The Wyvern's Spur

by Kate Novak

  As Giogi emerged from the fields of rye, the sun was no more than half a palm’s width from the horizon, and the air was already turning chill. The path wound down into the valley of the Immer Stream. The noble kept up a quick pace to keep warm, but as he approached the northern bank of the stream he was forced to proceed more cautiously. The trail grew marshy, and he picked his way from one tuft of dry grass to the next. His boots were reasonably waterproof, but he didn’t want to arrive at Aunt Dorath’s looking a mess.

  Finally, after a long period of testing footfalls and doubling back, he reached the footbridge that crossed the stream. To the west of the trail, the Immer Stream flowed down from the hill dedicated to Selune. To the south of the stream, the trail climbed onto drier ground and up to Redstone Castle, ancestral home of the Wyvernspurs.

  Just as Giogi clomped onto the bridge, a fine white strand of something whipped out in front of him. With a shriek the nobleman leaped backward with visions of giant spiders and a sudden irrational belief in the curse of the wyvern’s spur. The white strand was not followed by others, though, giving Giogi the opportunity to clutch his chest in relief and spot the silhouette of a man on the southern shore.

  “Cole?” the silhouette gasped. “No, of course not. It’s Giogioni, isn’t it? You gave me a fright, boy. Looked for a moment just like your old man in that getup.”

  Giogi squinted in the gloomy light. The sun had nearly set, but he could make out the tall, broad form of a man on the far bank. The man’s erect stance and bearing reflected a military background. His dark hair was short and just beginning to gray at the temples. He had a warm, perfect smile, which set Giogi at ease. “Sudacar? Samtavan Sudacar, is that you? What are you doing out here?”

  “Getting in a little casting. Sorry about the line. My technique’s gotten a little rusty over the winter.” Sudacar tugged at the string hanging from his fishing rod until it slipped off the footbridge and into the water with a small splash. As he jerked the line through the water, tiny minnows chased after the lure.

  Giogi crossed the bridge and picked his way along the south bank until he stood beside Samtavan Sudacar, the man appointed by none other than King Azoun himself to defend Immersea, dispense the king’s justice, keep the peace, and, of course, collect taxes. “Taking a break from your pressing administrative duties, eh?” Giogi asked.

  Sudacar snorted. “Keeping out of Culspiir’s way is more like it. Behind every local lord, my boy, is a trained herald making him look good. As long as I keep delegating authority to Culspiir, I’ll be a great success at this job.” Sudacar continued casting, watching his lure all the while.

  “Why isn’t Culspiir the local lord, then?” Giogi asked meekly.

  “If he had my job, who would we get to do his job?”

  “Good point,” Giogi admitted.

  “Besides, Culspiir never slew a giant.”

  “Is that a prerequisite for your job?”

  “Got to make a name for yourself at court. Slew a frost giant that was terrorizing merchants in Gnoll Pass. That’s how I got into politics—a service like that has to be recognized officially.”

  Giogi nodded in agreement, though he knew not all the other members of his family felt the same way.

  Samtavan Sudacar had not been born to nobility, nor was he a native of Immersea. Nonetheless, King Azoun had named Sudacar Lord of Immersea when that position fell vacant by the death of Giogi’s father’s cousin, Lord Wohl Wyvernspur. Wohl’s son, Frefford, had still been a boy, so the family had accepted Sudacar graciously enough. They’d even invited the middle-aged bachelor to make his home with them in Redstone Castle.

  When Frefford reached majority, though, His Majesty hadn’t assigned the young Wyvernspur to the post. That’s when Aunt Dorath had begun to consider Sudacar not just an upstart, but an interloper and a usurper as well. Giogi knew, though, that Frefford had been secretly relieved. Aunt Dorath and Cousin Steele had taken the most offense. Pride and loyalty to the king prohibited the family’s asking Sudacar to leave Redstone. When Giogi had left Immersea last spring, an uneasy truce had existed between the Wyvernspurs of Redstone Castle and the Lord of Immersea.

