Wyvern's Spur

 

By Kate Novak and Jeff Grubb

 

1

 

Homecoming

 

From the journal of Giogioni Wvvernspur:

 

The 19th of Ches, in the Year of the Shadows

 

Late last night I returned home from my duties as royal envoy, to find my kin in a greater uproar than the southern city I had left behind. Ten months of Westgate's problems shrivel to insignificance when compared to the tragedy that has befallen the clan of the Wyvernspurs of Immersea.

 

How could the flattening of an entire neighborhood by a dragon corpse, followed by an earthquake and an underworld power-struggle, hope to compete with the theft of a family heirloom no larger than a zucchini and uglier than three-week-old sausage?

 

"A hunk of junk" is what Uncle Drone has always called the wyvern's spur (said heirloom), and, considering all the trouble it has been, lam inclined to agree with him. No doubt the family would have donated it to a church rummage generations ago if not for the detestable prophesy that came with it.

 

According to family legend, the wyvern who presented it to old Paton Wyvernspur, way back when, promised that the family line would never die out as long as we held on to the gruesome chunk of mummified beastie. Logically it doesn't follow that losing the dratted thing guarantees our demise, but we've always been a superstitious lot, we Wyvernspurs, so there is a family conclave tonight in Aunt Dorath's lair at Redstone Castle. Although I have not yet unpacked from my journeys on behalf of the crown, I am expected to attend.

 

Someone will need to comfort Aunt Dorath. An oldest nephew's lot is never easy.

 

Giogi laid his quill pen on the writing table and left the journal open for the ink to dry. He didn't feel it necessary to add that his great-aunt would find his presence comforting only insofar as it would give her something else to criticize. He planned to leave his journal to posterity someday, and there were some things posterity just didn't need to know.

 

As far as Aunt Dorath was concerned, Giogi had dishonored the Wyvernspur family last year with his disgraceful—but, as Giogi would put it, dead-on—imitation of King Azoun IV, which had resulted in Giogi's near assassination by the cursed sell-sword Alias of Westgate and the disruption of an entire wedding reception. Nor had Dorath, the matriarch of clan Wyvernspur, been impressed by her nephew's tale of his subsequent hair-raising encounter with a red dragon named Mist. To her mind, any young man who could not avoid entanglements with assassins and monsters needed to be sent far away for an extended period. Aunt Dorath had assumed that His Majesty Azoun had exiled Giogi in disgrace for those transgressions.

 

What Dorath, and most of the general population, had not known, was that King Azoun actually had assigned Giogi a secret mission, to discover the whereabouts of Alias of Westgate, the king's potential assassin.

 

Not that I needed to be assigned, Giogi thought. I seem destined to run into the woman—or her relatives—wherever I roam. Yet, after Giogi had spotted her near Westgate that summer, she seemed to have vanished from the Realms entirely.

 

Giogi rose from his writing desk and stretched. His fingertips brushed against one of the overhead chandeliers. He was a very tall young man, a legacy from both his father and his mother. Last year he'd been slender and clean-cut, but his travels had left him gaunt and his hair in desperate need of a trim. His sandy-brown locks straggled down his sunburned neck in back and into his muddy brown eyes in front. His long face made his features seem less plain than they were. He bore no resemblance, however, to the other living members of the Wyvernspur family, who all had thin lips, hawklike noses, blue eyes, pale skin, and dark hair.

 

Taking up his goblet of mulled wine, Giogi crossed the parlor to the fireplace, where he warmed his fingers by the flames. It would take a day or two of blazing fires to chase the last of the winter chill and damp from the parlor. Uncertain as to his master's return, Thomas, Giogi's manservant, had decided not to waste wood and effort heating an empty house. Giogi shuddered to think of the effect that ten months of such neglect had on the plush wool Calimshan carpeting, the brilliant Sembian satin furniture coverings, and the Cormyrian duskwood paneling. At least, it being the month of Ches, the returning spring sunshine kept ice from forming on the leaded glass windows. It had come as quite a shock to Giogi, though, to find no candle burning in those windows upon his return, neither literally nor figuratively.

 

The young noble wondered whether a mere fire laid in the hearth could burn off the strange and unwelcome feeling he now sensed in his home. Everything was familiar and in its proper place, but the townhouse felt empty. After months spent at inns, aboard ships, and in traveling with strangers, now being alone left Giogi disquieted. He took a long swig of wine to shake off his gloom.

