The Wyvern's Spur

19 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.

“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, Selûne’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 Selûne 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 Selûne—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!”

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.”

“Not that,” Olive snapped, coming down a few more feet toward the wizard. “Why did you adopt Jade?”

“Oh, that. Well, she seemed like a nice girl, and I needed a daughter to steal the spur from the crypt before Steele stole it.”

Olive glared at the wizard in confusion. Come to think about it, he looks awfully old to be Flattery. He looks even older than Nameless, for that matter. His hair is all splotched with gray, and his face is awfully wrinkled. His appearance could be an illusion, though.

“That’s the same reason Flattery made Cat marry him,” Olive noted aloud.

“Cat married Flattery? Oh, that’s not good. He’s not a nice person. Won’t make her an adequate husband at all.”

Olive shivered in the cold and watched Giogi soar on an updraft. She didn’t really believe Flattery could imitate a doddering old man so well, but she couldn’t risk falling into his clutches unless she was absolutely positive. “I’ve got it!” she cried. She pulled out the letter with the royal seal, which she’d swiped from Drone’s lab that morning. “I’ll believe you’re Drone if you can tell me what this letter says.”

“What letter?”

“This letter I got from Drone’s lab this morning. It’s dated midsummer, thirteen-oh-six. Year of the Temples.”

“That’s almost thirty years ago,” the wizard whined. “How am I supposed to remember a letter that old?”

“Only twenty-seven years,” Olive said, “and it’s a very important letter. It’s from King Rhigaerd.”

“Rhigaerd, Azoun’s father?”

“That’s the one.”

“What would Rhigaerd want back then?” the wizard muttered to himself. “Oh! Yes! It’s about the spur. Let’s see. Rhigaerd said he understood that Dorath wasn’t interested in using the spur, but he wanted to know if there wasn’t someone else in the family who would give it a go. That’s why I told Cole all about it, even though Dorath told me not to. A royal request outweighs a cousin’s orders after all, even a cousin like Dorath.”

“All right. You’re one for one. Here, in the second paragraph, Rhigaerd writes, ‘I don’t think your colleague has ever gotten over’ something. What is it?” Olive demanded, feeling her toes going blue on the chill roof tiles.

“Never gotten over? Never gotten over Dorath’s refusal.”

“Who’d she turn down?” Olive asked.

“The letter doesn’t say.”

“Tell me anyway,” the halfling insisted.

“Vangerdahast,” the old man snapped.

“Really?” Olive asked. “Old Vangy? Azoun’s court wizard?”

“Really,” the wizard said grimly. “Now, you little pest, would you come down so I can fireball you without setting Giogi’s roof on fire?”

This landing thing could be tricky, Giogi thought as he circled around his townhouse for the fifth time. He was circling closer each time, looking for a clear spot in the garden, when he noticed Olive Ruskettle on the roof, waving at him. He couldn’t imagine what the halfling would be doing on his roof, nor could he hear what she was shouting, but it was clear to him that the roof was a very dangerous place for her to be.

Just as Olive began climbing back toward the window, Giogi swooped down, as silent as an owl. The halfling was just beside the window dormer when the Wyvernspur wyvern snatched her up in his talons and swooped away from the roof.

Olive’s screech could be heard down at the Five Fine Fish. The sensation of the roof dropping away from her feet, combined with the icy wind slamming into her face, took all the pleasure out of her bird’s-eye view of Immersea at sunset. What does he think he’s doing? Olive wondered. My fragile body can’t take these reckless stunts!

The halfling had once been snatched up by a red dragon, and while she had been terrified that the monster would eat her, at least she could be certain the dragon knew how to land. He’s going to land on top of me and smash me to halfling jelly, she thought as Giogi dropped downward rapidly. At the last moment, he veered up suddenly. He was indeed uncertain how to make his touchdown with cargo. On his second approach, though, he dropped Olive over a yew bush just before he smashed into the side of his carriage house.

Olive’s teeth chattered from the cold. Ches is too early in the spring for flying, she noted, scrambling out of the bush. Drone and Thomas rushed out of the townhouse’s front door as the halfling was brushing herself off.

“Giogi, my boy. Are you all right?” Drone asked.

The wyvern wobbled to its feet, hissing.

“You’ll have to change back to human form,” Drone said. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Concentrate on turning human. Think about afternoon tea; that’s what your father used to do.”

The wyvern shape wavered and shrunk until it was Giogi.

“Uncle Drone! You’re alive!” the young nobleman shouted.

“Shhh! Not so loud,” the wizard whispered. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

Thomas tapped Drone on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, but perhaps we should go back inside, just in case—”

Drone shot a glance up at the sky. “You’re right, Thomas. Come on, everyone.”

Drone and Thomas hustled Giogi and Olive back into the townhouse. Drone motioned to the parlor doors, and they all trooped into Giogi’s parlor.

Drone shoved some books off the couch and flopped down. “It’s nice and warm in here. You should get a fireplace in your attic, Giogi. It’s cold up there.”

“What were you doing in my attic?” Giogi asked. “We all thought you were dead. Uncle Drone, how could you let us think that? What were you trying to do?”

