The Wyvern's Spur

by Kate Novak

  “Obviously so I wouldn’t suspect she had it,” Olive replied. “She had hinted that she had something to tell me, but that someone else had sworn her to secrecy until it was all over. I presume the someone was Drone. I wish she had trusted me with her little family secret. She might still be alive.”

  Cat drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. She couldn’t help feeling that there was something this halfling was keeping from her. Anxious to catch her in some falsehood, Cat launched into her next question. “If I can’t be detected magically or scried, how come the divination Steele had done led him straight to my pocket?”

  “Oh, but it didn’t,” Olive explained. “Steele had the divination done yesterday. It told him the spur was in the little ass’s pocket. I know, because I was keeping tabs on Steele as well as Flattery. You didn’t have the spur yesterday.”

  “You did,” Cat recalled. She remained suspicious of whatever excuse the halfling would make.

  “Yes. The divination told Steele the spur was in my pocket.” Olive worked her brain overtime. Cat must not suspect she was Birdie. She had to explain why the divination had called her a little ass. “You see, I was—I am,” Olive said it more firmly, “Little Ass. It’s my code name among the Harpers. Fortunately, Steele doesn’t know me or my code name. I presume Waukeen chose not to reveal to him where the spur was, so the divination was as obtuse as possible.”

  “And what was your partner Jade’s code name?” Cat asked disbelievingly. “The Gold Dragon?”

  “Silver Spoon,” Olive snapped, looking up from the tea set. She reached again into Jade’s magic pouch and pulled out the silver spoon she’d noticed that morning. She laid the spoon on the table. “Her trademark,” Olive said.

  Cat picked up the spoon. “J.W. Jade what?” she asked.

  “Wyvernspur, of course. As I told you, she was a Wyvernspur like you, though she went more commonly as Jade More. She liked to keep her true identity a secret.” Olive spoke with confidence, but to herself she wondered, What was Jade doing with a silver spoon with her initials on it—was it a gift from Drone?

  Cat looked down at the table, a little less certain that the halfling had been lying to her. “Mistress Ruskettle, about that crystal you saw Jade steal from Flattery—the one as dark as a new moon? Are you sure it was destroyed? You didn’t tell me that just to be sure I wouldn’t go back to Flattery, did you?”

  Olive searched Cat’s eager face. The mage wanted that crystal badly. She’d asked Flattery about it—called it a memory crystal. “The crystal. That’s what Flattery promised you if you helped him, isn’t it?” Olive asked.

  Cat nodded.

  “Let me guess. I’ll bet he told you it would restore your memory,” Olive said.

  Cat gasped. “How did you know that? There was no way you could know that,” she insisted angrily.

  Olive wondered if she should just tell Cat the truth—that the mage had no past to remember, that she was only created last year. That would certainly loosen her dependence on Flattery—providing she believed me, Olive thought. No, she decided, this is not a good time to start telling the truth—it’s just too unbelievable.

  “Answer me, damn it!” Cat demanded.

  Olive looked up wearily at the mage. “Jade lost her memory, too. So did Alias. You see, it’s something that runs in your side of the family,” she explained. “It’s the only thing I could think of that would make you desperate enough to take up with someone like Flattery.”

  “Was the crystal really destroyed?” Cat asked.

  “Yes.”

  Cat looked down at her lap, obviously shaken.

  “I know you’re not going to like this advice,” Olive said, “but maybe you’d be happier if you gave up dredging your past and concentrated on your future.”

  Cat rose angrily to her feet. There were tears in her eyes. “What makes you think my future is worth concentrating on?” she cried.

  Before Olive could answer, the mage had fled the dining room, slamming the door behind her. The halfling sighed. There really wasn’t anything more she could do about Cat.

  Olive reached for another crumpet, but the crumpet plate was empty. That was too much for her to bear. After all the stress she had been through the past few days, she really needed one more crumpet. She hopped down from her chair and peeked into the kitchen.

  Thomas stood at the table with his back to her. Just as she was about to ask if there wasn’t maybe another batch of tea cakes baking in the oven, she noticed what it was the servant was doing.

