."
tumblr_m70z19kVtb1qa3hrwo1_400Aedan listened to the trolls tramp away through the leaves. "Damn this!" he thought as he squeezed shut his eyes. "I loved my life..." Suddenly he opened his eyes at the sound of light four footed walking in the leaves, making straight for him. "Niall!"
The deer like unicorn slowed to hesitant steps and lowered his head for a careful sniff.
"I may be out of time, but I have this minute," he said, wincing with pain at his attempt to pat Niall's muzzle. "If I can get up onto your back, we're going back to camp to show them what the Marfora Siofra did to me and to have them try to find Oísín and the children. And even if I don't make it, you'll get me there."
Though Niall understood not one word of this, he would soon know what to do, for he was a terraing pictiúr, a picture catcher unicorn. Difficult as it was with all his pain, Aedan managed to clear his mind enough to picture Niall lying down in order for him tomount. At once, Niall lay down before him, patiently waiting for him to get on. Crying out from the horrible pain, Aedan heaved himself onto his knees, where he steadied himself long enough to cough blood down his front before throwing his leg across him. He had a long struggle to keep from passing out before he could manage to picture Niall
rising to his feet. Niall got up at once, but it was an eternity of fighting down the pain
from the jostling before Aedan could manage to picture the camp. At last they were
underway.
Elf_Killers_Cover_for_Kindle




Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Wizard Razzmorten Helps Lay Plans

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"King Neron's message globe is stunning," said Captain Bernard from under his bushy brow as he tossed a wide-eyed look at Razzmorten. "I've heard tell, but I've never before seen the like."
Razzmorten gave a polite but sober nod.
"This is bad news for the Elves," said Bernard as he began pacing about the room, "I mean, this is plain bad news altogether. There'll be a lot more Elves die over this, sure
enough, but I can think of two things right now which are bad for us. Oilean Gairdin and
Jutland may be all Elves, but it's on us. They're part of Niarg, so if Spitemorta and
Demonica sent the trolls in there, they've just attacked us. And the other thing is, by
doing so they look like they could very well be trying to get us to divide our army in order
to make it easy for them to attack Niarg proper." He paused to look at Minuet, who was
studying him keenly, smiling in a way that seemed to be covering up a smoldering flame.
Razzmorten was not letting on. Minuet ran the flat of her hand over the table top, then
looked up, ready to hear more.
"I'm sure that King Hebraun would have the same thing to say," he said as he shifted the hilt of his saber and resumed pacing. "It is obvious, after all. And he'd waste no time sending out a strike force, particularly if Prince Lukus and his family are having to flee..."
"So is it your opinion then, Captain," said Razzmorten, "that Spitemorta and Demonica are indeed doing this in order to strike Niarg?"
"Well sir, everything certainly looks that way. I'd even say so beyond any doubt whatsoever, except that I simply can't imagine what they're going to use for an army. My
word! We slew well neigh thirteen thousand of them at Ashmore, and you said yourself,
my Queen," he said, turning to her with a nod, "that there was narrowly a man between
six 'n' ten and sixty to be seen out and about when you scryed Goll."
"Yes," said Minuet, standing up at once with a slap of the table top to begin pacing her own 220px-Woman_redhead_natural_portrait_1tight circle beside the one Bernard had been following. "It seems obvious that you are indeed onto something, Captain, and I can certainly guess what they're going to use as an army. We may have slain theirs, but we have not done a single thing to cripple them magically. If we send troops to aid Oilean Gairdin, she's very likely to make a magical strike against Niarg."
"Oh, they could be all set to launch a magical attack if we send aid to the Elves," said Razzmorten with a screech of his chair on the stone floor, "and it sure seems like they'd have to be, particularly if we're thinking in terms of armies, but..."
"'If we're thinking in terms of armies?' What else would we possibly be thinking in terms of?" said Minuet. "What better time would there be for a magical strike against Niarg than when we have sent away a substantial part of our army?"
"Oh, there would indeed be no better time if Goll were actually using an army," he said asthe-alchemist he removed his spectacles and fogged their lenses with his breath. "But if they wanted to cripple Niarg with a magical strike, they would want to destroy as much of our army as they could with one blow, so they'd want us all right here."
"But why wouldn't they want to get us and the Elves together when we went to their aid?" said Minuet as she took a seat next to him.
"Because it would leave us able to launch a retaliatory strike with the troops which stayed here," boomed Bernard as he found the chair across from the two of them and sat with a rattle of chain mail.
"Then we need to be moving!" said Minuet with a fiery tone.
Razzmorten nodded and looked over his spectacles at Bernard.
"I'll call the troops and we'll be underway before first light," he said with a decisive nod, The_Burgeoning_Cover_for_Kindleslapping the table with his gauntlet as he rose and tramped out the door.
Ch. 12, The Burgeoning



