by Kate Novak
“Giogi, do you want me to come with you?” Cat asked again.
“No. I had better go alone. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back before dinner.” His tone was light, as if he were just going down the street to a tavern instead of a haunted crypt. Inside he was fighting down panic.
“You’re sure?” Cat asked.
“Yes. I think she’ll be more communicative if I’m alone.”
Cat stood, kissed Giogi good-bye, and whispered, “Good luck,” in his ear.
Giogi smiled at her gratefully. “I’ll be taking Daisyeye, Thomas,” he said. “I can saddle her myself, but please see that Poppy is returned to Redstone.”
“Very good, sir.”
A few minutes later, Giogioni led Daisyeye from the carriage house and out the garden gate, mounted her, turned her west, and kicked her into a trot.
The shining sun made the graveyard appear somewhat cheerier than it had the day before, but Giogi’s spirit was heavy. Yesterday all I wanted was to find the spur and return it to the crypt. I get my wish, and now it’s not enough. Now I have to find out how the spur works. I have to learn how to turn into a beast.
Giogi tied Daisyeye to a post and pulled out the key to the mausoleum. There’s no question about it. Flattery has to be vanquished.
He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Of course, I could hire some real adventurers to go after Flattery, he mused, looking into the darkness.
Giogi walked into the mausoleum and pushed the door shut behind him. He locked the door and pulled out the finder’s stone to light his way. Cole hadn’t relied on hirelings to take care of Flattery, he thought as he skipped over the black-and-white tiles to open the secret door in the floor. The family honor is at stake; the only way to set things right is for the family to take care of it. Freffie and Steele are no match for Flattery’s treacheries, and Flattery’s already ambushed the only real threat to his power: Uncle Drone.
As Giogi started down the stairs to the crypt, he thought of Mother Lleddew’s story of how Uncle Drone had to slice off part of Cole’s wyvern foot so his corpse would transform back into a man’s. It was this that disturbed Giogi more than the fact that Cole had died battling the wizard. Suppose I get stuck as a wyvern while I’m still alive? Suppose I go wyverny and forget about my family and Cat and Daisyeye and fly off to live in the wild?
Giogi stood at the crypt door with the key in the lock. Aunt Dorath must have been afraid of the same thing, not being able to change back from a beast into a human being. Had that ever happened to Cole while he was alive? Giogi didn’t remember his father ever being away from home for very long, and when he returned, he never showed any signs of being wyverny.
As a matter of fact, Cole was like every other father Giogi had ever known, better, actually. Cole took him riding and boating and told him stories and taught him his letters and numbers. He must have been a good husband, too. Giogi didn’t remember his parents fighting very much. They gardened together and danced together and played backgammon and read books to one another by the fireside at night. Even separated by fourteen years and surrounded by the cold stone stairwell leading to the crypt, Giogi could feel the warmth of that hearth.
No, he decided, someone like Cole couldn’t forget how to be human. Not until death had left him cold.
Will it be the same for me, though?
“I’ll never find out by just standing here,” the nobleman declared. He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the crypt door.
As soon as he stepped into the crypt, motes of black swirled on the back wall and coalesced into the familiar shape of the shadow wyvern.
“Giogioni, you’re back,” the guardian whispered.
Giogi strode into the crypt. He stopped before the empty pillar and pulled the spur out of his boot. “I found it,” he said, dropping the heirloom onto the velvet cloth. “I need to know how to use it.”
“I knew you’d come back to me, my Giogioni,” the guardian said.
“You have nothing to do with it. This is an emergency. I don’t want to be a wyvern.”
The guardian laughed, her shadowy form swaying on the wall. It was a clear, ringing laugh, unlike her spooky, whispery voice. “I wouldn’t want to be a human.”
“Well, I need to be one anyway. A wyvern.”
“You can never be a wyvern, Giogioni. You may take a wyvern’s form, but you will always be human. That is essential.”
“What do you mean, essential?”
