The Wyvern's Spur

by Kate Novak

She would be the perfect choice, though, Olive mused. Flattery trusts her as much as his insanity will allow. It would be so fitting if he were destroyed by someone with the same face as the woman he murdered.

  Olive pondered the idea while she munched on hay in the smoky carriage house.

  Giogi reached out and stroked his new cousin’s tiny left hand. Her delicate fingers opened at his touch, like a moss rose in the sun.

  “She’s just perfect, Freffie,” Giogi whispered. “As pretty as her mother.”

  “Well, she gets some of her good looks from me, don’t you think?” Frefford asked.

  Giogi looked up at his Cousin Frefford and back down at the baby girl sleeping in the maple cradle. Then he looked up again at Frefford, then back down at the baby. “Not if she’s lucky,” he said with a grin.

  Frefford chuckled.

  “It’s so exciting, Freffie,” Giogi said. “You’re a father now, and I’m an uncle. Wait. I’m not really, am I? Just a second cousin once removed.”

  “You can be an uncle if you want, Giogi,” Frefford said. “Lady Amber Leona Wyvernspur,” Frefford whispered to the sleeping baby, “this is your rich Uncle JoJo. Learn to say his name, and he’ll buy you all the ponies you want.”

  Giogi grinned.

  “I’m going to check to see if Gaylyn’s awake yet,” Frefford said. “You can stay here if you like.”

  Giogi nodded. “Give Gaylyn my regards,” he said.

  “I will,” Frefford whispered. He tiptoed from the nursery, where his daughter lay on display for well-wishers to view while his wife slept undisturbed in the next room.

  Giogi had the baby all to himself now, since the well-wishers had been few so far. Some, no doubt, had been discouraged by the awkwardness of having to deliver congratulations and condolences in the same breath. The majority, Giogi assumed, had been put off by the awful weather.

  The sleet had wrapped everything in a thick coating of ice, and Immersea looked like it had been encased in glass. Unwilling to risk Daisyeye on the slick roads, Giogi had once again hiked up the path to Redstone. It had been rough going, but the fields and marshes had offered his feet far more traction than the cobblestone roads would have. This latest exertion, combined with having risen at dawn after a late night of drinking, followed by walking miles through the catacombs, had left the nobleman exhausted.

  Giogi slid a rocking chair up beside the cradle and collapsed into it. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than just sit here with you, Amberry,” he whispered to the baby. “It’s so snug and peaceful here, I could almost forget all the bad things that have happened.”

  Giogi closed his eyes and lay his head back. His breathing slowed and grew more shallow. Giogi felt himself beginning to soar. He was dreaming again. He opened his eyes in his dream and found the field he soared over covered in ice, like the fields surrounding Immersea. A little burro trotted into view.

  Giogi gasped. Not Birdie! he thought. Unable to speak in the dream, the nobleman urged the burro mentally, Run, Birdie! Birdie needed no warning. She began to gallop downhill, but her hooves slid on the ice, and she ended up on her front knees with her back legs splayed out behind her. Giogi swooped down. Birdie brayed pitifully.

  “Giogioni Wyvernspur! Just what do you think you’re doing here?” a female voice barked.

  Giogi started awake. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but if Aunt Dorath caught him napping, a minute would be as bad as an hour. Aunt Dorath was of the opinion that a healthy young person did not need to sleep in the day, and Giogi could hardly offer her the excuse that he was tired because he’d been out late drinking with Samtavan Sudacar.

  The young nobleman leaped to his feet. “Good afternoon, Aunt Dorath. I was just having a peek at Amber. Freffie said it was all right if I sat with her a few minutes.”

  “He did, did he? He would,” Aunt Dorath said with a sniff. “Did he also give you permission to slough off your duties? Or have you forgotten that this family is in the middle of a crisis of unimaginable proportions? The curse of the wyvern’s spur has already claimed Cousin Drone and nearly took Steele as well, yet here I find you napping.”

  Giogi meant to point out to his aunt that Steele had brought his injuries on himself by his horrendous behavior, and that he, Giogi, had played no small part in rescuing Steele from the jaws of death, as it were, but he was never given the opportunity. Not even magic could stop the avalanche of Aunt Dorath’s harangue.

