The Wyvern's Spur

9 Drone’s Last Message

Giogi felt as if he’d been pole-axed. The color drained from his face. He did not reply to Frefford’s news at once, but stood looking out at the lake in the distance. Wind whipped his hair about his face, but he seemed not to notice.

“Giogi, are you all right?” Frefford asked, squeezing his cousin’s shoulder gently.

“No,” Giogi said. “There has to be some mistake. He can’t be dead.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t a mistake. I’m sorry, Giogi. We all cared for him very much,” Frefford said. “Come on, let’s get off this cold hill,” he suggested, pulling on his stunned cousin’s arm, leading him down the hill.

Olive and Cat followed, with the disk carrying Steele trailing behind them. Frefford’s and Giogi’s cloaks whipped out behind them in a wind that swept up the hill. Olive glanced sideways at the mage and was surprised to see she wasn’t shivering with only her satin robes to protect her from the weather. Cat was deep in thought.

I’ll bet she’s weighing her chances with Giogi without his Uncle Drone to protect her from her master, Olive thought.

What are the chances, she wondered, that Drone killed Jade and retribution caught up with him the very next morning? Olive shook her head. It hadn’t seemed very likely that the old man Giogi had described as sweet and gentle would be Jade’s murderer. Now I won’t be able to identify Drone for sure, Olive realized, since he’s been turned to a pile of ash.

A pile of ash—like Jade! Did Drone meet his fate at the same hands? Was the murdering Wyvernspur running around killing all of his kin? Olive trotted closer to Giogi and pricked up her ears to eavesdrop on the two men’s conversation.

“How could this have happened?” Giogi asked, rubbing tears from his cheeks.

“We think he used a gate spell to bring in something dangerous and evil, then lost control of it, and the thing killed him.”

“But he hated gating things,” Giogi protested. “That spell always ages him horribly. Why would he do a thing like that?”

“To help him find the spur,” the Wyvernspur lord explained. “You see, after the baby was born, Gaylyn and Aunt Dorath both wanted me to lend a hand in the crypt. Gaylyn was worried for you, and Aunt Dorath, of course, is frantic to have the spur returned. Uncle Drone said that there was no sense wasting my time, because once you got past the guardian, you’d be fine, and the thief and the spur weren’t in the catacombs anyway.”

“Oh,” Giogi murmured listlessly. He thought that if he hadn’t been wasting his time saving Steele’s miserable hide, he might have been with Uncle Drone.

“Oh? Is that all you can say?” Frefford asked. “Giogi, did you know about that?” he asked, suspicious.

“Uncle Drone told me last night,” the noble admitted, “but he wouldn’t tell me why he misled us all. He said I was supposed to go down to keep up the charade, and tell him later everything that happened.”

“Well, when Uncle Drone told us this morning,” Frefford said, “he claimed it was some sort of ruse to see what Steele would do. Aunt Dorath hit the ceiling. She demanded Uncle Drone return the spur. Uncle Drone swore he didn’t have it and didn’t know where it was. Aunt Dorath said he had darn well better find out. Uncle Drone said he darn well would. Then he went stomping up to his lab with orders that he was not to be disturbed—that it would be dangerous to interrupt him.”

Frefford took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then continued his grim tale. “When he didn’t come down for morning tea, Aunt Dorath sent me after him. Both doors to his lab were locked and bolted. Aunt Dorath insisted I force one of them. It looked like there’d been a fight when we got inside. Papers were scattered about. Furniture was overturned. Then we found the ashes beneath his robes and hat.”

Frefford’s word hung on the cold air with the vapor of his breath. Then he asked his cousin, “Giogi, did you talk to the guardian? Did she say anything?”

“Freffie, I’d really rather not talk about her right now,” Giogi replied.

Frefford put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder again. “Giogi, it could be important,” the Wyvernspur lord insisted, giving Giogi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You know you’re the only one she communicates with.”

Giogi kicked at a rock on the path. The guardian spoke to only one member of each generation of Wyvernspurs. Giogi wished she would have picked someone else—someone like Steele. Steele didn’t believe in her. He had teased Giogi about her since they were children, when Giogi had first admitted hearing her voice.

Frefford believed, though. And he was right, it could be important. Giogi said, “I asked her why she didn’t stop the thief, and she said that she’s supposed to let Wyvernspurs pass unslain. I asked her who had taken the spur, and she said she couldn’t tell—that we’re all alike—except me.”

“Nothing about the curse?” Frefford asked.

“Freffie, that’s just superstition,” Giogi said.

