The Wyvern's Spur

2 Family

Giogi circled the castle walls to the front gate, strode into the courtyard, and tapped on the hall door. An unfamiliar footman opened the portal a crack and peered out at the shaggy, gangly noble dressed in yellow pants and a red-and-white striped shirt covered with a black tabard. The tabard was emblazoned with the Wyvernspur coat of arms, but the man who wore it looked more like a traveling juggler than an Immersea noble. The servant stood waiting impatiently for the man to speak.

Giogi was unaccustomed to having to announce his business at the doorstep of his own family’s ancestral home. He, too, stood in silence, waiting to be recognized.

Finally the footman spoke. “Well, what is it?” he asked, his face creased with irritation.

“I’m here to see my Aunt Dorath.”

The footman opened the door an inch wider. “And you are?”

“Giogi. Giogioni Wyvernspur.”

The footman’s facial creases retreated just a fraction. “Oh,” he said without enthusiasm. He held the door open so that Giogi could enter the main hall. As the noble clomped in, the footman eyed Giogi’s clodders; his attention was not lost on Giogi.

“Great boots, aren’t they? Bought them in Westgate.”

The servant maintained his stoic expression and did not comment on the boots. He held out his arm for Giogi’s cloak and said, “The gentlemen are still in the dining room having their brandy. The ladies are in the parlor. I presume you know the way.”

“Yes,” Giogi replied, handing over his cloak.

Laden with Giogi’s outdoor gear, the footman disappeared through a small door.

Left alone again, Giogi felt hesitant to return to the bosom of his family. There had been a reason he’d moved from Redstone to his parents’ old townhouse. His family thought him a fool and made a habit of reminding him of it. He was branded for life just because, as a boy, he’d accidentally let an evil efreet out of a bottle in Uncle Drone’s lab and had once tried to fly off the stable roof with pigeon feathers—and had gotten himself locked in the family crypt—which had really been Cousin Steele’s fault.

If only he could get them to forget the foibles of his youth and judge him on his behavior as an adult—except for when he’d lost Aunt Dorath’s pet land urchin in the provisions wagon of the seventh division of His Majesty’s Purple Dragoons and the time he’d gone skinny-dipping in the Wyvernwater on Midwinter Day. After all, he had no idea a land urchin could eat so much, and no one as inebriated as he on that Midwinter Day would have passed up such a profitable wager.

He hadn’t done anything that foolish since—well, not since last spring, when he’d done his impersonation of King Azoun and ended up in a brawl with the crazy Alias of Westgate, knocking down a tent on top of two hundred people and nearly breaking up Frefford’s wedding reception. He hadn’t wanted to do the impersonation, but his girlfriend, Minda, had nagged him into it. If his family could only forget that incident, and if no stories of his exploits in Westgate reached their ears, they might just begin treating him like a normal person. Granted, that was more luck than the goddess Tymora usually dealt anyone, but it was still possible.

Prepared to make a fresh start with his family, Giogi considered whether to go straight to the parlor to pay his respects to Aunt Dorath, or to join the gentlemen in the dining room for some brandy. If he entered the parlor while the ladies were still discussing “female things,” his Aunt Dorath would be annoyed with his intrusion. He did want to speak with Uncle Drone, but the old wizard would not be alone in the dining room. Giogi’s second cousins, Frefford and Steele, would be with him, and, while Frefford might tease him a little about the wedding reception fiasco, Steele’s taunts would be as mean and vicious as possible.

Giogi liked a room full of people to serve as a buffer between Steele and himself. Of course, Steele’s sister, Julia, would be with the ladies. She could be mean, too, but she wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t in Steele’s company. Giogi decided that he might as well break in on the ladies. That way, Aunt Dorath couldn’t accuse him of lapping up her brandy whenever her back was turned. Besides, Frefford’s new wife, Gaylyn, would no doubt be with the ladies, and she was the cheeriest, most amusing woman Giogi had ever met.

The nobleman knocked timidly on the parlor door, just in case they were discussing petticoats or something equally personal, then he entered.

