The Wyvern's Spur

by Kate Novak

  “It’s a long story. Look, are you going to pluck this pigeon?” Jade asked, indicating, with a toss of her head, the dandyish noble now moving away from them. “If not, I’d like a crack at him. He looks ripe.”

  “Wait your turn, girl,” Olive replied. “Age before beauty, and I win on both counts,” the halfling added with a smirk. She then slipped away from her partner and padded silently down the street after the fop. She swiveled her head nonchalantly to the right and left to make sure she and her target were alone on the street.

  He’s not only a fat pigeon, Olive thought, once again focusing on the nobleman, but an easy pluck, too. You’d think someone would warn him about letting his purse strings dangle out of his pocket.

  Ordinarily Olive would have offered such an easy job to Jade. The human woman was just getting started in business and really depended on it for her living. Olive, on the other hand, didn’t need the money; her adventures the previous year had left her almost as wealthy as her wildest dreams. She had to have a closer look at her mark, though. Where have I seen him before? she wondered.

  As she closed the gap between herself and her target, her furry feet as silent as cat paws, Olive could hear the fop half singing, half humming softly to himself. Good sense of pitch, Olive critiqued silently, but no sense of rhythm.

  “Oh, listen to the story, of the scandal of the wyrms, red Mistinarhm-hmm-hm-hmm, rumored mad and quite infirm—”

  Olive stopped dead in her tracks. He’s singing one of my songs! she realized. That piece I composed on the spur of the moment to distract the old red dragon and save Alias’s life.

  A small flower of pride blossomed within Olive, and for half a moment she thought of just walking up, tapping the fop on the shoulder, and introducing herself as the song’s creator.

  Then she remembered that Jade was watching from the shadows. If she backed out, the younger thief would never let her hear the end of it. Olive prodded herself forward again. After all, she thought, in a few more years, everyone will be singing my songs.

  Now the fop was muttering something to himself and motioning with his arms outward, palms upward. He forced his voice into a lower, more resonant range, added a slight burr, and said, “My Cormytes. My people. Harumph.” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice another half-octave. “My Cormytes. My people. As your king, as King Azoun, and as King Azoun the Fourth—” He returned his voice to it’s normal pitch and congratulated himself, “Yes, that’s it. Haven’t lost the old skills.”

  Olive stopped dead again as the feeling of recognition stopped tickling at the back of her brain and hit her with the force of a runaway cart. Could it really be him, she wondered. Out of all the pigeons in the world, I pick Giogioni Wyvernspur, infamous imitator of royalty?

  Olive had sung at the wedding reception of one of Giogioni’s relatives. During her performance, the young Wyvernspur noble gave an impromptu imitation of the king of Cormyr, and Alias of Westgate had tried to murder him. It wasn’t that Alias had felt any loyalty to the crown, nor had she been offended that the youth had interrupted Olive’s singing. With her body controlled by sinister forces desiring Azoun’s death, Alias had been unable to stop herself, even though she could see that Giogi was not the king of Cormyr.

  He’s a little scrawnier and shaggier than he was last spring, but it’s Giogioni all right, Olive decided. Not that surprising really. This is Immersea, after all, the Wyvernspurs’ home. Poor boy, Olive thought with a sympathetic smile as she resumed stalking her prey. First Alias tried to commit regicide on his decidedly unregal person, and now, here I am, about to steal his purse.

  Some people are just born unlucky, the halfling thought with a grin. Giogi halted at the door of the Immer Inn. Olive passed within inches of the young noble, and with a deft snatch she tugged the sack of coins from his cloak pocket. She gave the bag a flamboyant spin by its string as she hurried off. Centrifugal force kept the coins secure and unclinking.

  Unaware of his loss, the nobleman pushed open the door to his favorite tavern and burst inside, crying, “What ho!” There were hearty cries of greetings from within, to which Giogioni responded with the voice of King Azoun IV, “My Cormytes. My people …”

  Three buildings beyond the Immer Inn, Olive ducked into an alley, circled around the block, and sneaked behind Jade.

