The Wyvern's Spur

3 Olive and Jade

The halfling hid in the shadows—even though there was no one presently on the streets for her to hide from. Hiding in shadows was an art, and the halfling’s mother had always warned her, “Never neglect your art, Olive-girl,” so Olive hid in the shadows. Besides, sooner or later someone would come along the street.

That’s what makes the natives of Cormyr a great people, Olive thought fondly. While citizens of other nations would cower indoors on a cold spring night like this, Cormytes will brave anything to visit the taverns of their choice. At this hour, there were usually just enough pedestrians to offer her a selection, but not so many that she need worry about any witnesses to her light-fingered larceny.

While she watched the street, Olive twiddled a platinum coin across the tips of her slender, dexterous fingers. A gust of wind from off the lake swirled around the corner and into the alley, blowing a strand of her long, russet hair into her green eyes. Olive pocketed the coin and pushed the strand up into her wool cap. She was bundled against the cold in a pair of breeches, a knee-length tunic, a bulky quilted vest, and the hat.

Besides keeping her warm, all the extra clothing hid her slim waist and curvaceous figure, so that she looked almost as plump as a typical town-living halfling. She was shorter than most adult halflings, though—well under three feet. She might have been mistaken for a human toddler, except for her fur-covered bare feet with their tough, leathery soles.

She would never even consider stuffing her feet into a pair of shoes and disguising her race, though. For one thing, there was always someone who made it his or her business to discover what a human child was doing wandering the streets alone, especially in Cormyr; or worse, there were people, even in Cormyr, who were ready to accost such children. For another thing, Olive found shoes just too uncomfortable, not to mention exceedingly awkward for running in, and she never knew when she might need to run. Most important of all, Olive felt that conducting business by passing as a human child was demeaning. Only a very untalented or very desperate halfling would resort to such a measure.

Down the street, a tavern door opened and sounds of laughter spilled out into the lane. Olive tensed for action. A fat youth in an apron came puffing along, carrying a jug of ale. A servant, Olive guessed, sent to fetch ale for a guest. Probably charged the ale to his master’s tab, so he won’t have any money on him. She stood motionless.

A minute later, two older men in heavy, dusty jackets shuffled by, arguing over whether or not it was too soon to plant peas. Farmers, Olive conjectured, no doubt carrying nothing but copper coins—and only enough copper at that to buy three rounds of ale. She remained motionless.

A skinny fop, attired in bright-colored raiment and wearing the most unusually large boots, strode down the center of the street. Dressed as he was, he might have been an adventurer or a merchant, but from the way he hadn’t bothered to conceal the bulging coin purse in his cloak pocket, Olive judged him to be a noble. He looked sober and pretty alert, which made him just the sort of challenge Olive had been waiting for. She took her hands out of her pockets, intent on following him. As he passed the alley, though, a feeling of recognition tickled at the back of Olive’s brain, and she held back.

“Are you watching a parade, Olive, or are you just screwing up your courage to make a grab?” someone behind her whispered.

Olive’s heart pounded in her chest, but no visible sign betrayed how startled she was. She did not turn to look at her taunter; she did not need to. She could picture the person in her mind: a human woman, nearly six feet tall, slender, with a mop of short hair the rust-red color of bugbear fur, bright green eyes twinkling with merriment, and a face identical to one of Olive’s previous companions—Alias of Westgate.

Olive kept her attention on the fop and whispered, “Jade, where in the Nine Hells have you been for the past ride? I’ve missed you, girl.”

“It hasn’t been ten days, only six,” Jade whispered back. “I’ve been visiting family,” she explained. Olive could hear the playful smile in her voice.

Olive furrowed her brow in puzzlement. For six months Jade had been her protégée, her partner, and her friend, and Olive knew things about Jade that not even Jade knew. Furthermore, as far as the halfling knew, Jade had no family. Jade herself had told the halfling she was an orphan. “What family?” Olive whispered, her eyes following the fop’s progress down the street.

“It’s a long story. Look, are you going to pluck this pigeon?” Jade asked, indicating, with a toss of her head, the dandyish noble now moving away from them. “If not, I’d like a crack at him. He looks ripe.”

“Wait your turn, girl,” Olive replied. “Age before beauty, and I win on both counts,” the halfling added with a smirk. She then slipped away from her partner and padded silently down the street after the fop. She swiveled her head nonchalantly to the right and left to make sure she and her target were alone on the street.

He’s not only a fat pigeon, Olive thought, once again focusing on the nobleman, but an easy pluck, too. You’d think someone would warn him about letting his purse strings dangle out of his pocket.

Ordinarily Olive would have offered such an easy job to Jade. The human woman was just getting started in business and really depended on it for her living. Olive, on the other hand, didn’t need the money; her adventures the previous year had left her almost as wealthy as her wildest dreams. She had to have a closer look at her mark, though. Where have I seen him before? she wondered.

As she closed the gap between herself and her target, her furry feet as silent as cat paws, Olive could hear the fop half singing, half humming softly to himself. Good sense of pitch, Olive critiqued silently, but no sense of rhythm.

“Oh, listen to the story, of the scandal of the wyrms, red Mistinarhm-hmm-hm-hmm, rumored mad and quite infirm—”

Olive stopped dead in her tracks. He’s singing one of my songs! she realized. That piece I composed on the spur of the moment to distract the old red dragon and save Alias’s life.

A small flower of pride blossomed within Olive, and for half a moment she thought of just walking up, tapping the fop on the shoulder, and introducing herself as the song’s creator.

Then she remembered that Jade was watching from the shadows. If she backed out, the younger thief would never let her hear the end of it. Olive prodded herself forward again. After all, she thought, in a few more years, everyone will be singing my songs.

Now the fop was muttering something to himself and motioning with his arms outward, palms upward. He forced his voice into a lower, more resonant range, added a slight burr, and said, “My Cormytes. My people. Harumph.” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice another half-octave. “My Cormytes. My people. As your king, as King Azoun, and as King Azoun the Fourth—” He returned his voice to it’s normal pitch and congratulated himself, “Yes, that’s it. Haven’t lost the old skills.”

Olive stopped dead again as the feeling of recognition stopped tickling at the back of her brain and hit her with the force of a runaway cart. Could it really be him, she wondered. Out of all the pigeons in the world, I pick Giogioni Wyvernspur, infamous imitator of royalty?

Olive had sung at the wedding reception of one of Giogioni’s relatives. During her performance, the young Wyvernspur noble gave an impromptu imitation of the king of Cormyr, and Alias of Westgate had tried to murder him. It wasn’t that Alias had felt any loyalty to the crown, nor had she been offended that the youth had interrupted Olive’s singing. With her body controlled by sinister forces desiring Azoun’s death, Alias had been unable to stop herself, even though she could see that Giogi was not the king of Cormyr.

He’s a little scrawnier and shaggier than he was last spring, but it’s Giogioni all right, Olive decided. Not that surprising really. This is Immersea, after all, the Wyvernspurs’ home. Poor boy, Olive thought with a sympathetic smile as she resumed stalking her prey. First Alias tried to commit regicide on his decidedly unregal person, and now, here I am, about to steal his purse.

Some people are just born unlucky, the halfling thought with a grin. Giogi halted at the door of the Immer Inn. Olive passed within inches of the young noble, and with a deft snatch she tugged the sack of coins from his cloak pocket. She gave the bag a flamboyant spin by its string as she hurried off. Centrifugal force kept the coins secure and unclinking.

Unaware of his loss, the nobleman pushed open the door to his favorite tavern and burst inside, crying, “What ho!” There were hearty cries of greetings from within, to which Giogioni responded with the voice of King Azoun IV, “My Cormytes. My people …”

Three buildings beyond the Immer Inn, Olive ducked into an alley, circled around the block, and sneaked behind Jade.

Jade turned and smiled, though, before Olive could surprise her. For a human, she had good hearing and excellent night vision. “You hesitated before the snatch, Olive,” Jade noted. “Were you having trouble sneaking up on him, or were you having pangs of conscience?” she taunted.

Olive shook her head. “Did you see those boots he was wearing?”

“Those earth-shakers?” Jade asked with a nod.

“I was trying to figure a way to get them off his feet without him noticing. I thought they might just fit your hulking hooves.”

“And if they didn’t fit my feet” Jade teased back, “I’d give them to you. You could buy an acre of land, roof over them, and live in them.”

The two women, halfling and human, leaned against the wall and chuckled softly. Olive spun the stolen purse by its string one last time and tossed it in the air. She caught it casually in one hand. The coins within gave a hearty clink.

“Now, really. Why did you stop like that?” Jade asked earnestly, her green eyes flashing with curiosity.

“I recognized the mark. Giogioni Wyvernspur. Remember the swordswoman I traveled with last year, Alias of Westgate?”

“The one you said looked like me?” Jade asked, stifling a mock yawn. Jade generally found Olive’s professional exploits amusing, but she had no interest in people who worked outside her field. Also, Olive’s preoccupation with her supposed resemblance to this Alias person disturbed Jade. She sometimes feared Olive liked her for who she looked like, though Jade was careful not to show it.

“That’s the one,” Olive said with a nod. “Only she doesn’t just look like you, girl,” she reminded Jade, “she looks just like you. She could be your sister.”

Jade shrugged.

The halfling sighed inwardly at her partner’s attitude. Olive had hoped all her stories about Alias would somehow magically spark Jade into remembering who she was and where she came from. Each story had failed, though, until there was only one tale left untold, one that Olive could not bring herself to tell her new friend.

It was the tale of how Olive and Alias had discovered twelve duplicates of Alias in the Citadel of White Exile, duplicates not dead but not alive either. When Alias had slain the evil master of the citadel, the duplicates had vanished. Olive had supposed that the images had returned to their elemental origins—until she’d met Jade More, that is.

Jade had to be one of the duplicates, Olive realized. Not only did Jade resemble Alias, but the irrefutable proof was carved into her flesh. On her right arm swirled the remains of the magical brand—a blue river of waves and serpents set there by her creator. Just as with Alias’s brand, the creator’s sigil was missing from the design—the azure bond of servitude had been broken when Alias had killed the monster. Finally, set at the base of the design on the underside of Jade’s wrist was a blue rose, just like the one with which the gods had favored Alias in honor of her love for the music of the Nameless Bard, the man who had designed her.

If it hadn’t been for the telltale brands, though, Olive might not have been so sure of Jade’s origin. Her personality was very different from Alias’s. Granted, Jade exuded the same confidence and competence as the sell-sword, but that was the mark of any experienced adventurer. Jade was relaxed, though, where Alias was driven, humorous where Alias was solemn, and larcenous where Alias was upstanding. Moreover, Jade seemed not to care about her inability to recall much of her own history. Rather, she seemed content practicing her art and getting on with her life without wondering, as Alias had, about her missing memories or true origins.

It was that trait of unreflective self-satisfaction that endeared Jade to the halfling and made it impossible for Olive to tell the human woman that she was a copy of Alias. Olive feared that Jade might lose her joy of life if she learned she’d been created by an evil denizen. She also feared that Jade might hate her for telling the truth.

Jade broke through Olive’s reverie. “What’s this Alias got to do with JoJo Whatever?” she asked.

“Giogioni Wyvernspur. We’ve been here all winter, Jade. You must have heard something about the Wyvernspurs. They founded this town. They’re big favorites at court. They’re supposed to have some sort of ancient artifact, some spur for riding wyverns, that gives them power beyond mortal men. At least that’s the story they tell in the taverns. Anyway, what I was getting at was that Alias once tried to assassinate Giogioni.”

“Olive, you really should be more careful who you travel with. These violent types’ll get you into trouble.”

Olive nodded. “It’s true. She did.”

“Lucky you’ve got me to look out for you, now,” Jade said in mock earnestness, waving a slender finger.

“And who’s going to look out for you?” Olive teased.

“I don’t need looking out for. I never get into trouble.”

“You will if one of Sudacar’s men sees you with Giogioni Wyvernspur’s purse hanging from your belt,” Olive warned, an impish smile barely contained on her face.

“I don’t have—” Jade swung her hand down to her hip. Knotted around her belt were the strings of a yellow velvet bag embroidered with a green “W” and bulging with coins.

Olive grinned. “Don’t you think you’d better tuck that out of sight? I’ll collect my cut later.”

Giving a low whistle of appreciation for the halfling’s dexterity and sneakiness, Jade teased the knot out of the purse strings. From her belt she drew a second, smaller pouch. She opened the smaller one and dropped Giogi’s larger, unopened purse into it. The money-laden purse disappeared into the pouch without making a bulge.

It was Olive’s turn to whistle. “How’d you do that?” she gasped.

“Isn’t it great?” Jade said as she knotted the smaller pouch’s strings and tucked it back into her belt. “It’s a miniature magical bag. You can really stuff it. Want to know the best part? It was a gift.”

“Well, well, well. Who gives you such magical gifts, and when are you going to introduce us, girl?” Olive asked.

“Later, Olive. That’s what I’ve been up to for the past few days. He said not to say anything until it was all over, but a girl can’t be expected to keep this kind of thing from her best friend, now can she?”

“Of course not,” Olive agreed. “What kind of thing?”

“Well, it all started that night you caught cold and went back to your boarding house to rest your voice. After you left, I plucked this servant— Hello, what’s this?” Jade interrupted her story to turn her attention to a cloaked figure coming down the street.

It was hard to identify the figure as man or woman, since the cloak fell in voluminous folds about the body and the cloak’s hood shadowed the face. From the figure’s size and heavy, measured stride, Olive guessed it was a man. An unpleasant man. Jade leaned forward, a feral glint in her eye. Olive tugged her back by the hem of her tunic. “Not this one, girl.”

“Olive, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know. He feels … dangerous somehow.” A new feeling of familiarity tickled at her brain, but this one was mixed with an inexplicable fear.

Jade’s nose twitched with annoyance. “He feels rich to me.” She tugged the hem of her tunic out of the halfling’s hand. Still, Olive’s words had shaken her confidence. She slid the magic pouch out of her belt. “Hold onto this for me, then I’ll have nothing to lose if he’s ticklish and calls out the watch.”

“Nothing but your freedom,” Olive sniffed. “Lord Sudacar hand-picked those guards himself. You don’t want to take them on, believe me.”

Jade grinned. “As long as they don’t find that purse on me I can talk my way around them, and if not, my new friend can handle Lord Sudacar.”

“So certain, are you?” Olive asked as she slid the pouch inside her vest pocket.

“Got a name for myself in this town now,” Jade whispered. Before Olive could make the woman explain what she meant by that, Jade padded off after the new pigeon.

Left in the shadows, Olive sighed. It was hard to get angry with her protégée’s exuberance. With all her wealth, Olive might have retired from the business and just stuck with music, but she couldn’t bear to see Jade’s talent wasted. The woman really needed someone to advise her. She’s just going to have to learn the hard way, though, if she won’t take my advice, Olive thought.

Silently the halfling critiqued her partner’s performance. Jade had a nice natural style of walking after her pigeon, which didn’t betray her intent to anyone who might be watching the street. She also had the quietest tread of any woman Olive had ever known, and marks never heard her coming. She had one trait, though, that could betray her.

Jade was tall, even for a human woman. While this would not ordinarily be a great handicap, it was here and now, because Immersea was one of those civilized towns whose cobbled thoroughfares were lit at night with lanterns hung from poles. The illumination posed very little problem for Olive, but Jade’s shadow shot out before her whenever she passed a lantern pole, right across the path of whoever she followed.

Olive had warned Jade about that before, but either the human had forgotten or had chosen to ignore the warning. To Olive’s relief, though, the pigeon bundled in the heavy cloak seemed oblivious to Jade’s presence.

Jade got close enough to run her hands gently through the curves of the pigeons’ cloak and then fell back a few steps. She examined whatever it was she had snatched. Olive frowned. First rule is take cover, then examine the booty, the halfling chided silently. Whatever Jade had grabbed excited her greatly, and she broke protocol again by turning around and holding up her prize for Olive to see. It appeared to be a fist-sized crystal of black glass that did not reflect the streetlight. At least Olive presumed it was glass. It didn’t seem possible that anyone would carry around a valuable gem that size in an outer pocket.

Olive waved Jade away, afraid that the human thief might forget everything she’d been taught and walk back directly to their shadowy base of operations. Jade pocketed the item and strolled behind the pigeon another several yards—which was even worse. How many times, Olive wondered with a scowl, do I have to tell her never go back for seconds? Why do you always push Tymora’s luck, Jade-girl? Still, the street was otherwise empty, save for the two figures.

Luck broke badly for Jade all at once. Whether she had made a noise or the pigeon had spotted the human’s shadow, Olive couldn’t tell, but something alerted him to the thief’s presence. He stopped and turned slowly, the front of his hood fixed in the direction of Jade’s approach. As cool and calm as a frozen pond, Jade passed the pigeon, looking for all the Realms as if she were another Cormyte searching for a warm tavern, but Olive saw the mark rummage through his cloak pockets. The thief’s charade had not fooled him.

The human woman had only gotten four paces beyond the cloaked figure when he shouted in a deep, rich voice, “Treacherous witch! You’ve escaped, and now you try to steal what you have not earned!”

The thief’s ice-cool composure cracked. Without looking back, Jade made a dash for the unlit alley. Once the darkness folded around her, no pigeon would ever find her.

Before Jade could reach the alley’s shelter, though, the cloaked figure raised an arm and pointed a slender, ringed finger at her fleeing form. A line of emerald light emanated from the finger.

The beam sliced through the darkness, striking Jade squarely in the back. She froze in midstride, her mouth open, but, like some horrible pantomime show, her scream was never heard. The emerald light outlined the woman’s body and burst into a searing brilliance. Olive’s eyes shut instinctively against the glare.

When she opened them again, the light had died and there was no Jade, only a collection of glittering green dust motes drifting lazily to the ground. Jade More had ceased to exist.

“No!” Olive screeched in horror.

The cloaked figure whirled about at the shout. The hood fell away from his face. Lantern light illuminated his visage: sharp, hawklike features with piercing predatory blue eyes.

Olive recognized the face immediately. She knew the man. Unbidden, warm memories sprang to her mind: fighting beside him at Westgate, learning new songs from him, accepting his silver Harper’s pin. Yet, in her fury, her hand reached automatically for her dagger.

“You!” she spat through clenched teeth. Anger and anguish overrode her common sense, and she stepped from the shadows to confront the man, her screams increasing in volume and pitch with every step. “How could you? You killed her! Can’t you keep from playing at gods’ games? You fiend! You disgust me!”

Apparently unconcerned with the halfling’s opinion, the cloaked figure pointed a ringed finger in her direction.

Olive froze, suddenly realizing her own peril. The halfling sprang back into the alley, just as a second lance of green light shot from the man’s finger. The ray sizzled into the cobblestones, leaving a pothole where Olive had stood a moment before.

The halfling did not turn to inspect the damage. She dashed down the alley without looking back. She could hear the level, thudding strides of the man behind her, like an inhuman heartbeat.

He doesn’t need to dash to keep up with me, Olive realized. Time to disappear into thin air, she told herself, or face the prospect of literally disappearing forever.

She always prepared a bolt hole when she worked the streets. Along the right side of the alley ran the stable where she boarded her pony, Snake Eyes. There was a loose plank in the rear wall that pivoted on a single nail. At the end of the alley Olive dodged right, slid the plank up, and slipped into the stable. She let the plank slide back into place and stood trying to gasp for air as quietly as possible.

The thudding footfalls of her attacker approached her bolt hole, then ceased. Olive held her breath, hoping to determine in which direction he would head. The killer did not move away, however, but stood near the stable wall, muttering to himself. Pick a direction and move away, you murdering fiend, Olive willed silently.

Snake Eyes, her pony, sensed his mistress’s anxiety and moved toward her, nuzzling her ear. Irritated, Olive pushed the animal’s muzzle away. The pony whickered softly in annoyance. Keep quiet, Snake Eyes, Olive willed, there’s a very crazy man outside trying to kill me.

Olive scratched the pony’s back, and it grew calm. Olive calmed as well; her breathing became more regular. She tried to deny she’d seen the murderer’s face so clearly. He could not be who he looked like. She had to be mistaken.

The halfling’s heart skipped a beat as something knocked on the stable wall behind her. Her pursuer had not given up! He was searching for an opening. Olive stumbled backward in panic and knocked over Snake Eyes’s water pail. The man outside began mumbling again, and Olive realized with horror that he must be chanting a spell.

Olive pushed on the stall’s door, but it was bolted on the other side, and she hadn’t the time to use her skills to slip it open. Fortunately the walls to the stall did not go to the ceiling, and, with an effort born of desperation and a great deal of scrabbling, the halfling was able to climb to the top. She dropped down into the stable’s center aisle and dashed for the building’s main entrance. Snake Eyes whinnied in terror as his mistress pushed on the front door—only to discover that it, too, was bolted from without.

Olive whirled around, looking for another place to hide. A pale glow of yellow light and more muttering emanated from Snake Eyes’s stall. He’s inside! Olive thought, terror grabbing her insides and giving them a quarter-turn. He disintegrates, detects secret doors, and walks through walls. How can I hide from him?

The muttering stopped, and Snake Eyes’s stall door rattled. A series of sharp thumps followed, and the stall door’s hinges began to give way.

Stifling a sob, Olive dodged behind a large pile of grain sacks and crouched, cowering miserably in the dark.

There has got to be some way out of this, Olive thought feverishly. I’m too talented to die. Her eyes lit on an empty sack on the ground and she pulled it over her head, hoping to masquerade as a bag of feed. It was only a thirty-pound sack, though, and she was a fifty-pound halfling.

I’ll never stuff myself into this, she realized as she heard the sound of screws ripping out of wood. Uttering the word “stuff” and staring at the useless bag, a fresh idea sprang to the halfling’s mind.

Jade’s magic pouch! she thought. Akabar the mage had once told her a story of a southern prince who kept an elephant in his magic pouch. Jade said the pouch was a miniature one, Olive recalled. I’m hardly an elephant, she reasoned, so the thing ought to accommodate me.

Her sweaty fingers pulled the small sack from her vest. All I need to do is get my head and shoulders in, and the rest should tumble after, she thought. Her hands trembled as she tugged on the purse strings. In her haste, she dropped the bag, and it clunked to the dark floor. Her fingers groped through the straw and grain until they snagged one of the strings. She fumbled with the knot and yanked open the mouth of the sack, ignoring the sound of approaching footsteps rustling through the straw and the light illuminating the wall behind her.

A queasy feeling came over Olive as she opened the pouch. An ancient, dry voice whispered, “He who steals Giogioni Wyvernspur’s purse makes an ass of himself.”

Nine Hells, Olive cursed. I’ve opened the wrong sack. Giogioni’s must have fallen out when I dropped Jade’s. The fop had a magic mouth cast on his purse to warn him if someone else opened it. Usually, Olive knew, those sorts of spells shouted aloud to embarrass and reveal the thief. Why did this one only whisper? the halfling wondered. Lucky for me it did, but why? Stop thinking about stupid things, girl! she snapped to herself. Don’t you realize that you’re about to die?

A beam of light passed through a chink in the pile of grain sacks, reminding Olive of her peril. Dropping Giogi’s gold, she fumbled again in the darkness for Jade’s magic pouch. Her hands felt heavy and awkward, and she was dizzy from the excitement. When she finally touched the pouch it took all her concentration to grasp and lift it.

The footfalls halted right in front of her hiding spot. Automatically Olive slipped Jade’s pouch in her vest pocket and pressed her eye to the chink in the sacks, just as a shadow blocked the light streaming through. The halfling looked up, her eyes wide with terror.

Jade’s murderer looked down at her with anger. His right hand held a translucent ball of light, which limned his face. Despite the cruel, twisted smile, the sharp features were unmistakable. It is the Nameless Bard, Olive thought with anguish. He used to be a Harper. How could he become a murderer? We were allies and friends. How can he murder me?

“Beshaba’s brats,” he cursed.

Olive felt much the same way. The goddess of ill luck seemed to be following her tonight. She tried to stand, but her knees were too weak. She looked up, prepared to deliver what she suspected were her last words. She started to say, “You’ll never get away with this. Alias will find out, and she’ll—” but all that came from her mouth was a hoarse bray.

Nameless turned away from her as if she didn’t exist, and began searching the horse stalls.

He had me dead to rights, Olive thought. How could he miss me? She tried to scratch her head in puzzlement, but all she could manage was a twitch of her fuzzy muzzle, a swish of her bushy tail, and a pricking of her long, pointed ears. In panic, the halfling looked down at herself. Instead of her black vest, breeches, and furry feet, Olive discovered she was covered with short brown fur and had four delicate hooves.

Sweet Selûne, Olive thought, I’m an ass!