  Preparing a tray of tea things. Like the tray of breakfast things. For whom? Olive asked herself. Is there a sick servant in the attic? No, in a household this small, we would have heard about it. Could Thomas have a fugitive relative? the halfling wondered. In Olive’s family, fugitive relatives were not uncommon.

  Why don’t we have a look-see? she decided, creeping behind Giogi’s gentleman’s gentleman as he left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

  Giogi stood in the back garden, watching Mother Lleddew drive off in his rented carriage back to the House of the Lady. She seemed very nice. She’d been a good friend of his parents. Still, it was a little shocking to learn she was a were-bear.

  Not as shocking as the story about his father, though.

  He pulled the spur from his boot and turned it over in his hands a few times. Aunt Dorath must be tearing her hair out right now, afraid that I’ll use this. Or tearing Frefford’s hair out for letting Cat take it to me.

  He held the spur out in front of him. Wyvern, he thought, I want to be a wyvern.

  He felt no different. He was not shape-shifting.

  It’s not working. The spur must know I don’t really want to be a wyvern. Wyverns are beasts. I don’t want to be a beast.

  Listen to me, I’m no different than Aunt Dorath. I’ll never be an adventurer like Cole. It’s just not in me.

  He headed toward the kitchen door to go inside, but the thought of going back into the stuffy house was unbearable. The fear of having to face Cat and Mistress Ruskettle and explain that he didn’t want to be a wyvern was worse.

  I need to groom Daisyeye, he thought.

  Whenever he felt really depressed or uncertain, grooming a horse usually helped bring him out of it. He strode to the carriage house and slipped inside.

  There was enough light coming through the window to see without lighting the lantern. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, though, from the bright outdoor sunshine. He checked on his buggy first. The rear axle was propped up on a sawhorse so that the broken wheel could be taken out for repairs. The painting that had so startled Birdie was leaning against Daisyeye’s stall. Giogi had asked Thomas to leave it there until he decided whether he wanted to restore and reuse the frame.

  The nobleman was reaching for the bucket of Daisyeye’s brushes when he heard a muffled sob from somewhere overhead.

  Hello? he thought. Who’s crying in my loft?

  As Giogi climbed the ladder, something rustled in the straw. As he reached the top he could see a figure moving into the shadows. He caught a glimpse of yellow silk and gleaming copper and knew who it was immediately. “Cat?” he whispered.

  There was a sniff, but the figure did not move out of the shadows. Giogi swung himself into the loft and moved toward the mage. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “Nothing,” Cat answered, keeping her face turned away.

  Giogi sat beside her in the hay and turned her gently by the shoulders so that she faced him. Her face was wet and her eyes were red and puffy. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” the mage insisted. “Nothing worth crying over. I was just being stupid. Wanting stupid things. I’ve stopped now. See. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what got into me. I never cry.”

  “Yes, you do. You cried last night, when you were frightened,” Giogi reminded her.

  “Oh.” Cat looked down at her hands. “I’d forgotten that. You must think I’m stupid to cry.”

/>   “No, I don’t. What a thing to say. Everyone cries. It’s like that poem: Soldiers have their fears, something, something, something, ladies are entitled to their tears.”

  Cat burst into fresh sobs. Giogi pulled her to his chest and hugged her gently, whispering, “There, there, my little kitty-cat.” Cat grew calmer.

  “What’s made you so sad?” Giogi asked.

  “You’re so nice,” Cat said, sniffling.

  “I could try to be meaner if it would make you happy,” Giogi teased.

  “No, you couldn’t,” Cat argued, looking up at him. “You wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “Maybe not,” Giogi agreed. “Would it make you cry more if I did something else nice?” he asked.

  “Like what?” Cat asked.

  Giogi lowered his lips over the mage’s and kissed her slowly. Since she didn’t start crying again, he kissed her again, longer.

  “There. That didn’t depress you too badly, now did it?”

  “No,” the mage admitted. “It wasn’t stupid, either.”