Redstone’s parlor had not changed since Giogi’s last visit, nearly a year ago. It was warmer and drier than the parlor in Giogi’s townhouse, but it was quite a bit shabbier. Faded tapestries depicting ancient events covered the flaking stone walls. The once-rich carpets were stained. The furniture coverings were worn thin. Giogi’s mother’s money had refurbished his townhouse, but the Wyvernspur fortune was shrinking, and servants, horses, and clothing had a higher priority than Redstone’s fashionable appearance. Some generation soon, the family would need a new source of revenue, though the decision to find one was unlikely in Aunt Dorath’s lifetime.

Aunt Dorath sat perfectly erect in her chair by the fire. She looked up from her knitting and squinted at Giogi. She was a tall, robust old woman with the classic Wyvernspur face, thin lips, hawklike nose, and all. Her black hair, which she wore in a severe bun, was streaked with steel-gray strands. More streaks had appeared since Giogi had last seen her, and her squint had grown more pronounced, but, otherwise, time had not touched her much. It wouldn’t dare, Giogi thought.

Gaylyn and Julia were immersed in a game of backgammon and did not notice him until a gasp from Aunt Dorath alerted them.

“Giogioni! Sweet Selûne! Just what are you doing in those ridiculous boots?” Aunt Dorath demanded. Her voice boomed like the thunder of a god’s wrath. That part of Dorath had not changed in the least.

“These boots?” Giogi replied, his voice cracking slightly. “They’re just something I threw on to walk over.”

“You should consider throwing them away. Whatever did you walk for? What happened to your carriage?”

“Nothing. I just felt like walking.”

“The idea! Sinister forces have dealt our family a tragic blow while you’ve been gadding about the Realms. I summon the family together, and you just stroll over here as if nothing’s wrong. It’s just like you. You are a fool,” Aunt Dorath chided.

Giogi stood frozen, afraid that anything else he might say would only dig him deeper into his great-aunt’s contempt.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Dorath ordered. “Come take a seat.”

Giogi bowed before Gaylyn and Julia and positioned himself in a chair where he could attend to Aunt Dorath as well as address the younger women, should they address him.

Giogi glanced at his Cousin Julia. Her tall, well-proportioned body was clad in the latest velvet fashions, jewels glistened in her silky black hair, and gold rings flashed from her long, slender fingers. She, too, had the aristocratic Wyvernspur features, which were more striking on her youthful face than they were on Aunt Dorath’s. In addition, she sported, from her mother’s side of the family, a tiny mole to the right of her mouth. As far as Giogi was concerned, though, Julia was too haughty to be beautiful.

The nobleman preferred to gaze on Gaylyn. Her golden hair lit up the room, and her pink, glowing complexion reminded him of a wild rose. Her gown and jewels were as remarkable as Julia’s but Giogi didn’t notice them. It was impossible, though, for him to miss her swollen abdomen. According to Thomas, Freffie and Gaylyn’s firstborn was due any time now. So, Giogi thought, the family is going to continue another generation despite the loss of the wyvern’s spur.

Gaylyn, unaware that the tradition of her new family was to generally ignore Giogi, turned her sweet smile on him and asked, “How was your journey home, Cousin?”

“Just marvelous. Very exciting,” Giogi replied, grinning back at the young woman.

“Exciting,” Aunt Dorath scoffed. “Traveling is never exciting. Only tedious. Waits, delays, ruffians, strangers, and highwaymen. Only someone as foolish as yourself would revel in it. You’ll end up like your father,” she added darkly.

Giogi debated asking his aunt exactly what she meant by that, trying to work in some reference to what he’d just learned from Sudacar, but just then the parlor door swung open and the gentlemen entered. Frefford made a beeline to Gaylyn’s side and took her hand in his own, looking down on her with solicitous devotion. Uncle Drone scuffled over to a tomcat in the window seat and began feeding it drippy tidbits of venison from his cupped hand. Steele remained in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and sizing up Giogi with an evil grin.