“The spur’s blessing guarantees the Wyvernspur line will continue. If Wyvernspurs were to turn from human to wyvern, they would not be able to continue the line as Wyvernspurs. So that which confers power over the spur, Selune’s kiss, is not given to those unable to resist changing completely to wyvern.”
A touch of relief spread over Giogi. Then his curiosity overcame his anxiety. “Suppose someone not kissed by Selune tries to use it?”
“They would think they had a wyvern’s power, though their body would still be human.”
“Is that all it takes to be kissed by Selune—being able to resist going completely wyverny?”
“No. You must want to be different.”
“I don’t want to be different,” Giogi objected.
The guardian laughed. “You are so satisfied with yourself, your life, your world?”
Giogi shifted uneasily. He couldn’t lie.
“With a wyvern’s power and the blessings of the spur you can change yourself, your life, your world.”
“So what do I have to do to make it work?” Giogi asked.
“Take up the spur—”
Giogi set the finder’s stone down on the pillar and picked up the spur.
“Keep it near your leg.”
Giogi slid the spur into his boot.
“Now you must remember your dreams.”
“My dreams?” he sputtered. Then he understood. “Oh. Those dreams,” he said. The images sprang to his mind. The death cry of prey—the shriek of a rabbit, the squeal of a pig, the bellow of a cow. The taste of warm blood—salty and full of energy. The crunch of bone—surrendering to the strength of his jaw and yielding up its sweet marrow. He felt the blood pounding in his head, and the room seemed to spin and shrink around him. He bent over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.
“A very handsome wyvern form, Giogioni,” the guardian whispered.
Giogioni looked down at himself nervously. Actually, he had to look back at himself. He was at least thirty feet longer. He was covered with red scales. His arms had become great leathery wings, and his feet were sharp talons. The strangest thing of all, though, was the tail. It swayed gracefully behind him without him thinking about it. He concentrated on controlling it and it froze, poised in the air, until he unconsciously picked a target.
He bent forward and slashed the tail over his head. The stinger at the tip pierced the velvet cloth atop the pillar.
The pillar toppled over, and the finder’s stone rolled across the floor of the crypt. The piece of velvet cloth remained caught on the end of the stinger. He pulled it off with a talon and nearly toppled over, trying to balance on one leg.
The guardian laughed. “You need to remember that your body is a weapon. You should practice with it—especially flying. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“How do I change back?” Giogi tried to ask, but his words came out as a growl.
The guardian understood him, though. “I suppose you think of whatever humans dream about,” she said. She made a yawning sound. “Dull things,” she suggested.
Giogi tried to think of what he dreamed about when he wasn’t dreaming the wyvern dream. He thought about Cat. Unconsciously he began beating the air with his wings, and he remained a wyvern. He thought of galloping on Daisyeye, but that reminded him too much of chasing prey. Then he thought of Aunt Dorath, knitting by the fireside. The ceiling got farther away. His boots covered his feet. His arms dropped to his sides. He straightened up, no longer needing to balance his
tail with the weight of his neck.
He picked the pillar off the floor, and laid the velvet cloth over it. Then he retrieved the finder’s stone.
“When will I see you again?” the guardian asked.
Giogi shivered, but it would be rude to say she scared him to death and he didn’t like coming into the crypt. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why?”
“I’ll miss you.”
“You will? Do you get lonely down here?”
“Sometimes. Not often.”
“Why do you stay?”
“This is where my bones are buried. Beside the bones of those I love—my mate, and all your ancestors who took his form, from Paton to Cole.”
“Oh,” Giogi said, thinking how strange it must be to love so many people dead for so many years. “I’ll be back when I’m finished with what I have to do,” he promised, “unless I die.”
“You’ll be back in that case, too,” the guardian said solemnly.
Giogi’s eyes roamed over the blocks of stone sealing in his ancestors. “You’re right. Well, until whichever.”
“Until whichever,” the guardian agreed.
“Thank you for the advice.”
“You’re welcome, my Giogioni.” The guardian’s shadow faded from the walls and left him alone.