“Aunt Dorath doesn’t seem to think so,” Frefford said softly. “Maybe she’s right. Uncle Drone and Steele both risked their lives because of it, and Uncle Drone—” Frefford broke off his sentence. There was no need to say it again.

They reached the bottom of the hill and stepped out onto the road, where Frefford’s carriage waited. A wedding gift from Gaylyn’s father, the carriage’s gilded surface still sparkled, even in the gray light. Giogi and Frefford transferred Steele from Cat’s magical disk to the carriage’s back seat.

“Steele must see a healing cleric right away,” Frefford said, “but I can drive you into town, at least.”

Giogi excused himself, using Birdie as an excuse. Cat explained she had business with Giogi.

“Stop by later and see the baby,” Frefford invited as he climbed into the carriage, beside his wounded cousin. Steele moaned softly in his sleep.

“Thanks. I will,” Giogi promised.

Frefford signaled his driver, who clucked the horses into motion. As the carriage rattled down the road, Giogi felt a sense of relief. He didn’t want to be around when Steele fully recovered and found out Uncle Drone had deceived them. Frefford could handle Steele’s rage far better than Giogi could.

“Perhaps I’d better leave,” Cat suggested, “now that your uncle is no longer here to aid you.”

Good idea, Olive thought, nodding her burro head in agreement.

“No,” Giogi said. “Uncle Drone’s death doesn’t change anything. You’re still in danger; you must stay with me. After all, if the guardian let you pass, you must be a Wyvernspur, and we Wyvernspurs look out for one another.”

Cat bowed her head. “Very well. I accept your kind offer, Master Giogioni.”

“Wonderful.” Giogi smiled at Cat, feeling excessively pleased with himself. “Gracious Tymora. I never even noticed. You haven’t a cloak. Here, you’d better wear mine. I insist,” the noble said, ignoring the mage’s protests as he wrapped her in his own cloak.

Humans are such fools, Olive noted, especially human men. All this chivalry nonsense and family duty could get a person killed. Like Uncle Drone.

“Come along, Birdie,” Giogi chided, giving the burro a tug on the lead rope. “Stop daydreaming. We want to get home before the weather turns ugly. Ugh. Make that uglier.”

Olive looked up. The clouds overhead had gone from steel gray to black. Olive felt the first sharp, cold needles of sleet pierce through her fur. She began trotting alongside the two humans as they hurried down the road toward Giogi’s home.

The traffic in Immersea was lighter than it had been earlier that morning. A few grimy urchins chased one another through the streets, but the foresters had returned to the forest, the field hands to the fields, and the fishermen to their beds. Servants were busy eating their noonday meals.

By the time Giogi’s party reached his townhouse gate, the drizzling sleet became a heavy freezing rain, which hid the townhouse behind a curtain of water. The nobleman, mage, and burro dashed through the garden and hustled into the carriage house. They all stood shaking water and ice from their hair, clothes, and fur for a minute.

“Just as soon as I get Birdie settled, we’ll have our lunch,” Giogi promised Cat as he lit the lantern by the door.

“Haven’t you got a servant to take care of that?” Cat asked.

Giogi nodded. “Yes, Thomas usually handles it, but I like to look after them, too. I like animals,” he explained.

Cat climbed into the parked buggy and sank into the cushioned seat with a sigh.

Giogi unloaded all the equipment from the burro’s back and led the beast back into her stall. He unclipped the lead rope but left the halter on. He rubbed her dry with an old blanket and brushed the worst of the catacomb dust and cobwebs from her hide and the mud from her little feet. Olive submitted to the grooming philosophically. After all, she thought, how many halflings get their feet washed by Cormyte nobles?

“Some fresh water, more grain, and hay.” Giogi pointed out all the provisions he’d brought in for the burro. “You should try the hay, Birdie. It’s very good. Just ask Daisyeye.”

Daisyeye can have my share, Olive thought.

After shutting the burro in, Giogi took a few moments to stroke the chestnut mare. Finally he picked up the picnic basket and turned to Cat. “Shall we go?”

Cat held out her hand. Hastily Giogi transferred the basket to his left hand to help Cat down with his right. The mage leaned on him heavily as she dismounted and landed very near him, so that her forehead brushed against his chin.

“Excuse me,” Cat whispered. “It’s just that I’m so tired. I was afraid to sleep in that awful place.”

Giogi stood, momentarily stunned. A feeling came over him even more odd than the one he’d felt offering Cat his liquor flask. He’d never stood this close to a woman before, not even Minda. It took him a moment before he could collect himself enough to step back and say, “You poor thing. I think right after lunch we should tuck you up in the guest room for a nap.” Then he blushed, aware that his words could be misinterpreted.