  “Yet, despite his brush with the hereafter,” she continued, “Steele went off immediately after lunch in search of a discreet high priest or mage who might help us locate the spur. Of course, you’ve made discretion rather unnecessary, haven’t you? I’ve just learned that our family’s tragedy was the talk of every tavern in Immersea last night. No wonder you can’t stay awake—you were carousing in town all night, discussing family business, both of which I specifically forbade you to do.”

  “But I didn’t mean—” Giogi began to say.

  “I will not accept your overindulgences with alcohol as an excuse for divulging our family’s problems, nor for sleeping when you should be performing some task that will aid in the spur’s recovery. The only person with any excuse for resting on this day is Gaylyn. And Amber, of course. Even Frefford has assigned himself a task. He is investigating every stranger in town who might possibly be a long-lost relation and our thief.”

  Giogi’s exhaustion got the better of his temper. “What about Julia? Why not just have her listen at the door of the thieves’ guild?” he asked sarcastically.

  Aunt Dorath’s brow knit in annoyance. Her reaction was a clue to her great-nephew that she already had some inkling of Julia’s eavesdropping. The old woman recovered her lost ground quickly, though. “Julia,” she replied frostily, “is seeing to the arrangements for Cousin Drone’s memorial service. Now, what do you propose to do in what time remains today?”

  Well, Giogi thought, straightening up, here goes. “I plan to discover the spur’s secret powers,” he announced.

  “The spur doesn’t have any secret powers,” Aunt Dorath snapped.

  “Oh, but it does,” Giogi insisted. “My father used the spur’s powers whenever he went adventuring.”

  Aunt Dorath gave a little gasp and sank into the rocking chair. “Who told you that?” she demanded. “It was Cousin Drone, wasn’t it? I should have realized his oath was not to be trusted.”

  “Uncle Drone didn’t tell me, Aunt Dorath,” the nobleman insisted. Angry with the old woman for keeping his father’s adventuring a secret from him, Giogi felt spite take hold of him. “Actually, it’s common knowledge,” he taunted. “They talk about it in every tavern in Immersea.”

  Aunt Dorath leaned forward in the rocker and poked Giogi in the rib with her finger. “This is not a joking matter,” she reprimanded him.

  “No,” Giogi agreed, feeling bad for trying to shock her. “It is a family matter, though.” He bent over his aunt and put his hands on her shoulders. “I have a right to know about my father,” he said vehemently. “You should have told me.”

  Aunt Dorath glared up at him. “All right,” she replied hotly. “Cole used to tramp about the countryside in the company of rogues and ruffians, and whenever he left, he took the spur from the crypt. Not that I blame Cole. Your Uncle Drone, to his everlasting guilt, aided him, and Cole hadn’t the force of will to resist the spirit of that she-beast. She used those awful dreams to seduce him from his family’s side.”

  “She-beast?” Giogi asked. “Do you mean the guardian?”

  Dorath’s voice rose sharply as she retorted. “Of course I mean the guardian. What other she-beast lurks in our family?”

  Giogi bit the inside of his cheeks and fought back his urge to reply.

  “Who else,” Dorath asked, “is always babbling about the death cry of prey, or the taste of warm blood, or the crunch of bone?”

  “She’s talked to you, too?” Giogi squeaked in astonishment.

  “Of course she’s talked
to me, you fool,” the old woman replied. “You don’t imagine that out of fifteen generations of Wyvernspurs you were the only child ever locked down in that crypt by accident, do you?”

  Amber gurgled and squawked in her cradle, and Aunt Dorath rose to pat the infant reassuringly. Frefford’s daughter quieted.

  “Do you have the same dreams, too?” Giogi asked.

  For a moment, it looked as if some fearful memory disturbed Aunt Dorath’s composure, but she shook her head once, the way a horse would to dislodge a gadfly, and her face grew calm. “I had them once,” she admitted softly, then added more sternly, “but I ignored them, as would any well-bred young woman.”

  “But they don’t go away,” Giogi whispered.