  “Not if you liked it,” Giogi said.

  “And I can cry if I like, can’t I?”

  “Of course, but I’d rather see you smile.” He began kissing her again, but she turned away and started to cry. “Cat, what is wrong? You have to tell me, darling.”

  Through her sobs Cat stammered, “Flattery told me crying was stupid, and kissing was stupid, and, and, other things I wanted were stupid. For the longest time, I believed everything he said, but he was lying, wasn’t he?”

  “Flattery is a vile monster,” Giogi said hotly, “and the sooner you forget about him, the better. You won’t ever have to see him again.”

  “You don’t understand. He’s my master—”

  “Rubbish. You don’t need a master. I can protect you.”

  Cat pulled away. “No, Giogi, you can’t. You have to let me finish explaining. I have to tell you. He’s my master, and I was afraid not to do everything he told me.” Cat hesitated, obviously afraid to tell him what she thought he should know.

  A cold fear seized Giogi. He swallowed. “Cat, what did you do?” he whispered.

  “I married him.”

  Giogi sat, stunned. Immense relief mingled with acute heartache. He couldn’t choose which to focus on first.

  “I didn’t know about all the people he killed,” Cat said.

  Giogi took a deep breath and asked, “Did you love him?”

  “No.”

  Giogi breathed out.

  “It doesn’t matter, though. I consented.”

  “Of course it matters, and a vow made under duress is not valid.”

  “He didn’t threaten me, Giogi. I was just afraid of him.”

  “What were you afraid of?”

  Cat shrugged. “That he would sell me back as a slave to the Zhentil Keep army or turn me into one of his zombies or feed me to his ghouls.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Giogi asked, astonished at the horror in which she must have lived under the wizard’s rule.

  “Yes. I didn’t want to die. I’m not afraid of being hit, but I am afraid to die.”

  “He hit you?” the nobleman shouted, rising to his feet.

  Cat cringed, startled by Giogi’s anger.

  Giogi slammed his fist into an overhead beam. The wizard’s villainy had no bounds. Someone had to stop him.

  “I’m sorry,” Cat whispered.

  Giogi looked down at the cowering woman and felt ashamed of having frightened her. He took her hands in his own and brought her to her feet. “Don’t be a little ass,” he whispered. He kissed her on her forehead. “Come back to the house with me,” he said.

  Cat let Giogi lead her down the ladder and out of the carriage house. She walked alongside him through the garden, and he held the front door open for her as she entered the house. The couple hurried to the parlor, where it was warm. It was some time before they thought of Olive and wondered where she was.

  This is such a nice house for sneaking around in, Olive thought as she crept down the upstairs hallway after Thomas. Ought to make it a law—every wealthy house should have thick carpeting. She wished Jade were with her so she could share that joke with her.

  Olive stood behind the attic door, listening to Thomas tread up the stairs. Third and fifth steps are a might creaky, she noted.

  She opened the attic door a crack. The stairs were clear. She slipped into the stairwell and padded up the first two steps, tested the third along the side where there was less stress, climbed it and the next and then froze to listen.

  She could hear Thomas’s voice, quiet but clear.

  “He’s found it.”

  Olive didn’t hear a reply.

  Thomas asked, “Is it time yet?”

  Speak louder, Olive thought.

  “But he might use the spur,” Thomas said with a touch of alarm.

  Olive crept up the next two steps.

  “Do you think that’s really wise, sir?” Thomas asked.

  He is not talking to a relative of his, Olive realized.

  Something soft brushed against the halfling’s legs and Olive nearly toppled down the stairs. A black-and-white spotted cat looked up at the halfling and meowed loudly. If it isn’t one cat, it’s another, Olive growled inwardly. She shooed the beast away, and it went scampering up the stairs.

  Thomas did not say anything for at least thirty heartbeats, and Olive grew nervous. Some sixth sense warned her it was time to sneak off. She slipped down the stairs. Just as she reached for the door handle, she heard someone above who was not Thomas utter the word, “Secure.”

  Olive twisted the doorknob, but the door did not open.