  Jade turned and smiled, though, before Olive could surprise her. For a human, she had good hearing and excellent night vision. “You hesitated before the snatch, Olive,” Jade noted. “Were you having trouble sneaking up on him, or were you having pangs of conscience?” she taunted.

  Olive shook her head. “Did you see those boots he was wearing?”

  “Those earth-shakers?” Jade asked with a nod.

  “I was trying to figure a way to get them off his feet without him noticing. I thought they might just fit your hulking hooves.”

  “And if they didn’t fit my feet” Jade teased back, “I’d give them to you. You could buy an acre of land, roof over them, and live in them.”

  The two women, halfling and human, leaned against the wall and chuckled softly. Olive spun the stolen purse by its string one last time and tossed it in the air. She caught it casually in one hand. The coins within gave a hearty clink.

  “Now, really. Why did you stop like that?” Jade asked earnestly, her green eyes flashing with curiosity.

  “I recognized the mark. Giogioni Wyvernspur. Remember the swordswoman I traveled with last year, Alias of Westgate?”

  “The one you said looked like me?” Jade asked, stifling a mock yawn. Jade generally found Olive’s professional exploits amusing, but she had no interest in people who worked outside her field. Also, Olive’s preoccupation with her supposed resemblance to this Alias person disturbed Jade. She sometimes feared Olive liked her for who she looked like, though Jade was careful not to show it.

  “That’s the one,” Olive said with a nod. “Only she doesn’t just look like you, girl,” she reminded Jade, “she looks just like you. She could be your sister.”

  Jade shrugged.

  The halfling sighed inwardly at her partner’s attitude. Olive had hoped all her stories about Alias would somehow magically spark Jade into remembering who she was and where she came from. Each story had failed, though, until there was only one tale left untold, one that Olive could not bring herself to tell her new friend.

  It was the tale of how Olive and Alias had discovered twelve duplicates of Alias in the Citadel of White Exile, duplicates not dead but not alive either. When Alias had slain the evil master of the citadel, the duplicates had vanished. Olive had supposed that the images had returned to their elemental origins—until she’d met Jade More, that is.

  Jade had to be one of the duplicates, Olive realized. Not only did Jade resemble Alias, but the irrefutable proof was carved into her flesh. On her right arm swirled the remains of the magical brand—a blue river of waves and serpents set there by her creator. Just as with Alias’s brand, the creator’s sigil was missing from the design—the azure bond of servitude had been broken when Alias had killed the monster. Finally, set at the base of the design on the underside of Jade’s wrist was a blue rose, just like the one with which the gods had favored Alias in honor of her love for the music of the Nameless Bard, the man who had designed her.

  If it hadn’t been for the telltale brands, though, Olive might not have been so sure of Jade’s origin. Her personality was very different from Alias’s. Granted, Jade exuded the same confidence and competence as the sell-sword, but that was the mark of any experienced adventurer. Jade was relaxed, though, where Alias was driven, humorous where Alias was solemn, and larcenous where Alias was upstanding. Moreover, Jade seemed not to care about her inability to recall much of her own history. Rather, she seemed content practicing her art and getting on with her life without wondering, as Alias had, about her missing memories or true origins.

  It was that trait of unreflective self-satisfaction that endeared Jade to the halfling and made i
t impossible for Olive to tell the human woman that she was a copy of Alias. Olive feared that Jade might lose her joy of life if she learned she’d been created by an evil denizen. She also feared that Jade might hate her for telling the truth.

  Jade broke through Olive’s reverie. “What’s this Alias got to do with JoJo Whatever?” she asked.

  “Giogioni Wyvernspur. We’ve been here all winter, Jade. You must have heard something about the Wyvernspurs. They founded this town. They’re big favorites at court. They’re supposed to have some sort of ancient artifact, some spur for riding wyverns, that gives them power beyond mortal men. At least that’s the story they tell in the taverns. Anyway, what I was getting at was that Alias once tried to assassinate Giogioni.”

  “Olive, you really should be more careful who you travel with. These violent types’ll get you into trouble.”

  Olive nodded. “It’s true. She did.”

