The Wyvern's Spur

by Kate Novak

  Interesting advice, Olive thought, from a man who tortures kobolds and nearly had his own spine crushed in one of their traps.

  Steele held his lantern up to survey the interior of the carriage house.

  There’s a simple way, Olive realized, to tell Steele apart from Frefford, Nameless, and Flattery, aside from his age and the birthmark by his lip. Frefford had a sympathetic, pleasant smile, which would be impossible for the others to imitate. Nameless’s years of exile and subsequent tortures had taken a lot out of him, so he generally stared into space with a stern, thoughtful look—void of haughtiness, unlike Steele’s face.

  Steele’s demeanor most resembled Flattery’s. They had the same cold, calculating look, and, Olive suspected, the same icy laugh. Except for that moment when he’d been burning down the barn—and had resembled a mad dog—Flattery’s coolness seemed imperturbable. Steele, on the other hand, was unable to hide a desperation that lay just beneath the surface. And, while Olive doubted he was half as powerful as the mage Flattery, Steele managed to look twice as arrogant.

  “You still haven’t told me why, in the worst possible weather, we’ve come all the way out here from Redstone just to sneak into this awful barn,” Julia said, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

  “It’s a carriage house, not a barn,” Steel corrected, “and we’re here because it’s unthinkable that our weak-willed, idiot Cousin Giogi should have the spur. It should be in the hands of someone who knows how to wield power. Someone who knows how to make the best use of it. Someone of strength and valor.”

  Olive recalled how Alias had once called Nameless a man with overweening vanity. No doubt it runs in the family, the halfling thought. Compared to Steele and Flattery, though, Nameless is downright modest.

  “Steele, would you get to the point,” Julia snapped.

  “You said Giogi had a burro,” Steele said.

  “Yes,” Julia replied. “A vicious little creature that I would rather not run into again.” She looked around the interior of the carriage house nervously.

  The feeling is mutual, I’m sure, Olive thought.

  “I need to find that burro,” Steele said.

  Olive backed deeper into the shadows. She didn’t especially want to be found by a known torturer of kobolds. If only Julia would move away from that door, Olive thought.

  “What’s so special about the burro?” Julia asked, leaning wearily against the door.

  “It cost me a small fortune,” Steele told her, “but I paid the priest at the church of Waukeen to perform a divination for me. I asked where the spur was. He told me: ‘In the little ass’s pocket.’ ”

  “If it’s in Giogi’s pocket, why are we out here?” Julia complained.

  “It’s not in Giogi’s pocket,” Steele replied with exasperation. “It’s in the little ass’s pocket.” Very slowly, as if talking to a child, he explained to his sister, “A burro is a little ass.”

  Wherever I go, Olive whined silently, people are always blaming me when something goes missing. It’s not fair. I’ve never even laid eyes on this stupid spur. Besides—

  “Asses don’t have pockets,” Julia snapped.

  Took the words right out of my mouth, Olive thought.

  “Obviously it’s some sort of riddle,” Steele said. Feigning patience, Steele continued to explain to Julia in a slow, steady voice, “The spur could be in the burro’s saddlebags, or maybe Giogi made it a little jacket—that’s the sort of fool thing he’s always doing. Maybe the spur is inside the burro. Then I’ll have to skin it.”

  Olive’s heart thudded in her chest as she looked around for some place safer to hide than the shadows. This isn’t fair, she thought again. I haven’t got the spur in my pocket. Unless—unless it’s in Jade’s magic purse, she realized.

  Steele stepped into the stall that had been Olive’s. “Waukeen’s wits,” he snarled, “what a mess.”

  “What is it?” Julia asked, too nervous to stray from her post by the door.

  “Looks like there’s been a fire in here,” Steele said. “Maybe Giogi had an accident with a lamp.”

  “Look at his carriage,” Julia said. “He told Aunt Dorath last night that there was nothing wrong with it.”

  Steele stepped out of the burro’s stall. “Something snapped the wheel in two. I’ve never seen a break like that before.” He shook his head and turned to continue his search. “Maybe he keeps the burro with the mare,” Steele muttered. He opened the door to Daisyeye’s stall.