  Aunt Dorath turned from the cradle and put her hands on Giogi’s shoulders. “You must keep ignoring them,” she insisted, giving him a shake. “You are a Wyvernspur. You belong with your family in Immersea. All that gadding about the Realms with the spur got your father was killed.”

  “He didn’t die from a riding accident like you said, did he?” Giogi accused the old woman. “How did he die?”

  “How do all adventurers die? Fell monsters hunt them. Ruthless bandits slaughter them. Evil wizards turn them to dust. It didn’t make any difference to me. Cole was dead. He died far too young and far too far from home. Your Uncle Drone fetched his body back. We never discussed how he died. My only concern was that it should not happen again.”

  “I need to know the spur’s power,” Giogi said. “It could be a clue to who the thief is.”

  “No,” Dorath answered. “It’s not. Even if it were, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  Giogi sighed with exasperation. “Aunt Dorath, I don’t want to use the spur,” he insisted. “I just want to know what it does.”

  Aunt Dorath shook her head in refusal. “I’m doing this for your own good, Giogi. I won’t watch another member of our family destroyed by that cursed thing.” She turned back to the cradle and readjusted the blankets around the baby.

  “If you won’t tell me, Aunt Dorath, I shall have to find out from someone else,” Giogi threatened.

  “There is no one else,” his aunt said, stroking Amber’s hand with her finger.

  Giogi racked his brain for an idea of who could tell him about the spur.

  “I’m the last member of the family who knows,” Aunt Dorath whispered down to the baby.

  “Then I’ll have to ask an outsider,” Giogi said. It came to him suddenly. There was someone who’d known his father, someone who’d promised to talk more about him. Someone his aunt would hate to think of as telling him the family secrets. “I’ll have to ask Sudacar,” he said.

  Aunt Dorath whirled and glared at Giogi. “That upstart?” She sniffed. “What could he possibly know? He doesn’t swallow without advice from his herald.”

  “He met Cole at court. He knows all about Cole’s adventures,” Giogi answered, hoping it were really true.

  Aunt Dorath’s eyes narrowed into slits. Giogi could tell she was calculating what Sudacar knew. She called her kinsman’s bluff. “Go ahead,” she said. “Ask Samtavan Sudacar. You’ll be wasting your time, though.”

  “I will ask him,” Giogi retorted. “Right now.” He leaned over and stroked Amber’s little ear before turning about and striding from the nursery. “Good afternoon, Aunt Dorath,” he whispered as he left.

  Selune’s Stair

  Samtavan Sudacar finished studying the last document in the cord of parchments Culspiir had piled before him. “Depleting resources necessitate troop inactivity,” he read aloud, though he was alone. He ran his fingers through the graying hair at his temples. Reading reports such as this one was turning his dark hair gray, he decided.

  He read the phrase over again as if it were a riddle, which indeed it was to him. Suddenly he pounded his meaty fist on his desktop and chuckled with understanding.

  “That boy has a way with words,” he sighed, shaking his head. While he admired his herald’s bureaucratic skills, there were times the local lord felt it would be better if Culspiir weren’t so clever that he made himself misunderstood.

  In the document’s margin, beside the passage he’d just read, Sudacar scrawled: Azoun, I can’t send these boys out patrolling in freezing rain with nothing but watery porridge in their stomachs. I need those food rations!!!

  Sudacar initialed the notation, scrawled his full signature at the bottom, and rolled up the scroll. He finished by slopping liquefied wax on the seam and pressing his signet ring into the resulting mess.

  Stretching out his arms to ease the muscles in his broad shoulders, he muttered, “I’ve had enough of this stuffy little closet.”

  The main reception hall of Redstone had been set aside for use by the king’s man. Pillars and arches two stories high rose all about him. Archery contests had been held along the length of the room, and the entire town had gathered within its walls in times of crisis and celebration. Sudacar’s desk was tucked at one end of the hall, with a view of the entire enormous chamber.

  Sudacar, former giant-slayer, was a tall, burly man, though, and anywhere the wind could not blow felt stuffy to him.

  Time to indulge in one of the prerogatives of office, he thought as he pulled on his coat. “Culspiir,” he bellowed in his booming voice.

  Culspiir slid into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The herald’s face appeared so careworn it would have alarmed a stranger. Sudacar was aware, though that Culspiir wore that same expression for all occasions, from weddings to barbarian invasions.