“Sit down, Giogi,” the old wizard said, patting the cushion beside him.

Giogi sat down with a huff. Olive took a seat on the footstool by the fire. Thomas remained standing by the parlor doors and explained that Cat had ridden to Redstone.

“I’m sorry for any grief I caused you,” Drone said to Giogi.

“Well, you should be,” Giogi said. “I thought Flattery had killed you.”

“He tried,” Drone said. “Sent a wight to do the job, but I disintegrated it.”

“Then you left an extra set of robes and hat over the ashes of the wight, didn’t you?” Olive asked.

Drone nodded.

“But why?” Giogi asked.

“I needed to throw my would-be killer off my trail. It was important that you all believe I was dead so Flattery would believe so, too. Then I could work at searching for the spur and trying to discover more about Flattery without having to look over my shoulder for other undead assassins.”

“You told Thomas, though,” Olive said.

“Well, Thomas is the soul of discretion, and I needed a base of operations and somewhere to sleep.”

Giogi let out a groan and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “The lilac room! That’s why you didn’t want me to put Cat in there,” Giogi accused Thomas.

“I’m sorry, sir. Your uncle preferred the bed in the lilac room. I did prepare the red room for Mistress Cat, but you never told me you’d held firm on the lilac room.”

“Uncle Drone, why did you try to smother Cat?” Giogi asked crossly.

“I didn’t try to smother the girl. In the dark, I didn’t know she was there. My night vision’s not what it was, you know. I fluffed a pillow and dropped it in the bed; the next thing I know, I’ve got a hysterical woman shrieking in my ear.”

“But Cat thought it was Flattery.”

“Without the beard, he looks like Flattery in a dark room or an attic,” Olive said.

“Without the—Uncle Drone,” Giogi exclaimed, “you shaved off your beard.”

“I needed a disguise. Makes me look younger, don’t you think?”

Giogi bit his tongue.

“Did you really get Mistress Ruskettle’s partner, Jade, to steal the spur for you?” Giogi asked.

“Well, no. I gave her my key and asked her to bring it out for me. Wyvernspurs have that right, after all.”

“Then why didn’t you do it yourself?” Olive asked.

“Well, Dorath would ask me right off if I took it. If I got someone else to do it for me, I could say I didn’t without lying. Then, of course, Jade had the most remarkable undetectability. If she held the spur for me, Steele and Dorath wouldn’t be able to locate it. Or Flattery, as it turns out. Of course, neither could I. When she didn’t rendezvous with Thomas at the Fish the evening after she stole it, I—well, I thought she’d betrayed me, to be honest.”

“She was murdered,” Olive said coolly.

“Yes,” Drone said softly, looking down at his hands. “Thomas told me. I’m very sorry, Ruskettle. I knew how close the two of you were.”

Olive looked down at the floor and fought back her tears.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude for returning the spur to us safely,” Drone said.

Olive looked up at the wizard, her eyes burning with vengeance. “Get Flattery for me,” she demanded.

“Oh, I intend to,” Drone assured her.

“As do I,” Giogi added.

Olive smiled with a cold satisfaction.

“You didn’t think I’d let my daughter’s murderer go unpunished, did you?” Drone asked.

“Your daughter?” Giogi asked. “What are you talking about, Uncle Drone?”

“Your uncle adopted Jade,” Olive explained. “He didn’t know she was already a relative.”

“She was?” Drone asked with surprise.

“Yes,” Olive said. “She and Cat are related to the Nameless Bard, and Flattery probably is, too. He said to Cole, “My father will remain nameless.” I think he was making his idea of a joke. The Nameless Bard was a Wyvernspur named Finder.”

“There isn’t anyone named Finder in our family tree,” Drone said.

“I’ll bet if you check your family tree,” Olive predicted, “you’ll find a name blotted out somewhere. That would be Finder. The Harpers would have gotten your family to wipe out all traces of his name. See, Finder was pretty callous once. He performed this experiment that got some people killed and—well the Harpers wiped his name from the Realms.”

“We shall do more than that to Flattery,” Drone said. “I suggest we start planning our strategy over a hot supper.”

“There may not be time, sir,” Thomas said, his eyes widening with fear.

“Eh?” the wizard queried.

The servant pointed through the townhouse’s large parlor windows, which looked south over the Wyvernspur lands and Redstone Castle.

Giogi, Olive, and Drone lined up at the window to look at what had upset Thomas.

In the last ray of sunlight, the cut stone of the castle’s west wall shone as red as blood against an indigo sky. The vision’s loveliness was marred only by a blot of darkness that drifted above the keep. The blot’s lower surface also shone red, but its surface consisted of jutting edges and jagged crevices, like a boulder torn from the earth by some monstrous cataclysm. Only magic could have raised the stone, though. It was so large, it would crush half of Immersea if it fell to the earth. At the top of the massive rock were walls that rose so high that they disappeared into the darkness of the twilight sky.

“What is it?” Giogi gasped.

“Flattery’s desert fortress,” Drone said grimly. “It appears he did more than reclaim it. He’s brought it with him.”