 

On the mantlepiece lay the most interesting souvenir of his travels: a large yellow crystal. Giogi had found it in the grass outside Westgate, and he was sure there was something special about the stone besides its beauty and financial value. The crystal shone in the dark like a great firefly, and Giogi felt quite comforted whenever he held it. He considered showing it to his Uncle Drone, but he decided against the idea, afraid that the old wizard would tell him the stone was dangerous and take it away.

 

Giogi polished off his drink and placed the empty silver goblet on the mantlepiece, then picked up the yellow crystal. Cradling it in both hands, he flopped back into his favorite stuffed chair and propped his feet up on a cushioned footstool. He turned the crystal over in his hands, watching the firelight sparkle in each facet.

 

The crystal was roughly egg-shaped but far larger than any bird egg—smaller, though, than a wyvern's egg. It was the color of the finest mead and faintly warm to the touch. Where the facets met, the edges were not sharp but beveled smooth. Giogi held the stone at arm's length, closed one eye, and tried to divine if it held some secret within its depths, but he could make out only the firelight shining through it and his own reflection broken by the facets.

 

"Now, what would be the best way to display you?" he asked the crystal. There was no sense in having a case made for it, he realized. Taking it out every time he wanted to handle it would be a bother, but it was too large to wear from a neck chain. On the road, he had kept it tucked in the top of his boot, where most adventurers kept their daggers.

 

The boots would have to suffice this evening, he decided at last. Although he didn't plan to show it to Uncle Drone and the rest of his family, he very much wanted to show the stone to his pals at the Immer Inn. With any luck, Aunt Dorath would dismiss him from the family gathering early enough for him to slip back into town before closing hour.

 

That matter resolved, Giogi bounced back to his feet and wandered from the parlor to his home's entrance. With the stone tucked awkwardly in his belt, he rummaged through the hall closet under the stairs. He'd left his boots in the front of the closet, but they had somehow vanished. He rustled about the cloaks and capes hanging from their separate hooks, and kicked through a number of shoes that littered the floor. Then he began pulling from the closet all manner of walking sticks, abandoned clothing, and curies—which were gifts from relatives, and so could not be thrown away, but which were too ugly to place anywhere but in the relative darkness of the closet.

 

Finally, having moved half the closet's interior into the hall, the young noble gave up and let out a bellow.

 

"Thomas!" he shouted toward the back hallway. "Where are my boots?"

 

Alerted by the sound of chests, shoes, and walking sticks being thumped about, Thomas had already decided to investigate the racket and had put aside the silver tureen he'd been polishing. He was just coming out from the kitchen as Giogi called his name. Beneath the archway separating the front hall from what Giogi termed "Servant Land," the gentleman's gentleman paused.

 

Thomas looked askance at the closet's contents strewn about the hallway and tried not to blanch. He wasn't more than three years Giogi's senior, but many more years of responsibility had given him an aged, wiser-than-thou look. It was a look that the servant used now on his employer.

 

"Is there something that Sir requires?" Thomas asked evenly.

 

"I can't find my boots," Giogi declared. "I know I left them in here."

 

From the chaos before him, Thomas drew out a pair of recently polished black boots with narrow heels and sharp, pointed toes. "Here you are, sir," he said without a trace of annoyance.

 

"Not those things. I won't wear them ever again. They pinch my feet. Take them away and burn them. I want the boots I bought in Westgate. The knee-high, brown-suede dodders with wide brims. They're the most comfortable boots in the Realms."

 

Thomas raised a single eyebrow. "Comfortable they may be, sir, but they are hardly a gentleman's boot."

 

"Tish! I'm a gentleman, and they're my boots, ergo, argumentum ab auctoritate," came Giogi's riposte. "Et cetera," he added.

 

"I thought, sir, now that your travels are through, that you would wish to dispense with the accoutrements of your journey. I have already retired the boots."

 

"Well, bring them out of retirement, and please hurry. I need to leave for Redstone."

 

"I understood that your Aunt Dorath was not expecting you until after supper."

 

"That's right, and since I thought I would walk to Redstone and would like to arrive on time, I need to leave now." Giogi sat on the hall bench and kicked off his silk slippers, anticipating that Thomas would produce his boots out of thin air.