  The sound of footfalls crossed the attic floor toward the staircase. Olive spun around and looked up the steep staircase. At the top stood a now-too-familiar figure wearing wizard’s robes. “Mistress Ruskettle, you can’t be thinking of leaving us so soon. I’ve been so wanting to meet you.”

  Olive turned back to the door and pounded and kicked on it. “Giogi!” she screamed. “It’s Flattery! Help! Giogi!”

  “Static,” the wizard whispered, pointing an iron nail at the halfling.

  Olive felt all her muscles stiffen at once. She stood frozen with her face and clenched fists leaning against the wood.

  “Fetch her up, Thomas,” the wizard ordered, “and I’ll see to her.” The wizard clucked once. “So clever but so much trouble. Just like the other woman in my life.”

  Wyvern and Wizard

  Thomas finished shoveling the ashes out of the fireplace of the lilac room and laid a fresh fire for his master’s guest. He picked up his shovel and ash bucket and left the room. As he descended the stairs to the front hall, he heard a commotion in the parlor. It sounded as if someone were looting the room. Setting down his ash bucket and brandishing his shovel like a club, the servant crept to the parlor door and opened it just a crack.

  Giogioni stood by the open bookshelves with a book in his hand. Scattered all about him, on the chairs, the ottomans, the sofa, the tea table, and the floor, were most of the bookshelves’ contents—manuscripts and bound books of every shape and size. Journals kept by Wyvernspur ancestors, histories written about the family, tomes about magic, and catalogs of monsters, had all been rifled through and discarded in a most unceremonious fashion. As Thomas watched, Giogioni frowned and tossed one book angrily across the room before snatching up another.

  The mage Cat sat at the writing desk, reading more carefully through books Giogi had discarded.

  Thomas knocked and stepped into the room.

  “Ah, Thomas, have you seen Mistress Ruskettle? She might be interested in lending a hand here.”

  “I believe she had some personal business to attend to, sir,” Thomas said. “No doubt she’ll return before dinner. Is there something particular I could help you find, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes, Thomas,” Giogi snapped, “how to turn into a wyvern. I can’t believe with all the junk written by and about our
family, no one took the trouble to record how it’s done. Should I ever find out, I most certainly shall write it down.”

  “I presume, sir, that you have already tried concentrating on the transformation.”

  “I have. It was a complete bust.”

  “I’m so sorry, sir. I was under the impression, however, that your interest was academic and not urgent.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. Thomas, haven’t we got a trunk of books in the attic?”

  “Yes, sir, but they’re all poetry and romances, hardly the sort to hold the information you seek.”

  “You never know. Something might have been slipped between the pages or scribbled in the margins of a particularly favorite adventure. Don’t bother yourself. I’ll fetch them down myself.” He moved toward the door.

  Thomas neatly intercepted his master before he left the room. “Actually, sir, if you are really intent on discovering this information, there is a knowledgeable primary source you ought to consult.”

  “What?”

  “Not a what, sir. Who, sir. The she-beast.”

  “Aunt Dorath. Yes, she might know, but she would never tell me,” Giogi said.

  “No, sir. I did not mean your aunt. I was referring to the guardian,” Thomas explained.

  “Oh,” Giogi said. A cold, hardness settled in the pit of his stomach.

  “According to legend,” Thomas reminded him, “the guardian is the spirit of the wyvern Paton Wyvernspur aided. She gave him the spur. It stands to reason that she would have been the one to instruct him as to its use and such.”

  “He’s right,” Cat said, looking up from her book.

  Giogi set the book he was holding back on a shelf. There was no escaping. It was inevitable. He would have to go to the guardian, speak to her, and listen to her talk about awful things.

  “Giogi, do you want me to come with you?” Cat asked.

  Giogi looked down at the mage’s lovely face. It’s not like Aunt Dorath thinks, Giogi told himself. I’m not being seduced by some demon. I’m choosing to do this, for Cat’s sake, for the family’s sake. Someone must deal with Flattery. If I’m the only one who can use the spur, then I will just have to use it.