  Giogi, since he chose to live in town instead of at the castle, had never really gotten to know Sudacar very well. They didn’t travel in the same circles. Now, though, Giogi realized, he had to learn something more about Sudacar. “If you’re from Suzail originally,” he asked, “how did you know my father?”

  “Cole? Met him at court a few times. Slew his share of giants, your father did.”

  “He did?” Giogi asked with surprise. His father had died when Giogi was only eight, so he hadn’t known him very well. But he was certain no one had ever mentioned that Cole had slain giants.

  “Served His Majesty with honor, like generations of your family before him,” Sudacar said, pulling his dripping line from the water and adjusting it behind his back.

  “Aunt Dorath told me he was a trade envoy.”

  “He might have been that as well,” Sudacar said, whipping the line out over the stream again.

  “As well? As well as what?”

  “He was a warrior adventurer. Your aunt never told you that?”

  “No,” Giogi admitted. Loyally, he added, “It must have slipped her mind.”

  Sudacar snorted. “Wouldn’t have considered that a proper occupation for a Wyvernspur, would she? I’m surprised Drone never mentioned it.”

  So was Giogi, though he did not say so aloud.

  Drone Wyvernspur was Giogi’s great-aunt Dorath’s cousin and therefore Giogi’s first cousin twice removed, but out of respect and affection, Giogi called him Uncle Drone. When Giogi’s mother had died a year after her husband, Aunt Dorath had taken care of Giogi, but Uncle Drone had been assigned the task of completing the masculine aspects of Giogi’s education. An unmarried wizard of sedentary habits, Uncle Drone had not exactly been the most useful source of information about women, hunting, or horses.

  Drone knew a good deal, though, about wine and gambling, and something of politics and religion, and, armed with this learning, Giogi usually managed to hold his own in taverns and after-dinner conversations. The wizard had told Giogi plenty of stories about his mother, Bette, and her father, the carpenter, even though Aunt Dorath had never approved of Cole’s wife’s family. Why, though, Giogi wondered, hadn’t Uncle Drone told me Cole was an adventurer?

  “Would you care to walk back to Redstone with me?” he asked Sudacar, hoping to hear more about his father, something he could confront Uncle Drone with.

  The lord shook his head. “Everything’s at sixes and sevens up there. Culspiir and I offered our assistance, but your Aunt Dorath as much as told us to keep our noses out of Wyvernspur business. She doesn’t want an interloper like me involved. I’ll tucker in at the Five Fine Fish and creep back to the castle in the small hours. Safer for all involved that way.”

  “Oh.” Disappointed, Giogi stood beside Sudacar, racking his head for something else to say to keep the conversation going. His wits failed him, as they were wont to do, so he stood wordlessly beside Sudacar as the shadows lengthened. Sudacar cast his line twice more. Farther upstream there was a hooting and a sudden flurry of wings, followed by a splash. An owl fished the waters as well.

  Finally Sudacar spoke. “Thought I’d seen a ghost when I saw you on the opposite bank, in those boots with that cloak. You haven’t got Cole’s face, but you have his shape, his stance, his walk.” Sudacar cast his line again. “If you’d care to talk about your father,” he offered, “stop in at the Fish later, and we’ll raise a mug in his honor.”

  Giogi grinned with pleasure. “If I can escape Aunt Dorath’s clutches, I’ll do just that,” he agreed. Just then, a sudden chill made him realize the warmth had gone with the sunlight. He pulled his cloak closer to his body. “I’d better be going. They’re expecting me up at the castle.”

  Sudacar nodded without taking his eyes off the lure he tugged through the water.

&nb
sp; Giogi left the Lord of Immersea by the water and hurried up the trail. It was dark and cold by the time he reached the walls surrounding Redstone Castle, but he still didn’t relish the thought of entering. The castle was wrapped in shades of gray and black. The reddish pallor of its stonework, which gave it its name, was absent in the darkness. The castle squatted on the low hill overlooking the Immer Stream, the town of Immersea, and the Wyvernwater—a great lake east of Cormyr—beyond, like a dragon watching a merchant road.