Monday, September 12, 2016

Yann-Ber Meets Rotten Mouth



Yann-Ber awoke stiff and cold amongst a forest of rotted barrel staves beside the middenstead of a tavern. He was surprised that he had fallen asleep whiling away the afternoon. Moving around was arduous, so when he had felt that he was where it would be convenient to be after dark, he had sat down to spend his time until nightfall. It was now fully dark and the waning moon gave very little light, but that was to his liking. He struggled painfully to his feet and slowly found his way around to the front of the tavern where he hoped to find leads to the wizard.
He stood in the shadows near enough to the street that he could make out the name, "Black Dragon" on the sign bearing a relief carving of a dragon that hung out over the street in front of the door.In a short time that seemed like a small eternity to him, one of the patrons staggered out into the street. There was no doubt that the man was quite drunk.
DSC03671.JPG.opt388x631o0,0s388x631"Good sir!" called out Yann-Ber, as he limped out of the shadows. "I was wondering if you could tell me where I might be able find this fellow I'm a-looking for?"
The drunk stopped short and swayed as he squinted into the darkness. "Well, doggone it!" he called out, as he jerked at his own posture. "Who the ding-dong blazes is there? Show yourself and maybe I can."
"Sir," said Yann-Ber, coming closer. "There's a fellow, maybe you could help me find..."
"Well, damn!" declared the drunk in a tone that sounded like recognition. "Damned if you don't sound like someone who just got off the boat from Head. Now Head! You don't say. So, you're from Head?"
"Actually I am. You're quite observant." Yann-Ber had started to hide his face with his hood, but now he could see that the fellow was in such a condition that he wouldn't be having problems with appearances. "My name is John. John James. I'm right sorry to trouble..."
"Hey. Now tell me. Are you from Head?"
"Yes, as I said..."
"Really? You're from Head? Well damn."
"Yes, I just..."
"You got a funny name for a Headlander. John?" The drunk was now steadying himself with a fist full of Yann-Ber's sleeve. "Hunh! John James. Ought to be Padrig or Remont. Hey, how come you ain't Jakez?"
"Very well, you're right, I could be called Yann Jakez in Head, but right now I'm searching for a wizard by the name of Razzmorten..."
"Whoa! Now you don't fool around...Jakez. Now you just go right to the top."
"Well, I'd certainly like to. I understand Razzmorten lives in Niarg, but I have no idea where. Have you any idea, good sir?"
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The drunk grabbed Yann-Berr's other sleeve as well. "Hain't nobody here 'bouts who don't know whoRazzmorten be," he cackled through rotten teeth with breath that would have scared the old sow.
"Then," said Yann-Berr, when he dared breathe again, "you know where I might find him?"
"Ah! Well sir," said the drunk, reaching under his filthy shirt to scratch his sallow melon of a belly, "been having a hard time thinking straight without a dram or a pint, you know. Scarcely knew which way home was when I came out here..."
"That's not hard to imagine, Rotten Mouth," thought Yann-Ber. "So then," he said, speaking out grandly. "How would a pint inside suit your memory?" He glanced at the door of the Black Dragon and wondered if they could make it in to a dark corner without the clean and proper going crazy at the sight of them. Rotten Mouth was already happily staggering his way back into the tavern.
old_medieval_wino_metal_star_by_duster132-d4il9yeRotten Mouth found a table in a far corner at once. Directly an obese tavern maid came by, squinting at them as though she'd prefer dealing with the pair of them at the end of a manure fork, but she took their order adroitly and returned right away with two pints of light dry mead. Rotten Mouth seized his and guzzled it half down before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and speaking: "Razzmorten is the king's father-in-law. He lives in the tallest tower of Castle Niarg."
Yann-Ber immediately slid his mead across the table to Rotten Mouth and stood up, carefully adjusting his hood before wending his way out. Outside the doorway, the wind had picked up, rocking the tavern's sign. Dry leaves skittered along the street. He remembered seeing the castle due west in the daylight. He made straight for it in the darkness, determined not to let his tortured legs so much as pause until he got there.
Stone_Heart_Cover_for_KindleYann-Ber meets Rotten Mouth in Ch 8 of Stone Heart, third book of The Heart of the Staff.





Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps

Friday, September 9, 2016

King James's Escape



"Fates! What was that?" said James with a moan, as he sat bolt upright. "Oh bell tolls from the Pit! Probably something going off in my stupid, stinking head. Why sit up, anyway? There's not a thing I can ever see, even when I bump into it." He reached for the familiar itchy place on his scalp, which had just lately gotten gooey, and found it unexpectedly painful. He lay back with his hand over the spot to keep the filthy straws from poking it. "Mmmm! It throbs just lying down. Why, oh why doesn't Spitemorta just execute me...?"
"Mercy no, King James! Fates forbid it...!"
"Damn!" cried James with a wail, not knowing in the least whether he was delirious or whether some speaking something had gotten into his cell with him. 
"Sire! Your eyes are mattered shut," said the young soldier, nodding at another to come forth with a torch, as he knelt to peer into James's face. "I'm Owain, I was..."
"Yes!" cried James as he accidentally broke into sobs. "You brought me that nice supper, didn't you! You're the one, right? You've got to be...!"
"I am! I said I'd be back. I'm terrible sorry hit took so long..."
"Yes. I see you do have a light...I mean through my lids..."
"Well we had a delay, ye might say. We found one amongst us who was a stinker, a traitor, if ye know what I mean, a loyalist to the queen. We had to carry on very careful Hit took us a right smart number of days to be safe. Here sire, let me help you up."
"You've come for me then?"
"Why absolutely. I gave ye my word, sire."
"Certainly..." he said, breaking into sobs all over again. "Oh forgive me! I'm not acting like much of a sovereign..."
"Why, you've run clean out of hope, is what. Anybody would, slow as I am, if ye know what I mean, sire."
"I'm just so very, very grateful."
"Easy, Your Majesty...Here. Take his other arm, Llewyrch. He's right wobbledy.
"Well as I was saying, there was one amongst us who was a-spying for Spitemorta. She never did find out that he was, but he was fixing for to wheedle his way into her good graces, the best he could."
"He's as big a fool as I was," said James, trying to steady himself. "Spitemorta has no good graces."
"You're no fool sire, but she certainly has no good graces," said Owain as he and Llewyrch carefully helped James to the door. "Anyway, as I was a-saying, we caught him attempting to take her news of our plans to get you out of this dungeon. Well. We pinned him down last night and the varmint confessed everything. There's 'way more to the story than that , but..."
"What will keep him from going to her behind your backs if you already can't trust him?" said James.
"Oh he won't have a chance. Ol' Culwch (that's his name, by the way) won't be bothering a soul."
"You killed him?"
"Nay. Not yet. I guess you don't have your eyes open yet..."
"I haven't tried. They've felt like they had sand in them and I couldn't see anything anyway, so..."
"Well, we got Culwch standing right before ye, all blindfolded, gagged and tied up. There are five more of us here to keep him pointed the right way, and we're going to make him nice and comfortable in your old cell. Won't take but a minute."
James heard some scuffling and a muffled yell before the groan of hinges, a heavy bang and the rattle and jingle of hasp, lock and keys behind him. He felt light and giddy, but there was no way he could stay on his feet. As his knees buckled, he felt Owain, Llewyrch and the others grab him up to haul him hurriedly down the corridor, up several flights of gritty stone steps and outside for a good way in the gloriously fresh air of early dawn. A rooster crowed. He could smell unicorn manure and hay. Somebody was cooking breakfast, maybe egg in a hole. He felt like singing. "I'll thank the Fates for the privilege of being allowed to enjoy this world, every single day," he thought.
"Oh, that's right good advice for each and every one of us, Your Majesty," said Owain with a grunt, right at his ear.
"My word! Have I lost track of when I'm speaking?"
"You're a-having your first joy in quite a spell, sire. I'd speak out too, and that's a fact."  
At last they carefully stepped through a narrow door with him into some other building. They set him down. "Here sire." said Owain as he carefully took James's hand and put his fingertips into some warm water. "What do you think of that? If that's about right, we'll get those filthy rags off you and Pryderi here will give ye a proper bath. He's a barber and a healer, and he's right good."
"Oh, it's perfect..."
"Now, there ain't no women around sire," said Llewyrch. "Let's get your shirt."
Soon James was in bath water up to his chin. "Do you object to Elf medicine, Your Majesty?" said Pryderi as he carefully examined James's head.
"Not in the least. It was Spitemorta who tried to pin the sukere burning on the Elves, not I."
"Well I have something that'll put you right quicker than anything I know of, but it's the bitterest thing you'll ever have in your mouth. You need to chew it up real fine and swallow every bit," said Pryderi as he put a black twist of leaves to James's lips.
"Mercy! I'll say!" said James after a couple of thoughtful chews. "It makes my tongue and mouth feel like old dry wood."