 

Thomas surveyed his master with disbelief. "Walk, sir?"

 

"Yes. You know, one foot in front of the other," Giogi explained patiently.

 

"But what about your own supper, sir?"

 

"Supper? Oh, sorry, Thomas. Write supper off. After that magnificent lunch and all those wonderful raisin cakes at tea, I'm completely full up. Couldn't eat another thing. Thanks anyway."

 

Thomas's look of incredulity turned to one of concern. "Are you feeling all right, sir?"

 

"Splendid, except that my feet are getting cold," Giogi said with a grin.

 

Without another word, Thomas spun about and disappeared through the archway into Servant Land.

 

Giogi twisted sideways on the bench to keep his stockinged feet off the chilly floorboards. He ran a finger along the smooth parquetry worked into the wooden bench's high back. One of his earliest childhood memories was of his father explaining to him the picture in the bench. It depicted the moment the family had gotten its patronymic, "way back," as his father used to say, "in the days before we knew which spoon to use for the soup course." In the design, Paton Wyvernspur, the family founder, stood before a great female wyvern. Two tiny hatchling wyverns played at the monster's feet, and behind her lay the corpse of her mate. Bandits had killed her mate and stolen her eggs from her nest, but Paton had tracked down and vanquished the thieves and restored the young wyverns to their mother. In gratitude, the female wyvern had sliced off her mate's right spur and conferred it upon Giogi's forefather with the promise that his family line would never dwindle while the spur remained in the family's possession.

 

Later, when he was older and had learned that wyverns weren't considered very nice beasts, Giogi often wondered why Paton had helped the female wyvern. By that time, though, Giogi's father and mother were both dead, and Giogi couldn't bring himself to ask Aunt Dorath or Uncle Drone. He sensed instinctively that it would be branded a question only a fool such as himself would ask.

 

He wasn't fool enough to part with the bench, though. It had been a wedding gift from his mother to his father, and while the other Wyvernspurs scorned the wealthy carpenter's daughter that Cole Wyvernspur had wed, they all coveted the bench. The carpentry was solid, and the parquetry picture positively hypnotic. Aunt Dorath had suggested a number of times that the bench ought to sit in the hall of Redstone, the family manor, and last year, before his marriage to Gaylyn Dimswart, Giogi's second Cousin Frefford had hinted it would make a lovely wedding gift, but Giogi declined to part with it.

 

Bored by inactivity, Giogi bounced to his stocking feet and began tossing back into the closet all the things he'd tossed out.

 

Thomas appeared in the archway, holding out the knee-high, brown-suede dodders, which, by his master's own declaration, were the most comfortable pair in the Realms. "Please, sir," the servant requested, "don't trouble yourself with putting those things away. I'll be happy to do it."

 

Giogi halted in midtoss of a lone wool mitten. Something in Thomas's tone revealed the servant's anxiety. Giogi noticed that the inside of the closet was now as untidy as the outside. "Sorry, Thomas," he apologized meekly.

 

"That's quite all right, sir," Thomas said, setting the boots beside the bench.

 

"Ah, my boots! Excellent!" Giogi sat back down on the bench and pulled the right boot on, then slipped the stone into the brim.

 

"Are you certain, sir, you wouldn't rather ride?" Thomas asked.

 

Giogi, one foot still unshod, looked up at his manservant. "It may surprise you to know, Thomas, that when I was on my mission for the crown, I often walked great distances." Giogi did not feel it necessary to add that he had walked great distances whenever forced to because some scurrilous cove had stolen his horse or some equally evil beast had devoured his mount.

 

"Indeed, sir. I did not mean to suggest you weren't up to the task. I just thought that after your strenuous journey you might prefer the luxury of riding. If not in the carriage, I can saddle Daisyeye."

 

"No, thank you, Thomas," Giogi said, finally pulling on the other boot. "Daisyeye deserves a good, long rest, and I really want to walk." He rose, whipped his cloak about him with a flourish, and stomped to the front door. "Don't bother to wait up for me," he suggested. "I expect I'll be quite late. Good night," he called out before he plunged outside.