  Looking up at the brooding monstrosity as he approached, Giogi was reminded again of the dragon that had fallen on Westgate and the earthquakes and underworld power-struggle that had ensued. Having dealt with all those things, Giogi assured himself, coping with this family crisis shouldn’t be too difficult.

  Family

  Giogi circled the castle walls to the front gate, strode into the courtyard, and tapped on the hall door. An unfamiliar footman opened the portal a crack and peered out at the shaggy, gangly noble dressed in yellow pants and a red-and-white striped shirt covered with a black tabard. The tabard was emblazoned with the Wyvernspur coat of arms, but the man who wore it looked more like a traveling juggler than an Immersea noble. The servant stood waiting impatiently for the man to speak.

  Giogi was unaccustomed to having to announce his business at the doorstep of his own family’s ancestral home. He, too, stood in silence, waiting to be recognized.

  Finally the footman spoke. “Well, what is it?” he asked, his face creased with irritation.

  “I’m here to see my Aunt Dorath.”

  The footman opened the door an inch wider. “And you are?”

  “Giogi. Giogioni Wyvernspur.”

  The footman’s facial creases retreated just a fraction. “Oh,” he said without enthusiasm. He held the door open so that Giogi could enter the main hall. As the noble clomped in, the footman eyed Giogi’s clodders; his attention was not lost on Giogi.

  “Great boots, aren’t they? Bought them in Westgate.”

  The servant maintained his stoic expression and did not comment on the boots. He held out his arm for Giogi’s cloak and said, “The gentlemen are still in the dining room having their brandy. The ladies are in the parlor. I presume you know the way.”

  “Yes,” Giogi replied, handing over his cloak.

  Laden with Giogi’s outdoor gear, the footman disappeared through a small door.

  Left alone again, Giogi felt hesitant to return to the bosom of his family. There had been a reason he’d moved from Redstone to his parents’ old townhouse. His family thought him a fool and made a habit of reminding him of it. He was branded for life just because, as a boy, he’d accidentally let an evil efreet out of a bottle in Uncle Drone’s lab and had once tried to fly off the stable roof with pigeon feathers—and had gotten himself locked in the family crypt—which had really been Cousin Steele’s fault.

  If only he could get them to forget the foibles of his youth and judge him on his behavior as an adult—except for when he’d lost Aunt Dorath’s pet land urchin in the provisions wagon of the seventh division of His Majesty’s Purple Dragoons and the time he’d gone skinny-dipping in the Wyvernwater on Midwinter Day. After all, he had no idea a land urchin could eat so much, and no one as inebriated as he on that Midwinter Day would have passed up such a profitable wager.

  He hadn’t done anything that foolish since—well, not since last spring, when he’d done his impersonation of King Azoun and ended up in a brawl with the crazy Alias of Westgate, knocking down a tent on top of two hundred people and nearly breaking up Frefford’s wedding reception. He hadn’t wanted to do the impersonation, but his girlfriend, Minda, had nagged him into it. If his family could only forget that incident, and if no stories of his exploits in Westgate reached their ears, they might just begin treating him like a normal person. Granted, that was more luck than the goddess Tymora usually dealt anyone, but it was still possible.

  Prepared to make a fresh start with his family, Giogi considered whether to go straight to the parlor to pay his respects to Aunt Dorath, or to join the gentlemen in the dining room for some brandy. If he entered the parlor while the ladies were still discussing “female things,” his Aunt Dorath would be annoyed with his intrusion. He did want to speak with Uncle Drone, but the old wizard would not be alone in the dining room. Giogi’s second cousins, Frefford and Steele, would be with him, and, while Frefford might tease him a little about the wedding reception fiasco, Steele’s taunts would be as mean and vicious as possible.

  Giogi liked a room full of people to serve as a buffer between Steele and himself. Of course, Steele’s sister, Julia, would be with the ladies. She could be mean, too, but she wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t in Steele’s company. Giogi decided that he might as well break in on the ladies. That way, Aunt Dorath couldn’t accuse him of lapping up her brandy whenever her back was turned. Besides, Frefford’s new wife, Gaylyn, would no doubt be with the ladies, and she was the cheeriest, most amusing woman Giogi had ever met.

