The Wyvern's Spur

by Kate Novak

  Frefford turned and left the tower room by a second door, which led to a wider, windowed staircase running along the outside of the tower.

  Olive popped out from behind a large brass gong. “I take it your cousin was only up here to collect the last of your uncle’s remains,” she said.

  “Yes. There wasn’t very much to collect, though,” Giogi said.

  “No. There wasn’t much of Jade, either,” Olive said. “I went back to look for her ashes, but the rain had washed them away.”

  Cat said nothing but flipped open a book on the desk. It was the pink catalog Gaylyn had kept for Drone. Inside were lines and lines of small, neat handwriting. Cat lifted a few scrolls and manuscripts off a pile beneath the desk and compared each one to a list in the book. “Your cousin’s wife has done a remarkable job. There is some organization to this whole mess. Only a small minority of these papers are actually magic, however. It will still take some time to separate the gold from the dross.”

  “Can’t you just cast a detect magic and find the most useful things?” Olive asked.

  Cat’s face broke into a grin. “Good thinking, Mistress Ruskettle. I will cast the spell while you collect everything that glows. Look sharp, we do not want to miss anything,” the mage warned.

  “I’m ready,” Olive declared.

  Cat walked to the outer doorway and turned to face the room. Holding her hands clasped behind her back, she closed her eyes and began a whispering chant.

  Olive tensed with excitement, her eyes wide.

  Blue light flared all around her—light so bright that Olive instinctively closed her eyes and raised her hands up to cover them. She tried squinting and peeking through her fingers. So much light flooded the room that it was like being underwater.

  “Do you have everything, Mistress Ruskettle?” Cat’s voice asked mockingly through the azure radiance.

  “Very funny,” Olive said with a sniff, “You’ve had your little joke. Now, if you don’t mind—”

  The light dimmed and faded.

  “I thought you said only a few things here were magic,” Giogi said testily, trying to rub the spots from his eyes.

  Cat shook her head. “No, I said a minority of these papers were magic. There are still many, many papers, and the room itself has enchantments cast on it, as do many of the items.”

  “I see. Well, you’d better start sorting through the magic,” Giogi said. “That’s what we brought you for,” he added. Then he turned sharply away from the mage.

  Olive saw Cat look down at the floor as if she’d been slapped by Flattery. The mage returned to Drone’s desk.

  “Mistress Ruskettle, you and I can start looking for clues Uncle Drone might have left about who the thief was,” Giogi said more enthusiastically.

  Olive nodded wordlessly, wishing she could shake Giogi and explain to him that it was imperative he win the mage’s loyalty—something he wasn’t going to do by treating her like a dust rag. With a sigh, the halfling began studying the papers piled on the floor.

  The nobleman drifted toward the stone table holding the alchemy setup and sniffed at the air. He thought of all the time he used to spend in the room when he was little—begging his Uncle Drone to teach him magic. The wizard had always told him he should concentrate on his other talents. Giogi had never figured out what other talents he had, though.

  Olive perused a letter dated nearly thirty years before. It was signed by King Azoun’s father, Rhigaerd II. Wax imprinted with the royal seal was still affixed to the letter. The halfling looked up at Giogi and Cat. Giogi was sifting through the papers on the stone table, and the mage had her nose buried in Gaylyn’s catalog. Olive slid the document into her skirt pocket.

  “Here’s Uncle Drone’s journal,” Giogi said, “propped under this alcohol burner.”

  Olive, her eyes still fixed on Cat, saw the mage’s head snap up in alarm as she heard the sound of the book’s leather cover sliding along the stone tabletop. The mage wheeled in place as Giogi said, “Ick. What’s this yellow powder all over it?”

  “Giogi! No!” Cat cried, throwing herself at the nobleman just as he flipped open the journal’s cover.

  Olive instinctively threw herself in the opposite direction. An explosion thundered through the room, pressing the halfling to the floor like a great hand. Papers gushed up and fluttered back down. Glass alembics and vials from the alchemy set smashed into the far wall and slid to the floor, their contents streamed out in greasy rivulets.

  “Giogi?” Olive whispered into the smoke.

  “Did I do that?” Giogi whispered in reply.