 

In town, everything was brown; the buildings, the grass, the muddy roads, the wooden carts, even the horses and oxen, were shades of umber and tan. Townhouses blocked out the late afternoon sun and cast long chocolate shadows on the earth. Women shouted out the windows at dirt-caked children in the streets. It was as if the gods had run out of other colors by the time they reached that part of Immersea, left it etched in one shade, then hadn't bothered to mix new paint to fill in the color.

 

Giogi walked east, away from the center of town, then turned south onto a trail that led from town to the Wyvernspur estate. A low wall surrounded the land, and the lanky noble swung his legs over it easily and entered another world, one that the gods had colored. Stalks of winter rye glittered like jade in the setting sunlight; purple-specked crocuses sparkled with gemlike raindrops; a great flock of wild geese honked overhead in the deepening blue sky. Giogi felt his spirits rise and shook off the gloom that had gripped him in his own house.

 

He struck out along the path through the fields. As the town founders, the Wyvernspurs held title to nearly all the land south of town. Most of the land was set aside for hunting and riding. The highest hill was dedicated to the goddess Selune, and the temple at its peak was left to the administration of her priestess, ancient Mother Lleddew. The Wyvernspurs resisted, however, cultivating much of the land, felling many trees, or clearing many fields for cattle. They were nobles, not farmers or foresters or ranchers. The Cormaerils—the only other titled family in Immersea—regularly planted nearly a hundred acres, but had been nobility for only four generations. Giogi feared that, after fifteen generations, the Wyvernspurs were too entrenched in relying on the family fortune as their only source of revenue.

 

As Giogi emerged from the fields of rye, the sun was no more than half a palm's width from the horizon, and the air was already turning chill. The path wound down into the valley of the Immer Stream. The noble kept up a quick pace to keep warm, but as he approached the northern bank of the stream he was forced to proceed more cautiously. The trail grew marshy, and he picked his way from one tuft of dry grass to the next. His boots were reasonably waterproof, but he didn't want to arrive at Aunt Dorath's looking a mess.

 

Finally, after a long period of testing footfalls and doubling back, he reached the footbridge that crossed the stream. To the west of the trail, the Immer Stream flowed down from the hill dedicated to Selune. To the south of the stream, the trail climbed onto drier ground and up to Redstone Castle, ancestral home of the Wyvernspurs.

 

Just as Giogi clomped onto the bridge, a fine white strand of something whipped out in front of him. With a shriek the nobleman leaped backward with visions of giant spiders and a sudden irrational belief in the curse of the wyvern's spur. The white strand was not followed by others, though, giving Giogi the opportunity to clutch his chest in relief and spot the silhouette of a man on the southern shore.

 

"Cole?" the silhouette gasped. "No, of course not. It's Giogioni, isn't it? You gave me a fright, boy. Looked for a moment just like your old man in that getup."

 

Giogi squinted in the gloomy light. The sun had nearly set, but he could make out the tall, broad form of a man on the far bank. The man's erect stance and bearing reflected a military background. His dark hair was short and just beginning to gray at the temples. He had a warm, perfect smile, which set Giogi at ease. "Sudacar? Samtavan Sudacar, is that you? What are you doing out here?"

 

"Getting in a little casting. Sorry about the line. My technique's gotten a little rusty over the winter." Sudacar tugged at the string hanging from his fishing rod until it slipped off the footbridge and into the water with a small splash. As he jerked the line through the water, tiny minnows chased after the lure.

 

Giogi crossed the bridge and picked his way along the south bank until he stood beside Samtavan Sudacar, the man appointed by none other than King Azoun himself to defend Immersea, dispense the king's justice, keep the peace, and, of course, collect taxes. "Taking a break from your pressing administrative duties, eh?" Giogi asked.

 

Sudacar snorted. "Keeping out of Culspiir's way is more like it. Behind every local lord, my boy, is a trained herald making him look good. As long as I keep delegating authority to Culspiir, I'll be a great success at this job." Sudacar continued casting, watching his lure all the while.

 

"Why isn't Culspiir the local lord, then?" Giogi asked meekly.

 

"If he had my job, who would we get to do his job?"

 

"Good point," Giogi admitted.

 

"Besides, Culspiir never slew a giant."

 

"Is that a prerequisite for your job?"

 

"Got to make a name for yourself at court. Slew a frost giant that was terrorizing merchants in Gnoll Pass. That's how I got into politics—a service like that has to be recognized officially."