  Olive’s stomach suddenly felt very queasy. Lady of Luck, don’t let it be the oats, she prayed silently.

  Daisyeye nickered.

  “Easy, girl,” Steele whispered, handing the horse a handful of oats. “You have any company in here? No.”

  Olive held her breath and tried to keep herself from lowing in pain. Unable to double over, her first instinct was to lie down. You can’t do that, Olive-girl! she berated herself, that’s the worst thing you can do. You need to walk around. Fear of discovery by the spur hunters, though, kept Olive frozen in place.

  “Aren’t you a beauty,” Steele said to Daisyeye. “Giogi always has the best horses,” he bemoaned, “and then names them all the same idiot name.”

  “Maybe the burro’s out in the garden,” Julia suggested.

  “In weather like this?” Steele shook his head. “Giogi’s too softhearted to leave an animal out in the cold and wet.”

  “Maybe he rented it or boards it out.”

  “I checked all the other stables in town. I found four mules, but no asses anywhere. No, it has to be here somewhere. Do you think he was stupid enough to leave it tied to his carriage?”

  He’s going to search this side of the carriage house! Olive thought with panic. She hugged herself nervously in the darkness. I’ll never be able to fend off both of them. What should I do? Think, Olive-girl, she ordered herself, massaging her temples with her fingers.

  Olive’s eyes widened with the sudden realization of what she was doing. She brought her fingers down in front of her and wiggled them in disbelief. I have fingers! Arms! I have arms! Olive looked down at her body. She was a halfling once again. Thank Tymora! she thought.

  Steele’s lantern light began to creep around to the back of the buggy. Olive slipped as quietly as she could toward the ladder to the loft. She tested the first step gingerly. It felt quite sturdy.

  She scampered up the ladder, rolled into the loft, and nearly choked herself to death.

  Upon her transformation back to a halfling, her halter had slipped around her neck. A strap of the leather caught on the top of the ladder as she dove over the top. Olive rolled back and extricated herself quickly from the leather binding, but not before she’d gagged out loud.

  “What was that?” Julia demanded as a small bit of hay drifted down in the lantern light.

  “A cat or an owl or something,” Steele insisted. He stood beneath the ladder and held his lamp over his head, looking into the loft.

  “Steele,” Julia said with the tone of a woman who would put up with no more nonsense, “burro’s cannot climb ladders.”

  She’s right, Steele, Olive thought. Better listen to her.

  “You didn’t even know what a burro was until this morning,” Steele pointed out. “How would you know?”

  “It walks around on four feet, Steele. For heaven’s sake, be reasonable.” She slapped her arms at her sides and snapped, “I don’t know why I’ve put up with this madness of yours. I agreed to help you sneak the spur from the crypt,” Julia said, desperately trying to convince her brother of her loyalty. “It’s not my fault the door opened twelve days early and someone else stole the spur.”

  “We only have Drone’s word for that,” Steele said.

  “Why would Uncle Drone lie about that?” Julia asked with disbelief.

  “Think, Julia. Giogi is away for three seasons, supposedly on a mysterious mission for the crown. He comes back late one evening. The crypt alarm goes off the next morning.”
/>   “You think Giogi was using the spur on his trip?” Julia asked.

  “Precisely,” Steele said. “Uncle Drone was covering for him, just like he covered for Cole. Drone must have forgotten to turn off the magical alarm so Giogi could return the spur when he got back from his trip. Uncle Drone told us he couldn’t see who the thief was—because he didn’t want to give Giogi away.” Steele continued by digging through the chests of adventuring equipment and looking in every tiny nook of the carriage house.

  “But if Giogi went into the crypt to return the spur,” Julia objected, “why was it missing?”

  Steele shrugged. “Giogi changed his mind at the last moment. Not realizing the alarm had alerted everyone at Redstone, he thought it didn’t matter if he kept the spur or not.”

  “But Giogi went into the catacombs looking for the thief,” Julia pointed out.

  “Only to keep up the appearance of innocence,” Steele said.

  “Why would Drone say the thief was locked in the catacombs?”