  Olive picked herself up off the floor and stumbled across to help Giogi, who lay pinned beneath the mage. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I think so. Cat?”

  Cat lay still on top of the nobleman. The back of her cream-colored gown was scorched yellow and brown. Giogi rolled on his side and slid the mage over gently. Her face was very pale.

  Damn! Olive thought.

  “Cat?” Giogi whispered. “Oh, please, say something.”

  Cat remained silent and motionless.

  “Mistress Ruskettle,” Giogi ordered, “run and get Freffie! He’s in the room two stories down. Tell him to bring a healing potion. Tell him to hurry!”

  Olive tore down the outer stairs. It might be all right, she tried to convince herself. Cat might not be as bad as she looks. She can’t die. We need her. Damn that stupid fop!

  Giogi cradled the mage’s head in his lap. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. “Cat,” he whispered. “Don’t die. Please, don’t die. I’m so sorry.”

  “Giogi, you fool,” Cat whispered.

  “Cat! You’re all right!” Giogi cried out.

  Cat gulped and swallowed with some effort. “Could’ve killed yourself, you idiot.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again. Ever. Tell me you’re all right.”

  “Hurt like hell.”

  “Mistress Ruskettle’s gone for help. We’ll get you a healing potion. You’ll be fine.” Giogi bent over and kissed the mage’s forehead. “You had me so scared. I’m so happy you’re all right.”

  “I thought you hated me,” Cat muttered.

  Giogi felt his heart pounding. “You little ass, I could never hate you. I’m crazy about you. I was an absolute fool to be so angry with you and act so mean. I’m so sorry.”

  “Not a little ass,” Cat whispered.

  “Yes, you are. You just threw yourself into an exploding book and saved my life,” Giogi pointed out.

  “Precisely,” Cat croaked. “I’m a big ass.” She smiled weakly.

  Giogi laughed and kissed the mage’s forehead again.

  An out-of-breath Olive burst back into the room with a similarly winded Frefford right behind her.

  “Giogi! What happened?” Frefford demanded, puffing.

  “I was stupid, as usual. Did you bring a healing potion?”

  Freffie handed Giogi a small crystal vial. Giogi uncorked it and held it to Cat’s lips. “Drink this,” he urged her, helping her lift her head up so she could swallow the potion.

  Cat emptied the vial and lay back, licking her lips. “ ’S good,” she murmured. “Feeling better.” The mage closed her eyes as if she’d fallen asleep. Giogi brought her left hand up to his lips and kissed it. Suddenly Cat’s eyes snapped open again and she sat up. “I think I’ll live,” the mage said with surprise.

  Giogi breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But only because you need someone to remind you not to do anything else that stupid ever again,” Cat added sharply, climbing to her feet with Giogi’s support.

  Olive studied the pair with interest. It was a relief seeing Giogi get over his resentment. More astonishing, though, was Cat acting once again like the mage they’d met in the catacombs—saying what she thought. All in all, that was probably a good sign, the halfling decided.

  “Giogi,” Frefford said, “why didn’t you tell me Mistress Ruskettle was h
ere as well? So pleased to see you again, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Your Lordship,” Olive replied.

  From down the outer staircase came an irate call, “Giogioni Wyvernspur! Just what are you doing up there? Are you trying to blow us all to the seventh heaven, you fool? Come down from that room this instant.”

  “Aunt Dorath!” Giogi whispered, jumping to his feet. “She found out I’m here.”

  The halfling ran to the door to the outer staircase and pushed it shut. “The lock’s broken on this side,” she whispered.

  “I had to break the door down yesterday,” Frefford reminded Giogi.

  They could hear Dorath stomping up the stone staircase. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the tower. Fortunately, Dorath had several flights to climb.

  Cat looked at the door with annoyance. “Seal,” she said.

  Olive felt the door shudder beneath her shoulder.

  “That will buy us a few minutes,” the mage said.

  “What for?” Frefford asked.

  Cat turned to Giogi and put her hands on his arms. “Giogi, we still need to search this room for clues about the spur and magic we can use. You must leave with your cousin and Mistress Ruskettle. Your aunt doesn’t know I’m here. Lead her away so I can search the room. Go to the temple. You need to speak to Mother Lleddew. I will join you back at your townhouse when I’m finished here.”

  Suddenly suspicious again of the mage’s motives, Olive suggested, “Maybe I should stay and help Mistress Cat.”

  “I can manage on my own,” Cat insisted. She crossed the room to the small shelf of potions. She studied the vials for a moment, checked in the pink notebook, then selected two potions, one a slate gray, the other a glittering gold.

  “What are those for?” Giogi asked, following behind her.

  “You and Mistress Ruskettle.” Cat pressed the golden vial into Giogi’s hands. “If you have any more trouble—lacedons, bears, anything—drink this,” she said.

  “What will it do?” Giogi asked.

  “It will make you powerful. Now do me a favor. Move the journal to your uncle’s desk so I can study it.”

  “Is it safe to touch now?”

  Cat nodded like a mother encouraging her child to mount a pony. Giogi lugged the heavy wood-bound tome from the stone table to the desk while Cat joined Olive, who stood next to the door.

  The mage knelt beside the halfling and addressed her so quietly that her words could not be heard by the men. “Please, Mistress Ruskettle. You’ve already made me safe with your amulet. Go with Giogioni. He needs your protection more than I. Flattery commands many undead. This potion will help if you are attacked by any.” She handed Olive the slate-gray potion.

  Olive took the vial uncertainly, not sure what to make of Cat’s behavior. She’s encouraging Giogi to do just the thing Flattery warned her against, but she isn’t joining us in the activity. So she’s still avoiding a direct confrontation with the wizard—a confrontation that would reveal exactly where her loyalties lie. Am I going to regret giving her a free rein with Drone’s lab? She could find something about the spur, or even find the spur itself and take it right to Flattery.

  “Please, look out for him?” Cat pleaded in a whisper.

  Olive wanted to say, Me? Woman, I’m no hero, just a halfling that knows more than is good for the both of us. Instead, she pocketed the vial and nodded grimly. “Don’t worry,” she said.

  The door handle rattled and shook, and someone began thumping on the door.

  “Giogi,” Frefford whispered to his cousin, “I’m not sure that this is such a good idea.”

  “Freffie, it’ll be just fine,” Giogi whispered back. “Do me a favor and lend Cat a horse to ride home—I’ll have Thomas return it right away.”

  “Giogi, she’s not staying at your house, is she?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Giogi tried to explain.

  “She is. You devil,” Frefford said with a grin.

  “Freffie, it’s not like that.”

  “No? You know you’ll take as much heat for being innocent as for being guilty if Aunt Dorath finds out.”

  The pounding on the door stopped, and a voice that could wake the dead shouted from the other side, “Giogioni Wyvernspur, you open that door right now!”

  “Just a minute, Aunt Dorath. I’m, um, trapped under a—a gong,” Giogi called out, banging on the brass gong beside the desk.

  Cat stepped away from the door and crept to Giogi’s side. “I have to hide now,” she said. Good luck. Take care.” She took another potion vial from the shelf and unstoppered it. After taking only a little sip, she restoppered and pocketed the rest of the potion. In a moment, she vanished before their eyes.

  “Frefford, are you in there with your cousin?” called the voice of doom.

  “Yes, Aunt Dorath.”

  “Open this door immediately.”

  Frefford strode over to the door and yanked on the handle. “It seems to be stuck, Aunt Dorath. I must have bent a hinge when I broke it down before.”

  “Keep pulling at it,” Aunt Dorath demanded. “Giogi, you get out from under that gong and give Frefford a hand.”

  “Yes, Aunt Dorath,” Giogi called out, giving the gong another bang. He felt something brush against his lips. “Cat?” he whispered. The invisible mage kissed him again, on his ear.

  “Behave yourself,” he whispered.

  “I am behaving,” Cat whispered back.

  “Yes. Badly,” he replied, although he was unable to keep the grin from his lips.

  The spell that Cat had cast to hold the door shut wore off suddenly, with an almost tangible crack. Unprepared, Frefford bashed the door into his head, and Aunt Dorath came tumbling into the room.

  Giogi rushed forward to help the elderly woman to her feet.

  Dorath rose on her own and shook off her nephew with a look of displeasure. “Gaylyn told me you were up here. You’ve frightened her half to death. I demand to know what you’ve been doing!”

  “I came up to look at Uncle Drone’s journal,” Giogi explained. “I thought he might have something to say about the spur in it, but it was—”

  “Firetrapped, you fool!” Dorath interrupted. “How many times has your uncle told you not to touch things in his lab? You almost didn’t live to see your tenth year because of that incident with the bottled efreet, or have you forgotten?”

  “No, Aunt Dorath. I had not. I thought it was worth the risk if it helped us find the spur.”

  “If your uncle knew anything about the spur, don’t you think he would have told me?” Aunt Dorath snapped.

  Giogi bit his tongue.

  “That book and this room are off-limits to you for good reason. Isn’t it bad enough that one of those spells killed your uncle?”

  “But, I thought—” Giogi began, but, catching sight of Frefford, who stood behind Aunt Dorath, shaking his head warningly, he let his words trail off. Obviously Frefford hadn’t wanted to worry the older lady with his theory that something had broken in.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Dorath,” Giogi said simply. “I shan’t do it again.”

  “And who is this?” Dorath asked, finally noticing Olive standing very quietly to one side.

  Frefford stepped forward. “Surely, Aunt Dorath, you must remember Olive Ruskettle—the bard that sang at my wedding reception.”

  Dorath squinted at the halfling. “You’re the one with the companion who tried to kill Giogi.”

  “Um, yes,” Olive admitted, “but we stopped her in time if you’ll remember.”

  “Oh, I remember. I just don’t know why you bothered. Giogi is determined not to see out his first quarter-century. However did you get involved in this harebrained scheme?” Dorath asked Olive.

  Olive picked her words carefully. “I came along as an advisor. I have some experience with magic. Unfortunately, I was not quick enough to prevent your nephew from setting off the firetrap. I am so sorry that we alarmed you. I think perhaps you are
right. This room is beyond my expertise, as well as that of your nephew’s. We should all leave immediately.”

  Pacified some by the halfling’s agreeableness, Dorath grew calmer. “Perhaps, Mistress Ruskettle, since you are here, you and my nephew would care to join us for lunch. I know Gaylyn would be glad for the company. Confinement has been so tedious for her. She’s such a high-spirited young woman. Giogi will be glad to make some time in his castle-destroying schedule, won’t you?”

  “What are you having?” Giogi asked.

  Aunt Dorath shot the young nobleman an angry look.

  “Glad to stay,” Giogi quickly amended.

  “Then after lunch you can take some packages up to the House of the Lady, for the memorial service tonight. Frefford can then devote some time to Gaylyn.”

  “I’d be happy to oblige,” Giogi said.

  “It’s just like your Uncle Drone to leave a note behind that we use Selune’s temple for his memorial service,” Dorath said as she began descending the stairs. “He knew how much I hate traveling up that hill.”

  Olive and the gentlemen followed the elderly woman down the outside staircase. Olive shot a look back into the room, but, of course, she saw no one within, only the massive clutter. With the excitement of the last few minutes, and her state of confusion and indecision about Cat, and, of course, her anticipation of lunch, the halfling completely forgot the unseen figure that had followed them up the tower’s inner staircase.

  The House of the Lady

  The cook at Redstone lacked Thomas’s talents with sauces and seasonings, but Gaylyn’s company added considerable cheer to the lunch. She was shrewd enough not to ask about Cat in front of Aunt Dorath, but she regaled them with funny stories of the naughty things she did as a child. Olive got the impression the lady would turn out to be a pretty permissive parent.

  Steele never showed up for the meal, which also added to everyone’s lightheartedness. Sudacar did show, and, giving Giogi one of his sly winks, seated himself beside Julia and attended to her every word.

  Giogi and Olive both felt very strange watching Julia’s behavior in Sudacar’s presence. She’d become the model of a sweet, modest young lady in the Lord of Immersea’s presence. Giogi’s feeling of family loyalty struggled with his urge to warn Sudacar of Julia’s natural viciousness. Olive, for her part, was reminded of Cat, who kept her sardonic nature around Giogi in check to keep his favor, and around Flattery to keep her head from being staved in.