Like his sister, Julia, Steele had the Wyvernspur face with a mole to the right of his mouth. Many people would have called him tall, dark, and handsome, but his grin reminded Giogi of the red dragon Mist—an impression heightened by the way the firelight caught Steele’s blue eyes and made them glint red. As he had in Mist’s presence, Giogi winced when Steele spoke.

“So the exiled family jester has returned. Everyone in Suzail was talking about your remarkable impersonation at the wedding last season. And, of course, about the “duel” that followed. I trust you have fresh entertainment lined up for us this year. Maybe you can debut at Gaylyn’s baby’s blessing ceremony.”

Giogi winced again. It didn’t look as though the family was going to forget the wedding incident any time soon. Wondering if Gaylyn could ever forgive him, Giogi shot her a guilty glance. The bride had the most right to be angry.

Gaylyn laughed, though. “I thought I would just die when that tent collapsed on all of us,” she said. “Remember what fun we had crawling out from under it? It was such a relief to have an excuse to leave that stuffy old canvas and just revel in the garden.”

Steele squinted with annoyance at Gaylyn, and Aunt Dorath raised an eyebrow at the woman’s frivolous attitude, but Lord Frefford smiled at his wife’s high spirits.

A stranger might have guessed Frefford and Steele were brothers and not just second cousins, because Frefford, too, sported most of the Wyvernspur features. Frefford’s face was always softened by a friendly smile, though, and his eyes were more hazel than blue. He whispered something in his wife’s ear, and she giggled.

Giogi smiled at the couple with gratitude.

Aunt Dorath sniffed. “Now that we’re all here, it’s time to get down to business,” she announced imperiously. “Drone, leave that infernal cat and join your family.”

It was hard to believe, watching Uncle Drone shuffle across the room, that Aunt Dorath’s wizard cousin was eight years her junior. If time had avoided Dorath, it made up its loss by visiting Drone twice over. His black hair and beard, besides being shaggy and unkempt, was splotched with gray and white, much more so than Aunt Dorath’s hair. His blue eyes were rheumy, and his Wyvernspur features were lost in the cracks and wrinkles that lined his face. Magic had taken its toll on him.

Years of puttering in his lab, brewing magic potions, had also left Drone a little careless of his appearance. Forgetting he did not wear a lab apron, he wiped his hand on his chest, leaving a venison blood stain across his yellow silk robe. He offered his hand to Giogi, saying, “Welcome back, boy. Heard you’ve been jousting with red dragons.”

Giogi held out his own hand nervously, afraid he was about to be censured again. A cloud of Tymora’s blackest luck seemed to hang over him this evening. It hadn’t been his fault that he’d been kidnapped by the red dragon Mist. Giogi then saw that his uncle’s eyes twinkled with amusement. The young man relaxed and jokingly replied, “Uh, actually, it’s a little difficult jousting with them, don’t you know, because they tend to eat your horse first.”

Dorath, Steele, and Julia glared frostily at Giogi for treating the incident so lightly, but Drone wheezed out a cackle and plopped down beside Dorath.

Giogi used his handkerchief to wipe the blood from the hand Uncle Drone had shaken.

“Did you really joust with a dragon?” Gaylyn asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

“Well, actually I—”

“Of course he didn’t,” Aunt Dorath snapped. “Giogi could no more joust with a dragon than he could match his own stockings. Enough of this nonsense. Drone, it’s time you explained to all of us what happened to the spur.”

Uncle Drone sighed a deep sigh, like a bellows letting out all its air. When he spoke, it was in a measured, professorial voice, his tone as dry as the ancient paper scrolls he kept in his lab. “Last night,” he began, “an hour before dawn, someone got into the family crypt, where the wyvern’s spur has been stored for years. Awakened by a magical alarm, I immediately attempted to scry into the crypt, but a powerful darkness obscured my vision. I teleported to the graveyard and found both the mausoleum door and the crypt door within locked. There was no sign that anyone had broken in or out. All the magical wards I had placed to keep spell-casters from by-passing the locks were intact. However, both the spur and its thief were gone.”

“Why was the spur kept in the family crypt?” Gaylyn asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to guard it in the castle?”

“The guardian lives in the crypt,” Frefford explained softly to his wife.