 

Giogi nodded in agreement, though he knew not all the other members of his family felt the same way.

 

Samtavan Sudacar had not been born to nobility, nor was he a native of Immersea. Nonetheless, King Azoun had named Sudacar Lord of Immersea when that position fell vacant by the death of Giogi's father's cousin, Lord Wohl Wyvernspur. Wohl's son, Frefford, had still been a boy, so the family had accepted Sudacar graciously enough. They'd even invited the middle-aged bachelor to make his home with them in Redstone Castle.

 

When Frefford reached majority, though, His Majesty hadn't assigned the young Wyvernspur to the post. That's when Aunt Dorath had begun to consider Sudacar not just an upstart, but an interloper and a usurper as well. Giogi knew, though, that Frefford had been secretly relieved. Aunt Dorath and Cousin Steele had taken the most offense. Pride and loyalty to the king prohibited the family's asking Sudacar to leave Redstone. When Giogi had left Immersea last spring, an uneasy truce had existed between the Wyvernspurs of Redstone Castle and the Lord of Immersea.

 

Giogi, since he chose to live in town instead of at the castle, had never really gotten to know Sudacar very well. They didn't travel in the same circles. Now, though, Giogi realized, he had to learn something more about Sudacar. "If you're from Suzail originally," he asked, "how did you know my father?"

 

"Cole? Met him at court a few times. Slew his share of giants, your father did."

 

"He did?" Giogi asked with surprise. His father had died when Giogi was only eight, so he hadn't known him very well. But he was certain no one had ever mentioned that Cole had slain giants.

 

"Served His Majesty with honor, like generations of your family before him," Sudacar said, pulling his dripping line from the water and adjusting it behind his back.

 

"Aunt Dorath told me he was a trade envoy."

 

"He might have been that as well," Sudacar said, whipping the line out over the stream again.

 

"As well? As well as what?"

 

"He was a warrior adventurer. Your aunt never told you that?"

 

"No," Giogi admitted. Loyally, he added, "It must have slipped her mind."

 

Sudacar snorted. "Wouldn't have considered that a proper occupation for a Wyvernspur, would she? I'm surprised Drone never mentioned it."

 

So was Giogi, though he did not say so aloud.

 

Drone Wyvernspur was Giogi's great-aunt Dorath's cousin and therefore Giogi's first cousin twice removed, but out of respect and affection, Giogi called him Uncle Drone. When Giogi's mother had died a year after her husband, Aunt Dorath had taken care of Giogi, but Uncle Drone had been assigned the task of completing the masculine aspects of Giogi's education. An unmarried wizard of sedentary habits, Uncle Drone had not exactly been the most useful source of information about women, hunting, or horses.

 

Drone knew a good deal, though, about wine and gambling, and something of politics and religion, and, armed with this learning, Giogi usually managed to hold his own in taverns and after-dinner conversations. The wizard had told Giogi plenty of stories about his mother, Bette, and her father, the carpenter, even though Aunt Dorath had never approved of Cole's wife's family. Why, though, Giogi wondered, hadn't Uncle Drone told me Cole was an adventurer?

 

"Would you care to walk back to Redstone with me?" he asked Sudacar, hoping to hear more about his father, something he could confront Uncle Drone with.

 

The lord shook his head. "Everything's at sixes and sevens up there. Culspiir and I offered our assistance, but your Aunt Dorath as much as told us to keep our noses out of Wyvernspur business. She doesn't want an interloper like me involved. I'll tucker in at the Five Fine Fish and creep back to the castle in the small hours. Safer for all involved that way."

 

"Oh." Disappointed, Giogi stood beside Sudacar, racking his head for something else to say to keep the conversation going. His wits failed him, as they were wont to do, so he stood wordlessly beside Sudacar as the shadows lengthened. Sudacar cast his line twice more. Farther upstream there was a hooting and a sudden flurry of wings, followed by a splash. An owl fished the waters as well.

 

Finally Sudacar spoke. "Thought I'd seen a ghost when I saw you on the opposite bank, in those boots with that cloak. You haven't got Cole's face, but you have his shape, his stance, his walk." Sudacar cast his line again. "If you'd care to talk about your father," he offered, "stop in at the Fish later, and we'll raise a mug in his honor."