In the dim lamplight, Cat seemed not to notice his embarrassment, nor did she object to his offer. “You’ve been so kind,” she said.

“Not at all,” Giogi replied.

Giogi offered Cat his arm as he led her to the door and blew out the lantern.

“We could share this cloak,” Cat suggested before he opened the door.

Through a knothole in her stall wall Olive watched as Giogi slid his arm around the mage’s shoulder, beneath the fabric of his cloak. The two humans dashed from the carriage house, slamming the door behind them.

Olive’s burro eyes squinted suspiciously. That woman is up to no good, she insisted to herself, and, while Giogi is a nice boy, he’s no match for the machinations of a mage. What’s a burro to do?

Keep up my strength for one thing, the halfling thought, sniffing daintily at her bucket of sweetened oats.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable by the fire while I go see about lunch,” Giogi suggested as he ushered Cat into the townhouse parlor.

Cat sat on a satin-covered chair, carefully keeping the muddy hem of her robes from the expensive fabric, and kicked off her dirty slippers. She curled her feet beneath her and closed her eyes to slits. The noble scurried out with the picnic basket and headed back for Servant Land.

Thomas looked up from his lunch with astonishment. Giogi, as wet as a river rat, stood in the door, looking very apologetic.

“Sorry to disturb you, Thomas,” his master said, setting the picnic basket down on the table, “but the catacombs jaunt didn’t quite go over as expected. Do you think you could manage lunch for myself and a guest—just a little nourishment, preferably something warm?”

“Of course, sir,” the servant replied, rising from the table. “Um, sir. You have heard the news about your Uncle Drone?”

“Yes,” Giogi said. “Lord Frefford told me.”

“My condolences, sir.”

His voice cracking with emotion, Giogi replied, “Thank you, Thomas.” Giogi turned, about to leave, then, remembering that his lunch guest’s stay was to be more permanent, turned again. “One more thing, Thomas. When you’ve finished your lunch, could you spark up the lilac room fire and turn down the bed?”

“The lilac room, sir?” Thomas replied with confusion.

“Yes. My lunch guest will be staying with us for a while, and will need to rest immediately after lunch.”

“You wouldn’t want to offer anyone the lilac room, sir,” Thomas replied. The servant actually looked a little alarmed, though Giogi could hardly tell why, it wasn’t as if Thomas didn’t keep the lilac room in pristine condition. “The red room would be far superior,” Thomas said.

“I thought the lilac room would be—well, it’s more suitable for a lady, don’t you think?”

“A lady, sir?” Thomas asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs.

“Um, yes, a lady.” Giogi’s voice quavered slightly and he felt a trace of alarm. He had forgotten how provincial people were in Immersea, especially the servants. “I know it’s irregular, but it’s an irregular situation—not one we need mention, though, to Aunt Dorath.”

“I would imagine not, sir,” Thomas agreed. “Still, the linen in the red room is in better condition. Your guest would be much more comfortable there.”

“Very well,” Giogi agreed, dissatisfied but not wanting to antagonize the man on whose discretion he must depend. “The red room. The lady’s name, by the way, is Cat. She’s a magic-user. She may be able to help me find the wyvern’s spur.”

“Ah, I see.” Thomas nodded. “Oh, sir. About two hours ago, a servant from Redstone delivered a package for you. I left it on your writing table in the parlor.”

“A package? Hmm,” Giogi mused, wondering what sort of package would be sent down from Redstone. “Well, thank you, Thomas. We’ll be in the parlor until you announce lunch.”

“Very good, sir.”

Giogi turned about again and nearly ran over a large, fat black-and-white tomcat, which meowed up at him with annoyance.

“Thomas, is that Spot?” Giogi asked.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “He appeared on the doorstep about an hour ago. I didn’t have the heart to turn him away.”

“No. You were quite right,” Giogi said. “He’ll need looking after now that Uncle Drone is gone. Aunt Dorath always threatened to turn him into a muff someday. Can’t have that, can we, boy?” Giogi bent over and picked up the heavy feline.

Cradling Spot in his arms, Giogi returned to the parlor and his guest. Spot leaped from the noble’s arms, sat by the fireplace, and began washing himself.

Giogi looked over at Cat. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested against the overstuffed wing of the chair. Her face was relaxed now that her fear and pride had drained away in sleep. Actually, Giogi thought, she’s much prettier than Alias of Westgate.