  “To stall for time, so I didn’t have a divination done sooner. I’m on to their game now. Without Uncle Drone, Giogi is no match for me.” Steele thumped his fist on the buggy. It wobbled a little on its three good wheels. “There’s no burro in here,” he growled at last. “Where else could it be?”

  “Giogi could have left it with a friend,” Julia suggested. “Shaver Cormaeril keeps a private stable. It could be there.”

  “That’s a possibility. Let’s go.” Steele returned to the doorway.

  “Where?”

  “To the Cormaeril estate, of course.”

  “Steele, it’s dark and cold and slicker than oil out there. Couldn’t we just head home and check in the morning?”

  “No. It will be easier in the dark, and I need you to keep watch,” he said, shuttering his lantern. He pushed open the door.

  “Steele, I want to go home,” Julia said with an iron determination.

  “Fine,” her brother snapped. He paused, silhouetted by the moonlight shining in the doorway. “Go home. You’re useless, anyway.” Steele disappeared into the darkness.

  Julia stood in the open doorway, and Olive thought she heard the noblewoman sob. After a few moments, though, Julia fled the carriage house without bothering to close the door. Olive heard Julia whisper, “Steele, wait up.”

  Still in the loft, Olive rolled over and sighed with relief. She stretched out on the straw, wriggling her fingers and toes in the hay. She was once again the lovely, talented halfling she’d been born and bred to be. Even better, the queasiness had left her. It wasn’t the oats, after all, she realized. Probably an effect of the transformation.

  She was still wearing the clothing she’d worn the night before. She patted down her vest pockets. Jade’s magical purse was still there. “I am an ass,” Olive whispered with a chuckle, “for not having figured it out before.” Who else, she thought, would have been so bold and cunning as to steal the Wyvernspur’s prize heirloom out from under their noses? Who else could have gotten past the guardian? Only my protege, Jade.

  Olive’s pride decayed within moments. Jade would never steal anything again. The halfling’s stomach cramped up again, this time with renewed anguish over Jade’s death. She curled into a ball with her fists clenched, trying to fight back her misery.

  It was no use. The emotion surged through her and took control. Olive wept, something she hadn’t done since her mother had died. She lay sobbing in the straw until she was weak with the effort and had given herself a headache.

  She lay there a while longer feeling empty inside. Finally her determination to avenge Jade’s death returned. Flattery will pay, Olive thought. He may think he’s tough, slapping Cat around and murdering my Jade, but he’s about to learn otherwise.

  Once I return the spur to Giogi, we’ll find out what its secret powers are and use them against Flattery, she thought.

  Olive sat up and wiped the residue of the tears from her face. She sniffed, looked at her sleeve, and realized that the dirt and grime she’d accumulated as a burro remained with her. If I’m going to enlist Giogi’s help, though, she thought, I need to present a more formidable appearance. I need a bath, clean clothes, a decent night’s sleep, and time to think up a plan. I’ll contact Giogi in the morning, she decided.

  Olive stood, brushed the straw off her clothing, and climbed down from the loft. In another minute, she was outside Giogi’s front gate and skating her way along the ice-covered roads, back to her room at Maela’s boarding house.

  Giogi stood at the bottom of the staircase, watching Cat descend. He was sure there wasn’t a more beautiful woman in all of Cormyr. She wore a low-cut gown of lavender satin covered with golden lace. Her long hair was fastened high on her head with a matching golden lace net.

  “Is this all right?” Cat asked, halting two steps above him.

  “I don’t think I’d ever seen mother wear that,” Giogi said, trying hard to avoid staring at the dress’s decolletage. I didn’t know she had anything so, um—”

  “Revealing?” Cat suggested, crossing her hands coyly over the gown’s neckline, which was nowhere near her neck.

  “Small,” Giogi said, recovering his wits. “My mother was not as slender as you.” He offered Cat his arm.

  “Not while she was your mother, perhaps,” Cat replied, laying her fingertips on his sleeve and moving down beside him, “but as a girl, she must have been. I found this at the very bottom of the chest. It might have been something she wore when she came out.”