  “Lucky you’ve got me to look out for you, now,” Jade said in mock earnestness, waving a slender finger.

  “And who’s going to look out for you?” Olive teased.

  “I don’t need looking out for. I never get into trouble.”

  “You will if one of Sudacar’s men sees you with Giogioni Wyvernspur’s purse hanging from your belt,” Olive warned, an impish smile barely contained on her face.

  “I don’t have—” Jade swung her hand down to her hip. Knotted around her belt were the strings of a yellow velvet bag embroidered with a green “W” and bulging with coins.

  Olive grinned. “Don’t you think you’d better tuck that out of sight? I’ll collect my cut later.”

  Giving a low whistle of appreciation for the halfling’s dexterity and sneakiness, Jade teased the knot out of the purse strings. From her belt she drew a second, smaller pouch. She opened the smaller one and dropped Giogi’s larger, unopened purse into it. The money-laden purse disappeared into the pouch without making a bulge.

  It was Olive’s turn to whistle. “How’d you do that?” she gasped.

  “Isn’t it great?” Jade said as she knotted the smaller pouch’s strings and tucked it back into her belt. “It’s a miniature magical bag. You can really stuff it. Want to know the best part? It was a gift.”

  “Well, well, well. Who gives you such magical gifts, and when are you going to introduce us, girl?” Olive asked.

  “Later, Olive. That’s what I’ve been up to for the past few days. He said not to say anything until it was all over, but a girl can’t be expected to keep this kind of thing from her best friend, now can she?”

  “Of course not,” Olive agreed. “What kind of thing?”

  “Well, it all started that night you caught cold and went back to your boarding house to rest your voice. After you left, I plucked this servant— Hello, what’s this?” Jade interrupted her story to turn her attention to a cloaked figure coming down the street.

  It was hard to identify the figure as man or woman, since the cloak fell in voluminous folds about the body and the cloak’s hood shadowed the face. From the figure’s size and heavy, measured stride, Olive guessed it was a man. An unpleasant man. Jade leaned forward, a feral glint in her eye. Olive tugged her back by the hem of her tunic. “Not this one, girl.”

  “Olive, what’s gotten into you?”

  “I don’t know. He feels … dangerous somehow.” A new feeling of familiarity tickled at her brain, but this one was mixed with an inexplicable fear.

  Jade’s nose twitched with annoyance. “He feels rich to me.” She tugged the hem of her tunic out of the halfling’s hand. Still, Olive’s words had shaken her confidence. She slid the magic pouch out of her belt. “Hold onto this for me, then I’ll have nothing to lose if he’s ticklish and calls out the watch.”

  “Nothing but your freedom,” Olive sniffed. “Lord Sudacar hand-picked those guards himself. You don’t want to take them on, believe me.”

  Jade grinned. “As long as they don’t find that purse on me I can talk my way around them, and if not, my new friend can handle Lord Sudacar.”

  “So certain, are you?” Olive asked as she slid the pouch inside her vest pocket.

  “Got a name for myself in this town now,” Jade whispered. Before Olive could make the woman explain what she meant by that, Jade padded off after the new pigeon.

  Left in the shadows, Olive sighed. It was hard to get angry with her protegee’s exuberance. With all her wealth, Olive might have retired from the business and just stuck with music, but she couldn’t bear to see Jade’s talent wasted. The woman really needed someone to advise her. She’s just going to have to learn the hard way, though, if she won’t take my advice, Olive thought.

  Silently the halfling critiqued her partner’s performance. Jade had a nice natural style of walking after her pigeon, which didn’t betray her intent to anyone who might be watching the street. She also had the quietest tread of any woman Olive had ever known, and marks never heard her coming. She had one trait, though, that could betray her.

  Jade was tall, even for a human woman. While this would not ordinarily be a great handicap, it was here and now, because Immersea was one of those civilized towns whose cobbled thoroughfares were lit at night with lanterns hung from poles. The illumination posed very little problem for Olive, but Jade’s shadow shot out before her whenever she passed a lantern pole, right across the path of whoever she followed.