Giogi crept quietly over to his desk so as not to disturb the young woman. A bundle of red velvet cloth wrapped with twine lay upon the blotter. The noble sat at his desk and picked up the parcel. Something hard, nearly two feet long, eight inches around, and quite heavy lay within the cloth. Giogi picked away the knot in the string.

Giogi unwound the velvet cloth carefully, revealing a gleaming black statue of a beautiful woman. Her lithe and scantily clad form was slightly arched, and her shapely arms were swept up over her head in a circle. Her face was round and pretty. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were closed, like a woman waiting to be surprised. The rest of her physical features Uncle Drone had once described as ample, though Aunt Dorath had argued they were scandalous.

“Sweet Selûne,” Giogi whispered, recognizing the statue immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Cat asked sleepily.

Giogi started and turned in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s all right,” the mage said, rising from her chair. “I was just napping. Oh! What a beautiful statue,” she said, padding over to Giogi’s side. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s Uncle Drone’s—well, it was Uncle Drone’s. Thomas says a servant brought it over this morning. It’s a carving of Selûne by Cledwyll.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a Cledwyll before. It must be worth a fortune.”

“I suppose. Not that we’d ever sell it. It was a gift from the artist to Paton Wyvernspur, the founder of our family line.” Giogi set the statue on the writing table and idly stroked the glistening black stream of hair that flowed down its back.

Why did Uncle Drone send me this? the nobleman wondered. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have ever parted with it. Unless he had some premonition of his death and was afraid Aunt Dorath would lock it away from sight. Giogi took his hand off the statue to search the cloth wrapping for a note of explanation.

“Down, Spot. Naughty boy,” a wheezy voice suddenly chided.

Giogi sat up and stared at the statue. The lovely lips of the carving of Selûne moved, and from them issued an old man’s voice—Uncle Drone’s voice. The voice spoke again, saying, “Giogi, listen. The wyvern’s spur is your destiny. Steele mustn’t get it. You must find it first. Search for the thief.”

The statue’s mouth froze back into its normal alluring shape and was silent. The room was quiet, except for the wind and rain on the windows. Spot jumped up on the desk and sniffed at the statue.

Cat’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. There was something very unusual about the magical message. She did a quick mental calculation. Yes, she realized, something’s missing. “Who’s voice was that?” she asked.

“Uncle Drone’s,” Giogi replied. An ache settled in his heart. That’s the last time I’ll ever hear his voice, he realized.

“And who’s Spot?” the mage asked.

“His cat. This beast,” Giogi explained, reaching out to stroke Spot’s fur. Spot pushed Giogi’s quill pen off the desk to the floor and leaped down after it.

“What did your Uncle Drone mean,” Cat asked, “by the wyvern’s spur being your destiny?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose it has something to do with my father. He used the spur somehow. I guess Uncle Drone expects me to, as well.”

“How can the spur be used?” the mage asked curiously.

Giogi shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Cat sank down onto the thick Calimsham carpeting and sat cross-legged beside the writing table. “Do you think your uncle was telling the truth when he told your aunt he didn’t have the spur or know where it was?”

“Oh, Uncle Drone would never lie,” Giogi said.

“But he told your family the thief was in the catacombs,” Cat pointed out with a skeptical smile.

“Actually, what he said was the would-be thief was stuck in the catacombs. He was right, wasn’t he?” the nobleman asked. He meant the question to be a chastisement, but he couldn’t help grinning at the mage.

Cat blushed with embarrassment and stared down at her lap.

“It’s possible,” Giogi admitted, “that Uncle Drone knew more about the real thief than he let on. I don’t see how he expected me to find the spur without telling me more about the thief, though,” he added irritably.

Cat looked back up at the nobleman. “He may have meant to include something more about the thief in his message, but it got cut off,” the mage conjectured.

“Cut off? What do you mean?” Giogi asked.

Cat repeated the message, holding up a finger for every word. “ ‘Giogi listen. The wyvern’s spur is your destiny. Steele mustn’t get it. You must find it first. Search for the thief.’ That’s twenty-one words. The spell he used to send the message only has magic enough to send twenty-five words. That leaves four words.”

“Four words,” Giogi mused. “He could have told me the thief’s name and city, at least. Why didn’t he?”

“He probably did, but he used four words at the beginning of the message, probably by accident. Remember?”

“ ‘Down, Spot. Naughty boy,’ ” Giogi said with a sigh. He looked at the tomcat chewing on his quill pen. “You are a naughty boy, too,” the noble said, pulling the feather from the cat’s mouth and setting it back up on the desk. “Well, that’s that.”