For the first time ever, Giogi left the crypt without a feeling of terror.
Outside, the sun was getting low in the sky. Giogi slipped the finder’s stone in his boot beside the spur. He untied Daisyeye, slid her reins off her head, and tucked them into one of her saddlebags. “Go home, girl,” he said, slapping her on her backside. The mare took off down the hill without looking back.
Giogi watched her race away for a minute. He closed his eyes and imagined a deer springing through the forest. The sensation of pounding blood overwhelmed him more quickly this time. He beat the air with his wings and ran through the graveyard.
A gust of chill wind caught under the leathery canopies and lifted him over the trees. He flapped the wings faster and propelled himself over the edge of the graveyard hillside, catching an updraft. He soared over the valley. In less than a minute, he was circling over Spring Hill. He could make out Mother Lleddew far below, beside the rented carriage full of provisions for Uncle Drone’s memorial service.
He resisted the temptation to fly over Redstone. There was no sense in disturbing Aunt Dorath. Besides, he wasn’t sure how well he would land, and he knew it wasn’t something he should try after dark. He was also growing very hungry. With any luck, Giogi thought, Thomas is roasting a slab of venison or a side of pork. He banked eastward toward the townhouse, his shadow flying far ahead of him and his stomach growling all the way.
Olive stood propped up against the closet wall like a walking stick. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tie her up, sir?” the treacherous Thomas had asked the wizard before closing the door and leaving the halfling in the pitch dark.
Flattery had said it wasn’t necessary. After that, Thomas had excused himself so he could get started on cleaning out the bedroom fireplaces.
For the longest time there was no sound in the attic but that of the wizard turning pages in a book. Finally, an interminable twenty minutes later, the wizard’s spell faded and Olive could move again. She collapsed to the floor. Her legs and arms were all pins and needles from having been stuck in the same position so long. She stumbled against a box on the floor and banged her shin.
“Keep it down in there, Ruskettle,” the wizard ordered, “or I shall turn you into a newt.”
Only a newt? Olive thought. Is he serious?
Not wanting to find out, Olive kept silent. Very quietly, she began working on the closet lock.
“Put the lockpicks away, Ruskettle,” the wizard ordered in a calm, distracted voice, “or I’ll firetrap the door.”
Olive slipped the picks back into her pocket. He’s watching me through the walls, she thought.
Why doesn’t Flattery just kill me? she wondered. If Thomas is his agent, then he must know I’ve been plotting against him. Perhaps he doesn’t consider me a serious enough threat. Well, I’ll show him. The halfling sat quietly on the floor, thinking of ways to warn the young noble. Tapping coded messages on support beams was supposed to be good. Tying messages to mice had worked in some stories. Neither support beams nor mice seemed to be in ready supply, though.
The stairs creaked, and Thomas returned. “He’s gone to speak to the guardian, sir, fifteen minutes ago,” the servant reported.
“Excellent,” the wizard said. “And Cat?”
“She’s offered to return Lord Frefford’s horse to Redstone for me. I would imagine she wants another crack at the lab.”
“Resourceful girl.”
Thomas began collecting the tea things. Olive took advantage of the clattering noise to renew her attack on the closet door lock. The click of the lock was covered by the rattle of the silver tea pot on the tray.
Thomas went back down the stairs.
Olive opened the door just a crack. The black-and-white spotted cat sat right in front of the door jamb, blocking the door. Olive pulled out her spool of string and wrapped a bit of it up into a ball. She tossed the ball so it rolled away from the cat.
The animal watched it travel across the floor and yawned.
How can you ignore a ball of string? Olive thought at the cat. Haven’t you got any self-respect? What kind of cat are you, anyway?
“Mystra’s minions,” the wizard cursed softly.
Olive heard the spell-caster rise and walk toward the closet. He pushed the closet door shut. “Thank you, Spot. Good kitty.”
Of course, Olive chided herself, that kind of cat. A wizard’s familiar.