  The nobleman knocked timidly on the parlor door, just in case they were discussing petticoats or something equally personal, then he entered.

  Redstone’s parlor had not changed since Giogi’s last visit, nearly a year ago. It was warmer and drier than the parlor in Giogi’s townhouse, but it was quite a bit shabbier. Faded tapestries depicting ancient events covered the flaking stone walls. The once-rich carpets were stained. The furniture coverings were worn thin. Giogi’s mother’s money had refurbished his townhouse, but the Wyvernspur fortune was shrinking, and servants, horses, and clothing had a higher priority than Redstone’s fashionable appearance. Some generation soon, the family would need a new source of revenue, though the decision to find one was unlikely in Aunt Dorath’s lifetime.

  Aunt Dorath sat perfectly erect in her chair by the fire. She looked up from her knitting and squinted at Giogi. She was a tall, robust old woman with the classic Wyvernspur face, thin lips, hawklike nose, and all. Her black hair, which she wore in a severe bun, was streaked with steel-gray strands. More streaks had appeared since Giogi had last seen her, and her squint had grown more pronounced, but, otherwise, time had not touched her much. It wouldn’t dare, Giogi thought.

  Gaylyn and Julia were immersed in a game of backgammon and did not notice him until a gasp from Aunt Dorath alerted them.

  “Giogioni! Sweet Selune! Just what are you doing in those ridiculous boots?” Aunt Dorath demanded. Her voice boomed like the thunder of a god’s wrath. That part of Dorath had not changed in the least.

  “These boots?” Giogi replied, his voice cracking slightly. “They’re just something I threw on to walk over.”

  “You should consider throwing them away. Whatever did you walk for? What happened to your carriage?”

  “Nothing. I just felt like walking.”

  “The idea! Sinister forces have dealt our family a tragic blow while you’ve been gadding about the Realms. I summon the family together, and you just stroll over here as if nothing’s wrong. It’s just like you. You are a fool,” Aunt Dorath chided.

  Giogi stood frozen, afraid that anything else he might say would only dig him deeper into his great-aunt’s contempt.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Dorath ordered. “Come take a seat.”

  Giogi bowed before Gaylyn and Julia and positioned himself in a chair where he could attend to Aunt Dorath as well as address the younger women, should they address him.

  Giogi glanced at his Cousin Julia. Her tall, well-proportioned body was clad in the latest velvet fashions, jewels glistened in her silky black hair, and gold rings flashed from her long, slender fingers. She, too, had the aristocratic Wyvernspur features, which were more striking on her youthful face than they were on Aunt Dorath’s. In addition, she sported, from her mother’s side of the family, a tiny mole to the right of her mouth. As far as Giogi was concerned, though, Julia was too haughty to be beautiful.

  The nobleman preferred to gaze on Gaylyn. Her golden hair lit up the r
oom, and her pink, glowing complexion reminded him of a wild rose. Her gown and jewels were as remarkable as Julia’s but Giogi didn’t notice them. It was impossible, though, for him to miss her swollen abdomen. According to Thomas, Freffie and Gaylyn’s firstborn was due any time now. So, Giogi thought, the family is going to continue another generation despite the loss of the wyvern’s spur.

  Gaylyn, unaware that the tradition of her new family was to generally ignore Giogi, turned her sweet smile on him and asked, “How was your journey home, Cousin?”

  “Just marvelous. Very exciting,” Giogi replied, grinning back at the young woman.

  “Exciting,” Aunt Dorath scoffed. “Traveling is never exciting. Only tedious. Waits, delays, ruffians, strangers, and highwaymen. Only someone as foolish as yourself would revel in it. You’ll end up like your father,” she added darkly.

  Giogi debated asking his aunt exactly what she meant by that, trying to work in some reference to what he’d just learned from Sudacar, but just then the parlor door swung open and the gentlemen entered. Frefford made a beeline to Gaylyn’s side and took her hand in his own, looking down on her with solicitous devotion. Uncle Drone scuffled over to a tomcat in the window seat and began feeding it drippy tidbits of venison from his cupped hand. Steele remained in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and sizing up Giogi with an evil grin.