  Olive had warned Jade about that before, but either the human had forgotten or had chosen to ignore the warning. To Olive’s relief, though, the pigeon bundled in the heavy cloak seemed oblivious to Jade’s presence.

  Jade got close enough to run her hands gently through the curves of the pigeons’ cloak and then fell back a few steps. She examined whatever it was she had snatched. Olive frowned. First rule is take cover, then examine the booty, the halfling chided silently. Whatever Jade had grabbed excited her greatly, and she broke protocol again by turning around and holding up her prize for Olive to see. It appeared to be a fist-sized crystal of black glass that did not reflect the streetlight. At least Olive presumed it was glass. It didn’t seem possible that anyone would carry around a valuable gem that size in an outer pocket.

  Olive waved Jade away, afraid that the human thief might forget everything she’d been taught and walk back directly to their shadowy base of operations. Jade pocketed the item and strolled behind the pigeon another several yards—which was even worse. How many times, Olive wondered with a scowl, do I have to tell her never go back for seconds? Why do you always push Tymora’s luck, Jade-girl? Still, the street was otherwise empty, save for the two figures.

  Luck broke badly for Jade all at once. Whether she had made a noise or the pigeon had spotted the human’s shadow, Olive couldn’t tell, but something alerted him to the thief’s presence. He stopped and turned slowly, the front of his hood fixed in the direction of Jade’s approach. As cool and calm as a frozen pond, Jade passed the pigeon, looking for all the Realms as if she were another Cormyte searching for a warm tavern, but Olive saw the mark rummage through his cloak pockets. The thief’s charade had not fooled him.

  The human woman had only gotten four paces beyond the cloaked figure when he shouted in a deep, rich voice, “Treacherous witch! You’ve escaped, and now you try to steal what you have not earned!”

  The thief’s ice-cool composure cracked. Without looking back, Jade made a dash for the unlit alley. Once the darkness folded around her, no pigeon would ever find her.

  Before Jade could reach the alley’s shelter, though, the cloaked figure raised an arm and pointed a slender, ringed finger at her fleeing form. A line of emerald light emanated from the finger.

  The beam sliced through the darkness, striking Jade squarely in the back. She froze in midstride, her mouth open, but, like some horrible pantomime show, her scream was never heard. The emerald light outlined the woman’s body and burst into a searing brilliance. Olive’s eyes shut instinctively against the glare.

  When she opened them again, the light had
died and there was no Jade, only a collection of glittering green dust motes drifting lazily to the ground. Jade More had ceased to exist.

  “No!” Olive screeched in horror.

  The cloaked figure whirled about at the shout. The hood fell away from his face. Lantern light illuminated his visage: sharp, hawklike features with piercing predatory blue eyes.

  Olive recognized the face immediately. She knew the man. Unbidden, warm memories sprang to her mind: fighting beside him at Westgate, learning new songs from him, accepting his silver Harper’s pin. Yet, in her fury, her hand reached automatically for her dagger.

  “You!” she spat through clenched teeth. Anger and anguish overrode her common sense, and she stepped from the shadows to confront the man, her screams increasing in volume and pitch with every step. “How could you? You killed her! Can’t you keep from playing at gods’ games? You fiend! You disgust me!”

  Apparently unconcerned with the halfling’s opinion, the cloaked figure pointed a ringed finger in her direction.

  Olive froze, suddenly realizing her own peril. The halfling sprang back into the alley, just as a second lance of green light shot from the man’s finger. The ray sizzled into the cobblestones, leaving a pothole where Olive had stood a moment before.

  The halfling did not turn to inspect the damage. She dashed down the alley without looking back. She could hear the level, thudding strides of the man behind her, like an inhuman heartbeat.

  He doesn’t need to dash to keep up with me, Olive realized. Time to disappear into thin air, she told herself, or face the prospect of literally disappearing forever.

  She always prepared a bolt hole when she worked the streets. Along the right side of the alley ran the stable where she boarded her pony, Snake Eyes. There was a loose plank in the rear wall that pivoted on a single nail. At the end of the alley Olive dodged right, slid the plank up, and slipped into the stable. She let the plank slide back into place and stood trying to gasp for air as quietly as possible.