"Oh, it's just got started, sire. Just keep a-chewing. Try not to bite your tongue. It's called aquilaria. It's very difficult to come by. My grandfather found out about it from an Elf called Talamh Coille Graham, right before he was murdered by a witch known to the Elves as Bailitheoir Cailli. Ever hear of her?"
"I'm afraid so. She was Spitemorta's real mother. I had no idea when I married her."
"My word!" said Pryderi, falling silent for a time before resuming: "Well, the Elves's name for aquilaria is sláinte ollmhór. How's it doing?"
"Makes wormwood seem like something sweet. You're sure that I'm not turning into some kind of stump?"
"You don't have to worry about that, but I'm going to have to cut your hair. It's nothing but a filthy mat of snarls and nits. Now before I do, lay your head back here so that I can put a poultice of aquilaria, eyebright, goldenseal root, rue and fennel on your eyes. When I get your hair cut, I'm going to put burdock root and dandelion root on this awful festered sore on your head. If it doesn't dry up in a few days, someone will have to put a hot iron to it."
After a while, James found himself dressed in fresh plain wool and linen clothes, and able to partly open one eye as he sat in a chair, pressing a poultice against his face. "Do I smell food?" he said as he took down the sopping wet muslin and tried to use his eyes.
"The board is set for you in the next room," said Owain as he peered into his face. "Can you see to get there, or do you need help?"
"Let me try," he said as he stood and slowly shuffled to the next room, navigating with the flaming red slit of one eye. He paused as Llewyrch drew back his chair. "My! This is wonderful!" He took his place at the head of a sumptuous table of plain fare: roast chickens, cabbage and carrots, buttered squash, hot brown bread and heaping saucers of cottage cheese and honey. A dainty old lady whisked up and poured him a cup o' tea. "My word! Each of you, please, please have a seat and eat with me. And please don't be so formal. You will always be my friends." He spread wide his arms and bowed his head.
Never had a meal tasted so heavenly to James. At last he wiped his mouth and sat back. Just as he picked up his poultice to daub his eyes again, in came the little old lady with a steaming hot apple pie. She set it down before him and cut him a big piece. Suddenly he grabbed her by the waist and gave her a squeeze as tears ran down his cheeks. "My wonderful, wonderful friends!" he said.
"We are right honored to serve you, Your Majesty," said Owain.
"I am indeed grateful beyond anything I'm capable of putting into words," said James, "but you all are taking an unbelievable risk. The longer I'm here, the more peril you'll be in. I should be getting away immediately, but I've no idea how that would even be possible with Spitemorta and Demonica and their spies everywhere."
"This be the perfect time, sire," said Owain as he shared a look with Pryderi. "They've got all their attention on the birth of the new babe... Oh my stars! I apologize, sire! We neglected to tell ye that your queen bore a baby girl."
"Wasn't there another child?"
"There certainly was," said Owain with an anxious glance each way, "but he was stillborn, much as I hate bearing you such news. And worse yet, Spitemorta was so blithering furious over it all that she up and killed the midwife and all the attending help cleaning up the birth."
By now James had both eyes open.
"They keep saying she used some kind of witch's power to stop all their hearts," said Llewyrch. "And lots of folks reckon that she did indeed do it from different things people have seen. Do you suppose she actually did, sire?"
"Oh very possibly. Did you hear me tell Pryderi that she is Bailitheor Cailli's own daughter? Brutelee and Bee secretly adopted her."
"Well, we're right sorry we had to be the ones to tell ye, Your Majesty," said Owain. "But now, that's a piece of news about Spitemorta's dam."
"I appreciate your courage," said James.
"Thank you, sire," said Owain. "Anyway, we figure tonight's the night to get ye out of here. The servants think Spitemorta will be laid up for at least a week, and not only that, Demonica seems to have quite vanished, and no one has the slightest idea where she's gone off to."
"Then tonight's the night," said James. "But I'll say this: you need to keep a right sharp eye out for Demonica every single moment, because she reappears just as suddenly as she vanishes."
"We've heard the like," said Owain with a solemn nod. "We'll be as careful as we can be. And if ye don't mind my saying so sire, nobody's ever seen you with a beard. Maybe you should keep it for a while."
"Suits me, my dear fellows," said James as he stretched wide a bushy red-eyed grin.
 ***
On the eve of Queen Spitemorta's campaign to take over the world, King James is caught by her and her grandmother Demonica, tortured and imprisoned in the fetid blackness of Castle Goll's dungeon. He and his rescuers flee into the Gollmore countryside to join the Elves in their flight to the Wilderlands in Chapter 19 of The Burgeoning.

Have you ever experienced sudden hope after all was lost? Please tell us about it.

Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps