by Kate Novak
Cat felt dizzy and sick, but she was not going to let an insane kobold-torturer get away with her prize. Because of her spell, Steele was falling with the resistance of a feather, so it would take him at least a minute to reach the ground.
The mage raced from the manor house and rushed to the corner tower. She stood at the base of the tower as Steele drifted toward her. He was still cackling about the power of the spur and flapping his arms, oblivious to the fact that he was really falling.
When his feet touched the earth and he was finally released from her feather fall spell, he wheeled to face her, his eyes wide with crazed rage. “Die!” he shrieked, swiping in her direction with his hand cramped like an animal claw, although he was not close enough to actually reach her.
Cat sprinkled sand over an imaginary baby in her arms and whispered, “Lullaby, Steele.”
The Wyvernspur slid fast asleep, into the slush and mud. Cat pounced on him and tore the spur from his hands.
All this time, she thought, I was expecting some shiny piece of metal, something that can be attached to a boot and used as a prod. What does the spur turn out to be? A disgusting piece of shriveled, mummified—ugh—someone actually slashed it off a wyvern’s foot.
A shadow fell across her and the snoozing Steele.
Frefford stood over her, offering a hand to help her up.
“I’m taking this to Giogi,” Cat muttered, backing away from Frefford on her knees.
“Well, now, it would be foolish for me to argue with such a battle-hardened and powerful spell-caster, wouldn’t it?” Frefford said, grinning as he looked her up and down.
Cat was suddenly aware of how comical she must appear, with her gown scorched by fire and covered with mud and a lump the size of an egg on the side of her head. Despite herself, she laughed. She held her hand out and let Frefford pull her to her feet.
“I have a horse saddled and waiting in the stable,” the nobleman said. “Bronder,” he hailed a passing servant, “have Sash bring out Poppy, and be quick about it.”
The servant scurried off to the stable.
Cat studied Frefford with amazement. “You really aren’t interested in possessing the spur, are you?” she asked.
Frefford shrugged. “You heard Gaylyn. Giogi’s the only one who can use it. Aunt Dorath doesn’t want him to, but that’s really for Giogi to decide, isn’t it?”
Cat felt dizzy for a moment and touched the lump on her forehead. Far above them, Dorath shouted down, “Frefford? Did you get it?”
“How’s your head?” Frefford asked, ignoring his aunt.
“If it were a horse, I’d have to put it to sleep,” Cat groused. “I didn’t know I had the spur,” she explained. “Someone else gave it to me. I thought it was something else …” Her voice trailed off.
“Are you sure you’re up to riding?” Frefford asked.
“Yes,” Cat insisted. “Why are you being so nice and understanding about this?” she asked.
Frefford grinned. “You could turn out to be a relative someday. We Wyvernspurs stick together, don’t you know.”
“How did you know—” Cat bit back her words. He didn’t know she was a Wyvernspur. He was thinking of her in terms of Giogi. She could feel the blood rushing to her face.
“You’re sure you feel up to riding? You look a little flushed,” Frefford teased.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “This is serious. There’s a wizard, Flattery. He killed your Uncle Drone. He’ll kill Giogi to get the spur from him. He doesn’t even want Giogi visiting the Temple of Selune to find out anything about it.”
“Once Giogi has the spur, I don’t think anyone will be able to take it from him,” Frefford said calmly. “It will be a simple matter for him to bring this Flattery to justice. As for the Temple of Selune—Giogi’s already there by now. You could join him. Mother Lleddew serves a lovely tea in the open air.”
Frefford pointed northwest over the fields. “The temple’s on Spring Hill—that big hill there. There’s a shortcut to the west side of town if you follow the footpath down the north slope of this hill instead of the road into town,” Frefford explained. “The road to the temple comes before the road to the graveyard.”
A stableboy, leading a chestnut mare with a black snip, approached Frefford. His Lordship helped the mage into the sidesaddle and handed her the reins. “It’s a nice day for a ride, but you’d better hurry before Aunt Dorath gets down here,” he said and smacked the horse into a trot.
Cat bounced out of the castle’s front gate feeling nauseated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a horse. Before she’d been kidnapped in Zhentil Keep, she guessed. Has riding unsettled me this much before? she wondered.
Once outside the castle walls, Cat followed the path that Frefford had recommended. From the hillside, she could look out across most of the Wyvernspur lands. A dark gray cloud loomed over Spring Hill. Huge birds of death circled beneath the cloud.
Vultures in for the kill, Cat thought, her queasy stomach turning to ice.
Fearing she might already be too late, Cat urged her horse into a canter, but the sensation of being unbalanced as the beast sped down the hill was too unpleasant. She slowed the horse to a walk. Her heart was pounding hard, but she still didn’t know what she was going to do.
Ruskettle lied about the amulet of protection. Flattery could be watching me this very moment. I could take him the spur, but if Ruskettle did tell the truth about seeing a dark crystal being stolen from Flattery’s pocket, he has nothing to offer me—except my miserable life.
If I take the spur to Giogi, though, can he really use it to defeat Flattery? Or, if not, can he at least weaken Flattery enough to give me an opportunity to search for the memory crystal in case Flattery does still have it?
An eerie keening wafted across the fields. Cat looked up at Spring Hill. A brilliant white light flickered at the top. A moment later, a shimmering fog rolled down from the hilltop. Cat kept her eyes on the hilltop, still letting her horse plod along. When she saw the bolt of white light shoot from the hilltop, though, her fear for Giogi outweighed her fear of falling off the horse. She kicked it into a trot, and then into a gallop.
Olive held the brake just enough to keep the carriage from passing out of the shimmering fog, taking advantage of the protection it offered them. Undead lay on either side of the road, unmoving. The fog stopped at the bottom of the hill.
The carriage squelched through the field road. Olive spotted a large brown bear clawing at something out in the tall grass, but she had no desire to investigate any closer. She presumed it was one of Mother Lleddew’s chums taking care of an undead creature that had managed to escape the fog.
Olive looked over at Giogi with concern. He was leaning back with his eyes closed. He was pale and bruised and bleeding. “You don’t look so good,” she said. She tied the reins up, letting the horses set their own pace down the road, and turned to check the nobleman’s wounds.
“I don’t think I was cut out to be an adventurer,” Giogi muttered. “It hurts too much.”
Olive laughed. “But you were great,” she insisted. She sliced a piece off the bottom of his cape, folded it up, and pressed it against a gash in his neck. “Press on that,” she ordered.
Giogi obeyed, but he had to disagree with the halfling’s assessment. “I nearly got Mother Lleddew killed.”
“She’ll be fine. Werebears heal fast, and they’re harder to kill than people. Did you know she was a werebear?” Olive asked.
“No, of course not. How can a werebear be a priestess?”
“It’s traditional for lycanthropes to worship the moon,” Olive said with a shrug. “Even priests need hobbies.”
Alerted by the sound of a galloping horse, Olive looked across the fields again. “I think that’s Cat,” she said, pointing to a just barely mounted rider.
Giogi opened his eyes. “It is. She’s riding Poppy.” The nobleman reached over and pulled back on the horses’ reins, sto
pping the carriage.
Cat came charging up to them. She pulled back too hard on Poppy’s reins and set the mare rearing on her hind legs. The mage toppled from her saddle and into the muddy field. Giogi leaped from the carriage and rushed to the woman’s side.
“Obviously he doesn’t hurt as bad as he thought he did,” Olive muttered. She climbed down from the driver’s seat and scrambled up the carriage door to check on their passenger. Mother Lleddew remained in her bear form. A good sign, Olive knew, since lycanthropes turned human when they died. The bear brushed its nose with a paw. She’s just sleeping off the pain, Olive decided.
“I’m fine,” Cat moaned as Giogi bent over her. “I just forgot,” she said as he helped her to her feet, “that I don’t know how to ride.”
Giogi grinned until he caught sight of the bruise on her temple. “What happened? Who hit you?” he demanded angrily.
“Your fool Cousin Julia, trying to rescue her fool brother, Steele. I should have let him fall to the base of the tower, but, as you keep saying, we Wyvernspurs have to stick together. Giogi, don’t fuss. It was a very soft stick. Here. This is for you,” Cat concluded, holding up the spur for Giogi to see.
“You found it!” Giogi shouted. “You clever, clever woman.” He picked the mage up by the waist and twirled her around. When he set her back down, he kissed her on the cheek.
“Would you please take it away,” Cat asked. “You never told me it was this ugly.”
Giogi laughed and took the spur from the mage. “It is, isn’t it?” he agreed, holding it up to his face. “Where was it?”
“You’d better ask Mistress Ruskettle,” Cat suggested.
Giogi turned around and faced Olive with confusion, holding the spur out for her to see.
Olive looked at the artifact with a bit of confusion of her own. She’d presumed, as Cat had, that the spur would be a metal prod to strap around one’s ankle to spur wyverns into the air or something. It took her several moments to recognize the hunk of mummified flesh as one of the pieces of dried meat she’d tied into the bundle she’d given Cat.
The halfling had some explaining to do, she realized. Olive needed time to figure out what to explain first. She looked up into the clear blue sky. “How about you tuck that away, and as soon as we’re safe indoors, I’ll explain about the spur,” she promised. “Flattery could always fly over in the shape of a bird or something.”
Giogi looked up nervously. The sky was empty. The lone cloud that had shaded Spring Hill had vanished. He didn’t see any birds. Still, he was inclined to take Olive’s suggestion. “I’ll tie Poppy to the back of the carriage, so you can ride with us,” he said to Cat.
“Can’t you explain on the way?” Cat asked Olive with pseudo-innocence.
“No,” Olive said. “I think I’d better stay in back with Mother Lleddew. She’s not well.”
“Mother Lleddew? What’s wrong with her?” Cat asked anxiously. She peered into the carriage window and pulled back quickly. “Giogi,” she whispered, “there’s a bear in there.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” Olive said. “She’ll sleep it off. If you would be so kind as to open the door for me, we can be off.”
Once they were all loaded back on the carriage, Giogi and Cat on the driver’s seat, Olive inside with Mother Lleddew, and Poppy clopping along behind, Olive began racking her brain for exactly what she would tell Giogi and Cat. At the same time, she kept an ear on the conversation between the nobleman and the mage.
“I thought it was some sort of metal spur, such as for a horse,” Cat said. “It’s been sliced off a real wyvern’s foot, though, hasn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” Giogi said. “It was a gift from a female wyvern to Paton Wyvernspur for rescuing her children. She sliced it off her dead mate.”
Yuck! Olive thought inside the carriage.
“Yick!” Cat exclaimed. “How gruesome.”
“Well, yes. Speaking of gruesome, are you sure you’re all right? That’s a nasty bump you’ve got there,” Giogi said.
“You should talk,” the mage laughed. “You’re three colors that humans don’t generally come in,” she said, poking at a large bruise on his cheek. “You’re bleeding, too. What happened?”
“We ran into a few undead,” Giogi said with a shrug. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. The potions you gave us helped a lot, though.”
Olive mentally amended: An army of undead that we beat only with help from a werebear and a goddess’s powerful minion. And the potions helped only as long as the right type of undead attacked us.
“So, how was your afternoon?” Giogi asked the mage.
Cat related the events at Redstone in detail.
Giogi looked astonished by her story. “Is that all?” he asked with mock ennui.
“Is that all?” Cat echoed. “No. One more thing.”
“What?”
“I missed you,” the mage admitted.
“Really?” Giogi asked, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.
Olive shifted uneasily inside the carriage. Despite the mage having loyally handed the spur over to Giogi, Olive could not trust her. She hadn’t leveled with Giogi about being Flattery’s wife, but she continued to flirt with him. The halfling had firsthand experience at betraying people. She couldn’t help thinking that Cat still had some sort of scheme in mind that required Giogi’s cooperation.
Mother Lleddew’s Tale
From the Journal of Giogioni Wyvernspur:
The 21st of Ches, in the year of the Shadows
While it seems like an age ago, it was only the day before yesterday when our family heirloom was stolen, and it was only yesterday that my Uncle Drone died—foully murdered, as I now suspect, by the evil wizard Flattery The spur has been returned by the remarkable Harper bard, Olive Ruskettle, who has suffered the loss of her partner, Jade More, at Flattery’s hand.
Mistress Ruskettle is still uncertain of the details, but she believes Jade removed the spur from our family crypt at the request of my Uncle Drone, convinced as he was that I was destined to use the spur. Jade, Mistress Ruskettle has explained, was a Wyvernspur from the same lost line as the mage Cat, which my Uncle Drone must somehow have known, or he would not have sent Jade in to face the guardian. One other attribute made Jade perfect for the task—apparently she could not be detected magically, which would have kept the spur’s location a secret as long as she held on to it.
Mistress Ruskettle claims Cat also possesses this remarkable undetectability, which is why she hid the spur on Cat early this morning, disguised as a magical amulet. Jade gave the spur to Mistress Ruskettle moments before being killed, but it took the bard a day to discover that she was carrying the most sought-after item in Immersea. She has apologized for not trusting me with its location sooner, but she feared that once I knew it was safe I would abandon my quest to learn its power and neglect my responsibility to use it. I cannot deny that she might have been right.
Having fought my way through Flattery’s minions to reach Mother Lleddew, I would feel rather foolish now not asking about the spur. I have an uneasy suspicion that I may need her knowledge not only to ensure the spur’s safety but my family’s safety as well.
Giogi laid his quill down on the desk and put his head in his hands. While he shared Olive Ruskettle’s thirst for justice and had no intention of backing down on his promise to do all he could to help her, he felt uncertain that he could really bring himself to use the spur.
There had to be something bad about the artifact if Aunt Dorath believed it to be cursed. Moreover, the fact that a wizard as evil as Flattery desired its power for his own did not bode well concerning the nature of that power. Hopefully Mother Lleddew could shed light on the mystery of the spur—perhaps on Flattery as well—as soon as she recovered from her wounds sufficiently to speak.
Olive sat all alone in the dining room of Giogi’s townhouse, wolfing down tea and crumpets. Giogi was in the parlor, scribbling in his journal. Cat was still changing into
something clean. And Mother Lleddew, who had shaken off her bear shape before they’d arrived home, was still resting in the guest room.
The halfling leaned back and sighed with satisfaction. After helping Mother Lleddew to her room, Olive had managed to present Giogi with a brilliant explanation for having the spur and for giving it to Cat. It was an explanation that not only concealed her own ignorance of the spur’s appearance but convinced Giogi that her motives were completely noble. Cat hadn’t seemed too pleased with her story, but it had satisfied Giogi completely.
The door to the hallway opened, and Mother Lleddew stood on the threshold. With her massive frame, thick black hair, taut muscles, and shy eyes, her human appearance was still rather bearlike. She wore only her brown shift and leather sandals, but the dirt had been brushed from them, and as a further concession to society she’d tied her mane of hair back with a ribbon.
Few people could make Giogi’s house look small the way she does, Olive thought. The priestess walked stiffly into the room, though—not as spry as she’d been when engaged in combat. It was obvious that, despite the power her were-nature granted her, Mother Lleddew was a very old woman. Her face appeared all the more drawn and haggard for the wrinkles in it, and she twitched from aches and twinges in her muscles. She could heal the injuries she’d received in battle, but she would never recover from the ravages of time.
Alerted by the sound of the priestess’s tread, Thomas bustled into the dining room from the kitchen. “Master Giogioni asks that you not wait on his account, Your Grace,” the servant said as he pulled out a chair for the priestess.
Mother Lleddew sat and held her hands in her lap until Thomas finished pouring the tea. She dolloped honey into her drink and stirred it very carefully, sneaking a look at Olive, then back at her tea without speaking.
Finally, after a fourth furtive glance, she spoke. “I’m pleased to meet you at last, Olive Ruskettle,” she said. Her voice was almost too soft to hear. “Sudacar tells me you sing a song about Selune.”
“Um, yes,” Olive answered with surprise. “The Tears of Selune. A friend of mine wrote it.”
