The Wyvern's Spur

6 The Guardian

“Rise and shine, my pretties,” Giogi called softly as he entered the barn.

Olive stirred awake. Without meaning to, she’d fallen asleep on her feet. She shook herself, feeling her mane tickle her neck and her tail slap against her hindquarters. Still a burro, she realized with annoyance.

Giogi stopped to pat the chestnut mare. “Would you like some apples, Daisyeye?” Olive could hear the horse chomping away on Giogi’s offering.

Then the nobleman entered her enclosure. He looked into her bucket of oats. “Good, you’ve eaten,” he said.

Olive could feel herself blushing beneath her furry hide. After all she had suffered last night, going without dinner would have been unbearable. The oats’ molasses coating had rendered them almost tasty, actually better than some of the things she’d eaten at inns outside of Cormyr. After a few experimental nibbles, Olive had polished the remainder off without thinking.

Now confronted with the empty pail, though, she worried that she might grow too burrolike and forget that her favorite meal was not grain, but roast goose, and that she might come to prefer water to Luiren Rivengut.

“How about a little treat,” Giogi said, holding out a quarter of an apple.

At least that could be considered halfling food, Olive decided. She muzzled the fruit from the nobleman’s hand. Giogi’s other hand slid something up over her ears. The feeling of leather straps about her muzzle caused Olive’s nose to twitch. Nine Hells, she thought. I fell for the apple and the halter trick.

Olive brayed and tried to back away, but Giogi held fast to the halter he’d just slipped on her. “Whoa, girl. Easy, now. We’re just going into the catacombs beneath the old family crypt to look for the thief who stole the wyvern’s spur.”

The wyvern’s spur? Olive thought with astonishment. The Wyvernspur family’s most precious heirloom? It’s been stolen? Olive looked up at Giogi with puzzlement. How can you be so calm about a thing like that, boy? she thought.

As Giogi began brushing her coat, he briefed her in soothing tones. “The catacombs aren’t so bad,” he said, “except for the kobolds, stirges, bugbears, and occasional gargoyles. Of course, first we have to get past the crypt guardian. The guardian shouldn’t bother us, though. I think. We’re old friends. Last time I saw her, she said I was too small—I presumed she meant too small for her to eat. Her idea of a joke, I suppose. You know how perverse those crypt guardians can be.”

Able to distinguish the meaning of his words, Olive had no trouble sensing Giogi’s nervousness as well. A shiver went up her long spine. Giogi patted her reassuringly and laid a blanket over her, then a set of packs. As he pulled the cinch under her belly and knotted it through the buckle, Olive considered trying to get out of the little jaunt by lying down or rolling over, but she decided that the floor was just too dirty. Besides, she thought, I won’t learn anything more about the Wyvernspurs in a horse stall, but if Giogi keeps babbling, I might pick up quite a bit.

“Actually, she’s probably not as terrible as I remember,” Giogi continued with his reminiscences of the guardian. “It’s just that I was only eight back then. My father had just died, you see, and I inherited his key to the crypt. My Cousin Steele was so jealous that I had a key and he didn’t that he badgered my other cousin, Freffie, and me into sneaking into the crypt. Then he, Steele, that is, swiped the key from me and locked me in there all alone and left with Freffie.

“Freffie had an attack of conscience and told Uncle Drone, but I ran into the catacombs to get away from the guardian. I spent the good part of a day wandering through them and missed supper before Uncle Drone found me.”

There, Olive thought. I have three murder suspects already: jealousy-ridden Steele, guilt-ridden Frefford, and nephew-ridden Uncle Drone. I can rule out Giogi’s father, though—unless he’s undead.

Giogi strapped the picnic basket atop the packs, balancing it on either side with a pair of full water skins. Olive groaned under the weight, but the noise came out as a testy bray.

The water and tea things, however, were only a beginning. Into the packs Giogi loaded oil, torches, a lantern, a tinder box, rope, a rope ladder, spikes, a portable stool, a blanket, a heavy mallet, several sealed vials, a can of white paint, a brush, and a large map. He then added a small sack of feed for the burro. “Can’t have you missing lunch,” Giogi said, patting Olive’s rump.

Don’t worry about me, Olive thought. I’ll collapse from exhaustion long before then. She brayed again in protest.

“You’re a very musical little creature,” Giogi said. “Maybe I should name you Birdie. Come on, Birdie.” Giogi led Olive out of the stall and from the carriage house.

The pair of them clomped through the garden and out into the street. Wagons and carts loaded with hay and seaweed and fish and firewood crammed the road. Servants and field hands and fishermen and foresters edged around each other on the plank walkways. Oblivious to the immediate flow of traffic, Giogi led his burro down the center of the street, while he studied the movement on either side of him with intense curiosity. Olive was hard-pressed to avoid stepping on his feet when he wandered too close to her hooves.

“I had no idea how busy this town was so early,” Giogi muttered.

So why don’t we go back to bed and wait for the traffic to clear? Olive thought, but Giogi guided her westward through the crush.

The sky, which last night had been clear and starry, was blanketed by slate-gray clouds, and the air was no longer crisp, but was moist with impending rain or snow. Olive’s breath steamed from her nostrils, and Giogi puffed vapor from his lips as he strolled along whistling, in tune if not in tempo.

Near the edge of town, the pair turned onto a path heading south up a steep hill. I’m not making this ascent, Olive thought, planting her feet firmly in the road. A swat on her rump from the nobleman got her moving in spite of herself.

The path led to a rocky graveyard bordered by a low wall and surrounded by pine and oak trees. The trees cast dark shadows on the already gloomy setting, and the carpet of pine needles and oak leaves muffled the sounds of their footsteps. Most of the headstones within the yard were weathered and broken with age, reminding Olive of the stumps of an old giant’s teeth.

Very near the entrance stood a large stone mausoleum, as worn-looking as the rest of the graveyard’s monuments but still intact. Thick stalks of ivy ran up its walls. The dead ivy leaves looked black in the shadows and rattled in the breeze. Small, ornately carved stone wyverns perched all along the mausoleum’s roof and looked down on them with glass eyes. Giogi avoided looking at them, knowing all too well their long reptilian bodies, batlike wings, and scorpion tails. He shuddered as he approached the mausoleum’s entrance. The Wyvernspur coat of arms was carved into the walls on either side of the door, and the Wyvernspur name was carved into the lintel.

Smaller markings were cut into the door, lintel, and jamb—invocations to Selûne and Mystra to protect the crypt from trespassers. For good measure, magical glyphs were scrawled in a spidery hand on every wall.

This must be the place, Olive thought.

“This is the place,” Giogi said. “It’s so deadly quiet.”

Wonderful choice of words this boy has, Olive thought.

“Giogioni, you’re late,” a woman’s voice snapped behind them.

Olive might have jumped at the sound, but she was too loaded down to do more than jerk her head up. Giogi, not so limited, whirled around.

A beautiful young woman in a dark fur cape popped out from behind a ruined tomb. She tossed her hood back with an ungloved hand, revealing long black hair and sharp, familiar features.

One of the Wyvernspur brood, Olive realized immediately.

“Julia!” Giogi said, “What are you doing here?”

“Steele told me to wait here to tell you about Frefford.”

“What about Freffie?” Giogi asked. His expression clouded with concern.

“Gaylyn’s gone into labor, so he’s still at Redstone. You were late, so Steele entered the crypt without you. He said you could follow him in and try to catch up.”

“Catch up. Right,” Giogi muttered, pulling out a silver key that hung from a chain around his neck.

Olive studied Julia curiously. Something about her, besides her Wyvernspur face, interested the halfling. Olive sniffed the air. She could smell something mingled with Julia’s sweat. The human woman was nervous. She might not be lying, but the halfling could tell she was up to something. An expert herself at the art of deception and guile, Olive could not be fooled, especially not by an amateur like this woman.

Giogi turned toward the mausoleum door.

Julia appeared to be wringing her cold bare hands. Even hampered by the vision of a beast, though, the halfling caught the surreptitious twist Julia gave to one of the rings on her right hand.

As Giogi inserted the silver key in the mausoleum door, his cousin reached toward his neck. Olive saw the gleam of a tiny needle jutting from the cousin’s ring. A drop of something clear dripped from the tip of the needle.

Instinctively Olive lunged forward, butting her forehead against the woman.

“Agh!” Julia cried, leaping backward. She took notice of Olive for the first time. “Giogioni, what sort of creature is that?” she screeched angrily.

“Birdie, cut that out. You’re scaring Cousin Julia,” Giogi said, yanking Olive’s head down with the halter. To his cousin, he said, “It’s just a burro, Julia.”

“A what?” Julia asked.

“A burro. It’s a pack animal. They’re very useful in mines. Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“I should think not,” Julia said with a sniff. “I thought it was an ugly pony.”

Giogi turned his back again to work the lock, and Julia edged forward, her right hand poised in the air as if to swat a fly.

Olive placed a hoof down on the train of Julia’s gown. The woman tripped as she stepped toward Giogi and dropped to her knees on the pine needles. “Damned creature,” she whispered.

Giogi turned around and looked at his kneeling cousin with surprise. Before he could help Julia to her feet, though, Olive managed to tangle her lead rope around the woman and butt her again. Without thinking, Julia slashed at the burro with her right hand. Olive felt a sharp scratch on her neck, then a fire burned through her blood, starting at the wound and racing to her extremities. Her knees wobbled and Olive sank to the ground.

“Birdie!” Giogi gasped. “What’s wrong, girl?”

“That beast attacked me!” Julia cried, untangling herself from Olive’s lead rope, leaping to her feet, and backing away quickly.

“She was probably just playing. Julia, what did you do to her?”

Olive stretched her neck out so Giogi couldn’t miss the small trickle of blood from her wound.

The young noble gasped. He turned toward Julia and snatched at her cloak, yanking her toward him. He caught her by the wrists. All the meekness he’d ever felt in his female cousin’s company was dispelled by the alarm he felt for his pet’s safety.

He investigated Julia’s rings with a frown. “What is this?” he demanded, spying the ring with the jabber. “Where did you get this ring? How could you poison such a sweet, little animal?”

“It’s not poison, only sleeping sap,” Julia protested.

Thank Tymora, Olive thought through the fog. That’ll teach me to stick my neck out for anyone.

Barely containing his anger, Giogi yanked the offending ring off Julia’s finger. “I think I’d better hang on to this for you before you hurt someone with it,” the nobleman said, pulling out a handkerchief, wrapping the ring up in it, and stuffing it into a pocket. He thrust Julia away and bent over Olive’s prone body. Pulling two vials out of a pack on her back, he poured the contents of one over Olive’s cut and the other down her throat.

“Why are you wasting potions on that stupid creature?” Julia asked.

“Because she’s not a stupid creature. She’s a perfectly lovely burro.”

“I told you it was only sleeping sap.”

“Sleeping sap can do a lot of damage if you use too much. What were you doing with it, anyway?”

Julia did not reply.

Olive felt suddenly cool and strong as the potions quenched the flame that ran through her body. She stumbled to her feet with Giogi’s help. The young noble made sure the burro was steady, then turned again to face his cousin. Olive could see a spark of comprehension gleaming in his milky brown eyes.

“Julia!” Giogi barked sternly. Olive stood by his side, trying to look as menacing as possible. “You meant that ring for me, didn’t you? This is one of Steele’s ideas, isn’t it?” Giogi asked, grabbing Julia by the shoulders and giving her a firm shake.

“No!” Julia protested. “It’s … just something I carry to protect myself.”

“Attacked by a lot of burros on the streets of Immersea, eh? Don’t bother to lie, Julia. You always did what Steele told you. What did he have in mind?” he asked hotly. “Leave me down there with the guardian again? Hmm?” Giogi gave his cousin another shake.

“You are a fool,” Julia said. “Steele isn’t interested in child’s play anymore. He wants—” Julia bit off her words and paled visibly, obviously afraid she’d said too much.

“What does he want?” Giogi demanded.

Julia shook her head. “I can’t tell you,” she insisted. “Steele would be furious.”

“You will tell me,” Giogi said, shaking her harder.

“You’re hurting me,” Julia whined.

Giogi released his cousin suddenly, ashamed of bullying a woman, and so young a woman as Julia. I have to know what Steele’s planning, though, he thought.

“Julia,” he said, trying to reason calmly with the woman, “I won’t tell Steele that you told me anything. Now, what’s his game?”

“Why should I tell you?” Julia asked haughtily.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll—” Giogi hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he could do to threaten Julia.

“Run and tattle to Aunt Dorath,” Julia taunted, “like you always did when we were children.”

Did I? Giogi wondered. Yes, I suppose I did, but only because Steele and Julia were such naughty children. He looked at Julia with annoyance. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’m sure she’ll be very disturbed to hear that her grandniece was running around with an assassin’s ring. I’ll give her the ring so she can have Lord Sudacar check that it’s not poisoned.”

“No! Don’t tell!” Julia begged, obviously more anxious to avoid Aunt Dorath’s wrath than she’d been as a child.

“Then spit it out, woman,” Giogi demanded. “Everything.”

“Steele wants to find the wyvern’s spur without you,” Julia explained, “so he can keep it for himself. He wants the power.”

“Power? What power?” Giogi asked, surprised that Steele and Julia would know something about the spur that not even Uncle Drone could tell him.

“Steele doesn’t know what the spur’s power is yet,” Julia said, “but when he gets hold of the spur, he’ll find out.”

Giogi laughed. “Steele’s going to be in for a big disappointment if he finds the spur,” he predicted, shaking his head sagely. “It’s nothing but a hunk of junk.”

“That’s not what Uncle Drone said last night.”

“Julia, I love Uncle Drone like—like an uncle, but you may have noticed that he’s not all together up here,” Giogi said, tapping his forehead. “The stairs run to the top of the tower, but there are no landings, don’t you know.”

Julia stood defiantly before him with her hands on her hips. “The spur does so have some power,” she insisted. “That’s why Cole took it with him whenever he went tramping around the country like a commoner.”

“My father? What are you talking about? The spur’s been in the crypt since Paton Wyvernspur died.”

Julia shook her head vehemently. “No, it hasn’t. Your father used to steal it whenever he wanted to use it. He was Uncle Drone’s favorite, so the old fool never told anyone. No one found out about it until Cole died. Uncle Drone was forced to tell the family, because, otherwise, they wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to bring back his remains. Cole was wearing the spur when he died.”

“Wearing it?!” Giogi asked incredulously.

“It’s true,” Julia said with a scornful sniff.

“Why hasn’t anyone ever told me any of this?”

“Aunt Dorath said that she would never have approved of your father using the spur if she had known, and no one would ever use it again. We children weren’t to be told about it.”

“Then how did you find out?”

Julia hesitated for a moment, then saw the look in Giogi’s eyes.

“Steele and I were listening at the keyhole when she explained all this to our father.”

Just what I would expect from a sneaking little witch like you, Olive thought.

Giogi shook his head, trying to reconcile Julia’s story with his own memories. Whenever Giogi tried to picture his father, though, Cole always looked like his portrait, which hung in Giogi’s bedroom—a portrait that could have been interchanged with nearly every other portrait of Wyvernspur menfolk, including the painting hanging in the carriage house. All Giogi could remember clearly was a tall man who’d tried to teach him to ride, took him swimming, and loved to sing.

The nobleman sighed. Everyone in the Realms except me knew that my father was an adventurer. Most of the members of my family knew he used the spur, but I didn’t. Maybe I should have tried listening at a few keyholes. Giogi turned back to the mausoleum, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

“Giogioni,” Julia continued, “Frefford has the family title. You have all your mother’s money. Why shouldn’t Steele get the spur?”

Giogi turned around thoughtfully. It wasn’t hard to come up with an answer to that question. “Julia,” he said, “do you know what Steele said to me when Uncle Drone gave me my father’s key to the crypt? He said he wished your father would hurry and die so he could have his own key. Steele was a jealous, mean little boy, and as far as I can tell, he’s grown into a jealous, cruel man. Did it ever occur to you that he doesn’t deserve the spur?”

“What have you done to deserve it?” Julia asked with venom.

“Julia, I don’t want the spur. I just want to return it to the crypt, where it belongs.”

“Then why has Uncle Drone been secretly nagging Aunt Dorath all winter to let you have it?”

“Listening at keyholes again, are we?” Giogi asked, using the question to hide his own surprise.

“I have servants to do that for me now,” Julia said coolly.

Too lazy to do your own dirty work, eh? Olive thought.

Giogi sighed again. “Look, this whole argument is moot if we don’t find the spur. I’m going into the crypt after Steele. You should be back helping Aunt Dorath and Frefford with Gaylyn.”

“Steele will find the thief before you do. He’s an hour ahead of you, and he knows how to use his weapon. He isn’t bogged down by some overgrown pack rat, either.”

Olive brayed loudly, jerked her halter from Giogi’s hand, and charged at Julia.

Not used to being charged upon by burros, the noblewoman retreated with a yell and almost toppled over a headstone. Olive herded Julia out of the graveyard and waited at the entrance until the woman had fled down the path.

Giogi grinned as the little burro trotted back to his side. He scratched behind her ears. “Don’t you pay any attention to her, Birdie. Julia’s too foolish to see what a superior burro you are. She doesn’t even realize I’m better with a foil than Steele is. Steele only used to win by thwacking at me with the flat of the blade. That’s cheating, you know.”

Giogi picked Olive’s lead rope off the ground and pulled her through the door into the family mausoleum. He closed and locked the door behind them. Olive shivered. It was colder inside than out, and, naturally, as dark as a tomb.

Giogi drew a shining crystal from his boot. Olive stared at it with astonishment. It was a finder’s stone, just like the one Elminster had given Alias. Olive had spent many hours guessing at its value before it was lost near Westgate. Olive remembered now that Alias had run into Giogi again, outside of Westgate. If this is the same stone, Olive thought, then there are more coincidences in my life than in one of those bad operas in Raven’s Bluff, the Living City.

Whatever its origins, the finder’s stone filled the mausoleum with a warm, rich glow. The twinkle of precious metal attracted Olive’s attention to the tomb itself. Giogi was busy lighting torches set in gold-plated sconces. The flames’ reflections danced on every surface around them. The floor was checkered with black and white squares of polished marble, and the walls and ceiling were covered with solid plates of a dull gray metal, which Olive presumed was lead. Two white marble benches, inlaid with runes of gold and platinum, were the only other decor in the room. The husks of long-dead flowers lay on one bench. Olive could see no other exit besides the one Giogi had just locked.

Giogi finished with the torches and began hopping like a child along the squares of marble laid out on the floor. Right foot on white, left foot on black, two jumps diagonally on white with the left, then back one jump with both feet.

Olive was just thinking how Uncle Drone might not be the only Wyvernspur “not all together upstairs,” when a large section of the floor at the far end dropped a foot and slid silently beneath the rest of the floor. A narrow staircase led down into the dark hole revealed by the secret door. Nice workmanship, Olive thought. Invisible, quiet, no vibrations.

“Come on, Birdie,” Giogi said, taking Olive’s lead rope. “The secret door doesn’t stay open very long.”

Olive grudgingly followed the nobleman down the steps. Giogi used the finder’s stone to light their way. The walls on either side were of rough-cut stone fitted together by expert masons. The stone was cool but dry. The air was less chill than in the mausoleum and grew even warmer as they descended.

Olive tried counting the number of steps, but she got confused by her extra feet. There were three landings where the staircase turned, but the steps were all even and not too steep or narrow for her hooves. Olive caught glimpses of shimmering lines on the walls, but whenever she looked directly at them, the lines disappeared. More magical glyphs, she realized. I must be immune to their power because I’m in Giogi’s company. Or because I’m just an ass, she added.

Finally they reached the bottom. Their way was blocked by another door plated with the same gray metal used in the mausoleum. Emblazoned across the door was a painting of a great red wyvern. The words, “None but Wyvernspurs shall pass this door and live,” were inscribed in the Common tongue over the door.

Once again Giogi pulled out his silver key. He stared at it for a moment, took a deep breath, then exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “Now, don’t be frightened, Birdie,” Giogi said as he turned the key in the lock. “I’ll protect you from the guardian.”

Much obliged, Olive thought, but who’s going to protect you? The halfling burro could smell fear on the nobleman.

Giogi took another deep breath, gathered his courage, and pushed open the door. He took a step into the room, then another. Olive followed alongside him, which Giogi took as an indication that the little burro was a fearless creature. In reality, Olive was simply anxious to stay within the finder’s stone sphere of light.

“Hello, hello,” Giogi said, at first softly, then with more volume. “Steele, are you here?” the nobleman called out. His voice echoed back, but there was no living response. Giogi pushed the door closed behind them and locked it.

They stood in the Wyvernspur family crypt—a vast tunneled chamber with straight walls and a vaulted ceiling. Both walls and ceiling were lined, as the staircase had been, with fitted, cut stone. Every so many feet, in place of a stone, was a block of marble engraved with the name of a Wyvernspur, with—so Olive presumed—the remains of a Wyvernspur buried behind it.

In the center of the crypt was a single cylindrical pedestal ringed with concentric circles of letters carved into the floor. Each circle repeated the same warning in a different language. Olive couldn’t read all the tongues, but the outer and most prominent warning was written in Common. The words, “painful, lingering death,” stood out clearly in the finder’s stone light. Olive did not feel compelled to read any more.

The pedestal stood higher than Olive’s line of sight. She could see only the swatch of black velvet draped over the top of the pedestal and which hung down about a foot all around.

Giogi, from his adult human height, looked down on the top of the pedestal. “It’s missing, all right,” he muttered.

“Giogioni,” a voice whispered from the other end of the hall. The echo repeated the whisper.

Olive shivered. She was willing to bet that that wasn’t Giogi’s Cousin Steele. The voice had a sensuous, husky quality, but it also conveyed to Olive the unpleasant sensation of something sawing at her bones. The voice had to belong to the guardian. Olive understood immediately Giogi’s childhood terror of the creature.

Giogi froze, like a man held by magic. He moved his mouth, wetted his lips, and moved his mouth again, but no words came out.

Patches of darkness broke through the edges of the light cast by the finder’s stone and swirled together until they coalesced into one large shadow, which sprouted legs, a serpentine neck and head, a sinuous tail, and huge reptilian wings. The shadow spread out against the far wall, covering the detail of the stonework in an inky pool.

Olive had no trouble recognizing the silhouette as the shadow cast by a monstrously large wyvern. Yet, there was no wyvern in the room. Olive began to back up slowly. She had had frightening ordeals with dragons before, but at least those dragons had been visible and alive. The creature dwelling in this place, Olive realized, was neither.

“Giogioni,” the disembodied voice whispered again. The shadow of the wyvern head moved as the voice spoke. “You’ve come back at last.”

“I’m only passing through, guardian,” Giogi said. “Don’t bother—” Giogi’s voice cracked. He swallowed hard to wet his throat before continuing. “Don’t bother yourself on my account.”

“Is this little morsel for me?” the guardian asked as a shadowy talon elongated and traveled across the ceiling and down the wall toward Olive.

Olive could’ve sworn the air grew colder as the shadow claw drew near her.

Giogi interposed himself between his burro and the darkness. “This is Birdie, and I need her to search the catacombs, so I would appreciate it if you would leave her undisturbed.”

The voice laughed. “Not too little anymore, are you? I shall respect your wish. But you’ve come too late, my Giogioni. The spur has been taken.”

“I know that,” Giogi said. He could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his face as he mustered all his courage and asked, “Why didn’t you stop the thief?”

“My charge is to let Wyvernspurs pass unslain,” the guardian replied matter-of-factly.

“So which of us took the spur?” Giogi demanded.

“I have no idea. Wyvernspurs are all alike to me. Like shadows on a wall.”

“Great,” Giogi muttered.

“Except you, Giogioni. You are different. Like Cole, like Paton. Kissed by Selûne.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you remember what we spoke of when you were here last?”

“I’ve been trying to forget it, actually.”

“You can never forget the death cry of prey, nor the taste of warm blood, nor the crunch of bone.”

Olive’s ears pricked up at the unusual pattern of words. Wyvern poetry? she wondered.

“I have to go,” Giogi insisted. He tugged on the burro’s halter. Olive needed no further coaxing. She trotted across the chamber at the nobleman’s side, keeping him between her and the silhouette. As the only source of light in the room—Giogi’s finder’s stone—moved, the shadow did not shift position but remained looming on the far wall.

In that wall, beneath the shadow of the guardian’s wing, was a small archway opening onto a downward staircase. As they neared the arch, Olive again felt the chill of the guardian. They passed through the archway unharmed, though, and the chill did not extend beyond the crypt. They had passed out of the guardian’s realm.

Behind them, the creature called out in its bone-grating whisper, “You will always dream of these things, Giogi. You will dream of them until you’ve joined me forever.”

Giogi hurried down the stairs, but at the first landing he slumped against the wall, trembling, with his hands covering his face.

Olive nuzzled him gently, concerned that he might go to pieces if she didn’t keep him moving, and anxious to put another flight of stairs between them and the guardian.

Giogi pulled his hands away from his face, took a deep breath, and looked down at the burro. Olive could see tears in the corners of his eyes. “I was wrong,” he said. “She is just as terrible as I remembered. It’s her horrible dream. If I could just stop dreaming that damned dream.”