“Mistress Ruskettle,” Flattery said through the door, “I have tried to be a polite host, but you have tried my patience once too often. Incendiary. There, now I’ve firetrapped the door.”
The wizard’s footsteps stomped away. Olive heard him flipping through pages of another book. She sat in the back corner of the closet and fumed. Then she began testing the floorboards. They were nailed solidly. She pulled out her dagger and began working on digging the nails out of the wood.
Olive had just worked out her first nail when she heard Thomas climbing the attic stairs again.
“I think you’ll want to see this, sir,” the servant said.
“What?”
“At the window.”
The wizard stood and pushed open a window. “It’s Giogi! He’s flying! He’s circling overhead. Quickly! The other window!”
Olive heard the two men scurry across the attic and push open a second window. “Mystra’s minions,” the wizard chuckled. “I’ll bet he doesn’t know how to land.”
Giogi! Olive thought. I have to warn him! I can signal him from the window. She scraped furiously at a second nail.
This will never do. Olive pictured Giogi flying by, with Flattery pointing at him, waiting for the right moment to reduce him to dust.
I have to risk the firetrap! she decided recklessly. With her body pressed against the wall, Olive reached out, turned the handle, and pushed!
The door swung outward silently.
He lied! Olive thought, indignant. She slipped out the door. The wizard and the servant were looking out a southern window, closer to the stairs than she was. Olive dashed for the north side of the attic. She scrambled up to the window sill and slid out onto the roof.
Behind her she heard Spot hiss.
“Thomas! The halfling! Grab her!” the wizard shouted.
Olive crawled away from the window, deliberately ripping up half a shingle as she went. When Thomas poked his head out the window, the halfling whipped the curved piece of wood at the servant’s temple. Before falling back into the attic, Thomas said a word Olive bet he’d never said in Giogi’s parlor.
Olive began climbing to the roof’s peak. The wizard hung out the window and shouted up to her, “Come back here this instant before you get yourself killed!”
&nb
sp; Olive looked up in the sky. A red wyvern circled the house. Wyverns are supposed to be brown and gray, Olive thought. Leave it to Giogi to turn into a red one. The halfling stood and waved in the beast’s direction. “Giogi! Help! Flattery’s trapped me up here!” she shouted in the chill air.
“Would you stop shouting that!” the wizard in the window hollered. “I am not Flattery!”
Olive looked down at the window. There couldn’t possibly be any more Wyvernspurs I don’t know about, could there? “If you’re not Flattery,” she shouted back, “who are you?”
“I’m Drone.”
“Drone is dead.”
“If I were dead, wouldn’t I be buried in the crypt?” the wizard insisted.
“They’re holding the memorial service tonight,” Olive said.
“They are. Did Dorath fork out a big spread for it?” he asked with interest.
“Giogi!” Olive shouted again, waving more frantically. The wizard was not going to fool her with any more lies.
“See here, Ruskettle,” the wizard called out, “I am Drone. You just don’t recognize me because I shaved yesterday.”
“Aha. I’ve never met you,” Olive said. “You didn’t know that. Giogi! Giogi! Help!” she screamed again, waving her dagger.
“You haven’t? No, I suppose you haven’t. I forgot. I felt like I knew you. Jade talked so much about you.”
Olive looked down at the wizard so quickly that she lost her footing and slid three feet down the roof. “What do you mean Jade talked about me?” she demanded.
“She told me all about you. When she was staying here last week. I like to know about my daughter’s friends.”
“Your—” Olive regained her balance and stomped her foot angrily. “That’s a lie. Jade hasn’t got any parents.”
“I know. That’s why I adopted her” the wizard said.
“You what?”
“I adopted her. We had a little ceremony with a cleric of Mystra. I gave her a silver spoon, a pearl necklace, a yard of lace, all that symbolic rot, and she gave me a pipe, even though I don’t smoke—Dorath would never allow it.”
“Why?” Olive asked.
“She doesn’t like the way it smells. Don’t suppose I do, either, but Elminster does it. Don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to, too.”