“What’s ‘the guardian’?” she asked.

“The spirit of a powerful monster, which will slay any being in the crypt that is not a Wyvernspur by blood or marriage,” Aunt Dorath said.

“So it had to be a Wyvernspur who stole the spur,” Gaylyn reasoned.

“One of us,” agreed Uncle Drone, pausing for a moment to let the thought sink in. Then he added, “But probably a long-lost relative. We’ve never been able to discover any before, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”

“Why steal the spur? What good is it to anyone?” Giogi asked.

“It’s said to have powers beyond that of ensuring the continuance of the family line,” replied the wizard.

“I never heard about that,” Giogi protested. “What sort of powers?”

Uncle Drone shrugged. “It isn’t in any of the family history books.”

“What makes you think it was a long-lost relative?” Julia asked. “Why not one of us?”

“Well, firstly,” Drone explained, “I was able to ascertain through magical means that none of the keys entrusted to the keeping of Frefford, Steele, and Giogioni—” Uncle Drone waved an arm at each of the men in turn— “were used to open the crypt.”

“What about your own key?” Aunt Dorath interrupted. “Are you certain you haven’t mislaid it somewhere?” Her emphasis suggested the unspoken word “again.”

In reply, Uncle Drone held up a large silver key hanging from a chain about his neck. “As everyone here but Gaylyn already knows,” the wizard continued, “besides the mausoleum entrance, the only other entrance to the crypt is from the catacombs below, and the only other way into the catacombs is from a secret magical door outside the graveyard.”

“But you told us that that secret door only opens every fifty years,” Steele snapped peevishly, “on the first of Tarsakh. That’s still more than a ride away.”

“Twelve days. That’s a ride and two days to spare,” Gaylyn corrected.

Steele scowled at the woman’s exactness.

“Well, I seem to have miscalculated,” Drone said. “Apparently the door opens after three hundred sixty-five days multiplied by fifty. In other words every eighteen thousand two hundred fiftieth day. The family records weren’t so precise and rounded the interval off to a half-century.”

“What’s the difference?” Steele growled.

“Shieldmeet,” Gaylyn cried excitedly, like a woman playing charades.

“Exactly,” Uncle Drone said. “Shieldmeet, every four years, adds an extra day. After fifty years, the extra days add up, so the door opened earlier than I had expected.”

“By twelve days,” Gaylyn added.

Gaylyn, Giogi guessed, was one of those women who were good with figures.

“Fortunately,” Drone continued, “I had the notion to check out that door within minutes of the theft. Sure enough, it stood open. I sealed it with a wall of stone and left magical guards to tell me if anyone tries to break out by that door or the door from the crypt to the mausoleum. No one has. The would-be thief is still stuck in the catacombs. So, you see, none of us can be the thief, since none of us are missing.”

Giogi wondered idly, if he hadn’t managed to return to Immersea before that evening, whether his family would be sitting around suspecting him of the crime.

“Since only a member of our family can enter the crypt, it’s up to us to deal with this thieving rogue Wyvernspur,” Aunt Dorath said. “No one else need know about this notorious incident. All we need to do is search the catacombs,” she announced. “First thing in the morning.”

“And will you be leading us, Aunt Dorath?” Steele asked with a smirk.

“Don’t be absurd. This is a job for healthy young men like yourself and Frefford.”

“And Giogioni,” Uncle Drone said. “Can’t leave him out.”

“That’s all right, Uncle Drone,” Giogi insisted. “I can guard the crypt door or something, in case the thief gets past Steele and Freffie.”

“Nonsense,” Steele said. “We need you, Giogi. Besides, don’t you want to renew your acquaintance with the guardian?”

“Actually, no,” Giogi retorted sharply, glaring at his cousin. If looks could kill, the rest of the family would have to have summoned a cleric for Steele.

Aunt Dorath gave Giogi a cold look. “Giogioni, I won’t have you shirking your family responsibilities. You can help by carrying the water flasks or something.”

“Yes, you can be our provisions officer,” Steele said. “But leave the land urchins behind—and don’t forget your key. It’ll remind the guardian that you are a Wyvernspur after all.”