“A priest might be able to try speaking with his spirit,” Cat suggested.

“Aunt Dorath would never allow that. Not even to find the spur. We don’t disturb the dead in our family.”

“Then you’re back to scratch unless there’s anything else you can think of that your uncle might have mentioned. Is there?” the mage queried.

“He told me to watch my step, that my life could be in danger,” Giogi recalled.

“From whom?” Cat asked.

Giogi shook his head uncertainly. He considered Julia’s attempt to drug him at Steele’s request. Steele wouldn’t have killed me, he thought. The guardian would never harm a Wyvernspur, even if she is always talking about cracking bones. Uncle Drone wouldn’t have bothered to warn me about the disgusting stirges or the awful kobolds or the bugbears—he knew I already knew about them. The only other person down there was Cat.

Giogi looked at the lovely mage. Her face was still pale and drawn from exhaustion, but her green eyes glittered. She saved my life in the catacombs, he thought, so it couldn’t have been her that Uncle Drone meant. She must have been freezing down there, Giogi realized, noting the way the firelight shone through Cat’s shimmering robes, outlining her slender figure. Her long, shining copper hair would have kept her warmer than that foolish frock, he thought.

“Master Giogioni? Who are you thinking of? Who would want to kill you?” Cat asked, noting the faraway look in the young noble’s eyes.

Giogi snapped out of his reverie. “No one. I haven’t got any enemies.”

“Does the guardian know about your fate? Is that what she meant by ‘not long now’?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said before that you don’t want to know, I would want to know if it were my fate. Why don’t you want to know?”

Giogi shuddered. “Because it has something to do with dreaming about the death cry of prey, the taste of warm blood, and the crunch of bone.” The words just tumbled off his tongue before he could hold them back.

“Do you dream about those things?” Cat asked in an awed whisper. Her eyes widened with excitement.

“No,” Giogi said, then he amended, “not often.”

“How interesting,” the mage said. “What kind of prey?”

Giogi shuddered, a little shocked by Cat’s reaction. There was a knock at the parlor door. Giogi felt a flash of relief that the conversation was interrupted. “Come in,” the noble called.

Thomas stepped one pace into the room. “Luncheon is served, sir,” he announced, then he retreated hastily. The sight of the beautiful woman seated at his master’s feet flustered him. He withdrew from the parlor hurriedly.

Giogi rose and bent to help Cat stand. She placed her hand in his own and used it to steady herself as she stood. Her thankful smile warmed the young noble. He led her from the parlor and into the dining room.

Thomas had whipped up a simple meal: cheese fondue, venison broth with noodles, fish poached in wine, and crepes with boysenberry jam. Cat seemed delighted with each course, which pleased Giogi, but the young man didn’t feel very hungry.

When I was younger, he thought, I had no trouble devouring a meal this size and asking how soon until tea. What’s happened to my appetite? he wondered.

Conversation was suspended briefly while they ate, but Cat resumed her questions as they finished off the lemon tea. “If I must be a Wyvernspur because the guardian let me pass, then the spur’s thief must be a Wyvernspur, too, right?” she asked.

Giogi nodded.

“How many of you are there?”

“Well, there’s me and Aunt Dorath and Uncle Drone and Frefford and Steele and Julia, oh, and Frefford’s wife and new baby daughter. That’s all that’s left of Gerrin Wyvernspur’s line—that’s old Paton’s grandson. There must be other lines of the family. Gerrin had a brother. I can’t remember his name, but, anyway, none of his descendants have kept in touch with the Immersea branch. We didn’t even know if there were any, but the real thief must be one of them. You must be one of them, too,” Giogi explained.

“I wouldn’t know,” Cat said with a disinterested shrug. “I’m an orphan,” she explained.

Giogi gave the mage a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Why should you be?” Cat asked sharply, annoyed by what she thought was pity.

“Well, it’s pretty awful being an orphan,” Giogi replied sincerely. “I know. I’m one myself. My father died when I was eight. My mother died a year later, of a broken heart, they say. I miss them both.”

The nobleman’s tenderheartedness disturbed the mage. She explained hastily, “I don’t remember my parents.” She stifled a yawn.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you from your nap,” Giogi said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“What will you be doing this afternoon?” the mage asked.

“Well, I’d like to visit Frefford’s new daughter. Then—” Giogi hesitated, trying to decide what he could do. “I think I need to speak to someone who knows more about the spur.”

“Who’s that?” Cat asked, stifling another yawn.

“I don’t know,” Giogi replied. “There has to be somebody.”