  “I’ve gone over all the reports you gave me, Cul,” Sudacar said. “Good work. I thought I’d break for the day,” he added, his brown eyes glittered with all the eagerness of a schoolboy asking for permission to play outside.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve granted someone an interview with you for this hour.”

  “Now? Culspiir, how could you schedule someone now? Can’t you see it’s raining? Don’t you realize that the fish are out there searching for my lure?”

  “I thought, considering the person and the nature of his problem, that you had best see him today, sir. I’ve kept him waiting more than an hour so you could finish your other duties.”

  “Show him in,” Sudacar sighed. He sat back down, but he did not bother to remove his cloak.

  Culspiir slipped out, and a moment later Giogioni Wyvernspur stepped in.

  Sudacar’s face brightened. “Giogi!” he said with surprise. He rose and extended his hand to the nobleman.

  Giogi strode up to Sudacar’s desk, accepted the handshake, and returned the smile. Sudacar’s welcome was a relief after being made to wait so long by the local lord’s herald.

  “Culspiir was a dog to make you wait like that,” Sudacar said as if reading his thoughts. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, no. I understand. You’ve got lots of work,” Giogi replied, though he suspected Culspiir had kept him waiting as a snub to the Wyvernspurs. The nobleman didn’t resent it too much. After all, the Wyvernspurs had snubbed Culspiir and his master often enough.

  “Culspiir just wants to be sure I don’t have any excuses to put his boring papers aside,” Sudacar confided in a whisper. “He doesn’t like me to have any fun.” Sudacar’s expression became serious. “I’m sorry about your uncle, Giogi. He was a fine man. A good wizard, too.”

  “Thank you,” Giogi replied softly. “It’s hard to believe. I don’t want to believe it.”

  “That’s only natural,” Sudacar said, giving the younger man a comforting pat on the shoulder. “So, tell me,” the local lord said more boisterously, “what brings you here, boy?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Sudacar,” Giogi said, “but, well, things have gotten rather confusing about the spur. I realize Aunt Dorath was a little huffy with Culspiir yesterday, not wanting to tell him about the theft, but the truth is, I could use your advice. I thought maybe there might be something you could tell me about the spur.”

  “Well, whatever advice I hav
e is yours, Giogi, but I’m afraid I’ve never seen the spur. I’ve seen others, still on the wyvern, as it were, but not the one you’re looking for.”

  “I thought you might know something about it. You knew it was stolen before I—uh, before it got around town.”

  Sudacar grinned. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but not all women are as immune to my charms as your aunt,” he said, giving Giogi the same wink that he had the evening before, when he’d admitted to having his own source of information. Giogi wondered idly if the woman in question was a parlor maid or a lady’s maid.

  “But, you know some tales about my father,” the nobleman said. “Did you know he used the spur when he went adventuring? That the spur has some magical powers?”

  “Does it, now? Well, well.” Sudacar stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I didn’t know that, but it might explain some things I’ve heard.”

  “Like what?”

  Sudacar abruptly stood. “Tell you what. Why don’t we take a little walk while we talk about it?” He led Giogi toward the door. On the way, the Lord of Immersea pulled a casting pole out of a rack on the wall.

  “What’s this for?” Giogi asked.

  “We’ll need it to defend ourselves, in case we run into any fish,” Sudacar explained.

  “Oh,” Giogi replied as Sudacar held open the hall door for him.

  Sudacar hoped to hurtle past Culspiir’s station before his herald could find another excuse to keep him confined, but Giogi stopped at the door, his finger to his forehead, trying to dredge something from the back of his mind.

  At last it came to him. “Ah, yes,” the nobleman said. “You know my purse that was stolen?”

  “Oh, that,” Sudacar said. “Any word on it, Culspiir?” he demanded of his subordinate.

  “It still hasn’t turned up, Master Giogioni,” the herald said as he regarded Sudacar—and his casting rod—with suspicion.

  “Well, it won’t,” Giogi said, “because it wasn’t stolen. I’d dropped it right outside home. Found it later,” he explained. “Hope I didn’t cause a fuss.”