Giogi began breathing a little too deeply, and the room seemed to tilt. Steele’s taunts were wasted on him—he was too busy fighting off a rising panic. Frefford moved to his side and clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Giogi. We’ll all be down there together.”

“You can’t possibly still be affected by that scare you had as a boy,” Aunt Dorath insisted.

Giogi did not answer. His mouth moved, but no words escaped.

“Well, that’s settled, then,” Aunt Dorath said. “I suggest you all get a good night’s sleep so you can get an early start. That includes you, Giogioni. Don’t spend the rest of the evening carousing in town. You must be at the crypt at dawn. This is not a duty any of you dare take lightly. Until that spur is back in the crypt where it belongs, none of us are safe. You may scoff all you want, but I know for a fact that the spur’s curse is no silly superstition. Its absence will bring evil upon us.”

Giogi shuddered, anticipating meeting the guardian again. Gaylyn lay her hand nervously on her belly. Frefford returned to his wife’s side to comfort her. Julia watched Steele, who fidgeted with impatience. Uncle Drone studied the stain on his robe.

Everyone remained speechless for several moments until Drone said, “I’ll see you to the door, Giogi,” and held an arm out for help in rising.

Still in shock, Giogi stood automatically and helped Drone to his feet. He held the parlor door open as the old man shuffled through, and he followed his uncle out.

After the door had closed behind them, the old man patted Giogi’s arm and said softly, “Dory’s right, you know. It’s time you were over that fright you had as a child.”

“Aunt Dorath wasn’t locked down there,” Giogi objected as they descended a staircase to the main entrance hall.

“Well, actually she was once, but that’s neither here nor there. Listen, my boy, I have something very important to tell you, something I couldn’t tell you in front of the others.”

Suddenly reminded of Sudacar’s revelation, Giogi shook off his anxiety over the coming expedition. “And I have a question for you that I couldn’t ask in front of the others. Why didn’t you ever tell me my father was an adventurer?”

“Found that out, did you? Who let it slip?”

“It makes no difference,” Giogi retorted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your Aunt Dorath made me swear not to.”

“How could you agree to something like that?” Giogi demanded. “I thought you liked my father.”

“I loved your father,” Drone whispered angrily. “I had my reasons. Now hush up and listen.”

When they’d reached the bottom of the staircase, the new footman popped out of an alcove and asked, “Shall I fetch Master Giogioni’s things, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” Uncle Drone snapped, annoyed at the interruption. He watched the footman’s back until the servant disappeared from sight. Drone swiveled his neck in all four cardinal points, making sure he and Giogi were alone in the hall before he spoke again. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The spur and the thief aren’t in the catacombs.”

“What! Then why did you tell us all—?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. I had good reasons, but Dory would never understand. You must go down into the catacombs anyway to keep up the charade, and tell me everything that happens there.”

From the hallway upstairs they could hear Aunt Dorath bellow, “Drone!”

“Look, I’ll explain it to you tomorrow night when you return. In the meantime—”

The footman returned with Giogi’s cloak. Drone took the cloak and waved the servant away. As the old wizard wrapped Giogi up in the garment, he whispered, “In the meantime, watch your step. Your life could possibly, just possibly, be in danger.” He opened the front door, and cold air rushed into the hallway.

“Because of the spur, you mean?” Giogi asked.

“Not because of the spur—well, maybe because of it, but not the way you might think—”

“Drone!” Aunt Dorath called out a second time.

Uncle Drone pushed Giogi out the door, saying, “I’ll explain tomorrow. Remember—watch your step.” The wizard closed the door on Giogi before he could protest further.

My life could possibly, just possibly, be in danger, Giogi thought. He shuddered, not just from the cold. A wizard such as Drone said “just possibly” only in cases where anyone else in the Realms would say, “most definitely.”

A hearty spring wind, fresh off the Wyvernwater, danced around the side of the castle and tore through Giogi’s cloak. He shuddered again and wished that he’d stayed in Westgate, where all he’d had to worry about were dragons, earthquakes, and power struggles. They really were insignificant compared to these family crises.