  “Oh, she was never a debutante,” Giogi explained as he escorted the mage through the main hall. “Her father, Shar of Suzail, was a carpenter. He made furniture, of course, but he also supervised the timberwork of all the bridges in Cormyr, and the locks at Wheloon, and they’re all still standing. He made a lot of money, but, according to father, he was very humble. King Rhigaerd II, Azoun’s father, offered him a peerage for his work, but he turned it down. He said he couldn’t do both—work and be a lord. Old Shar begged Father to rescue his daughter, though, when she was kidnapped by an evil mage. That’s how my parents met.”

  “Your mother would have been presented to court, though, when she married your father.”

  “Yes, I guess she must have.”

  “Perhaps she wore this then. I didn’t want to borrow anything too valuable, but this one fit so well. I did pick out something especially nice for you.”

  “Pardon?” Giogi asked.

  Cat halted and held Giogi back from the dining room door. “Here,” she said, pulling something out of her sleeve. “I found it in the jewelry box.” Cat held out a platinum headpiece and latched it about Giogi’s forehead. “There. That’s just right. It gives you the look of nobility.”

  “It feels funny,” Giogi said, shifting it about on his head.

  Cat laughed. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, steering him toward the dining room door.

  Giogi turned the handle and led the enchantress in to dinner.

  The nobleman was heartened to see that their fancy attire had pacified Thomas considerably. The manservant dropped his earlier reserve and served dinner with considerable courtesy. Giogi caught the servant smiling at him once and sneaking appreciative glances at Cat often.

  Thomas wished his master had removed the rakish jewelry in his ear and hair, but the headdress actually pleased the servant. He decided it gave Giogi a commanding air—something he’d always lacked. As for the woman, though her earlier slip in decorum marked her of “lower” birth, her speech revealed a certain amount of education.

  He could easily see that his master’s interest extended beyond the woman’s ability as a spell-caster. It would be impossible not to do so. The woman’s attractiveness startled Thomas each time he looked at her.

  Ever alert to the dangers that beautiful women presented to a man of his master’s fortunes, Thomas considered carefully what course he should take to ensure that Giogioni did not entangle himself with this woman on a personal leve
l. Such a situation, he decided as he served the soup, could only lead to scandal.

  The servant considered letting news of the woman’s presence leak to Dorath, but he dismissed that idea almost immediately. Giogi’s aunt would take too heavy-handed an approach, the kind that drove couples closer together. Similarly, Thomas realized while presenting the roast duck, a cautionary word of his own to the young nobleman could backfire drastically.

  By the time he cleared the dinner plates and served the apples and cheese, Thomas felt the need to consult with someone who not only cared for Giogi, but who understood the subtlety of the situation, someone who could also keep an eye on Cat and make sure she wasn’t using her magic to influence him. The servant realized that he would have to wait until later for such a consultation, after Giogi had retired.

  “So,” Cat began after Thomas had retreated to Servant Land for the final time, “this man you went to see, Sudacar, couldn’t tell you how your father used the spur?”

  “No, but we think my father could use it to fly.”

  “It must have more power than that,” Cat said after sipping her brandy, “or Flattery wouldn’t have sent me after it. He can already fly.”

  “Well, Sudacar suggested I speak with Mother Lleddew. She adventured with my father once, so she may know something more.”

  “Who is Mother Lleddew?” Cat asked.

  “The high priestess of the House of the Lady. That’s our temple to Selune. I hiked all the way up there tonight, by the Immer Stream path. It got dark, and I fell in the stream. I told you that already.”

  “That’s when you were attacked by the lacedons but were saved by the bear,” Cat said, remembering.

  “Yes. One of them scratched me right across my face—the lacedons, not the bear. Then, when I got to the temple, there was a girl.” Giogi knit his brow. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but that girl did look like the Cledwyll statue, except much younger. Since the guardian said I’d been kissed by Selune, I sort of associated this girl with Selune, since she healed me with a kiss, and then—poof!—I was home. Oh, but first she told me Mother Lleddew wasn’t there, and that I should try tomorrow. It was all very strange after the fight with the undead. Do you think I imagined it all?”