 

Giogi grinned with pleasure. "If I can escape Aunt Dorath's clutches, I'll do just that," he agreed. Just then, a sudden chill made him realize the warmth had gone with the sunlight. He pulled his cloak closer to his body. "I'd better be going. They're expecting me up at the castle."

 

Sudacar nodded without taking his eyes off the lure he tugged through the water.

 

Giogi left the Lord of Immersea by the water and hurried up the trail. It was dark and cold by the time he reached the walls surrounding Redstone Castle; but he still didn't relish the thought of entering. The castle was wrapped in shades of gray and black. The reddish pallor of its stonework, which gave it its name, was absent in the darkness. The castle squatted on the low hill overlooking the Immer Stream, the town of Immersea, and the VVyvernwater—a great lake east of Cormyr—beyond, like a dragon watching a merchant road.

 

Looking up at the brooding monstrosity as he approached, Giogi was reminded again of the dragon that had fallen on VVestgate and the earthquakes and underworld power-struggle that had ensued. Having dealt with all those things, Giogi assured himself, coping with this family crisis shouldn't be too difficult.

 

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 dodders; 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 Red-stone'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 Selune! 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 tea tures, 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 swun^ 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 rnv 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 vou 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.

 

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 protegee, 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 Wvvernspurs' 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 jus! 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, vou really should be more careful who you travel with. These violent types'll get vou 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."

 

"Vou 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 vou 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 tills 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 protegee'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 it 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 cobble-stones, 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 slip 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 allev 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 holt 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 he 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 half-ling'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 eves 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 lone, 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 Selune, Olive thought, I'm an ass!

 

4

 

Night on the Town

 

The Immer Inn catered to an exclusive clientele. It was patronized by only those travelers and members of Immersea society who were able and willing to pay exorbitant prices for board, drink, and lodging. Giogi, who had on occasion slept off one too many drinks at the inn, could attest that the guest rooms were very nice. As a local resident, though, he was generally more familiar with the board and drink aspects of the inn.

 

The decor of the dining hall was the inn's biggest attraction, though. The floor was covered with plush carpeting, the walls lined with elaborate tapestries, and the ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers. The room was warm and dry and furnished with tables covered with elegant linen and surrounded by the most comfortably cushioned chairs in Cormyr.

 

Giogi had patronized the Immer Inn since he'd come of age six years before, but, after being away nearly a year, he thought the dining room seemed as strange as his own home had felt. He thought that perhaps it was because the inn was nearly empty this evening, but his friends were there, and their company was strange, too.

 

They'd welcomed him back heartily enough, but they had cut short the tale of his travels with their pointed lack of interest, insisted his yellow crystal must be ordinary quartz, and teased him about his boots. In addition, he no longer understood half the things to which they alluded in their conversations and jokes. So, though he was not really keen on it, he'd accepted their offer to play a game of Elemental Empires. The game, at least, was familiar.

 

Giogi began drinking too much and losing lots of money, habits that also were familiar. With a roll of a pair of ivory dice on a felt-covered gaming table, Chancy Lluth had just vanquished all Shaver Cormaeril's troops. In response, Shaver sacrificed all his leaders to protect a hidden card.

 

"Primary of flames—that's a guarded assassin," Giogi announced when Shaver revealed the card to Chancy. Giogi grinned. One could always count on Shaver to do something vindictive just before he lost.

 

With a scowl, Chancy tossed one of his knights into the discard pile. Shaver surrendered his unused cards to Chancy and signaled a servant to bring him a fresh drink.

 

Shaver drew a priest from Chancy's unused cards to replace his murdered knight.

 

"How many cards do you want, Giogi?" Lambsie Danae asked. Lambsie had folded much earlier, as usual, unwilling to risk as much money as the others. Lambsie's father, while one of the wealthiest farmers in Immersea, kept Lambsie on a strict gambling allowance, and Lambsie never exceeded his limit.

 

Giogi stared at the crystal chandelier hanging over the game table and tried to calculate the odds of his drawing a card he could use. His element was earth, and there weren't too many stone cards left in the deck. Nor were there too many major cards he could use without the minor stone suit cards to act as armies to protect them. Each unused card he held doubled the price of a new card, but he could not afford to discard those he held—they were mostly wave cards, which Chancy, whose element was water, would snatch up and use against him.

 

"First card will cost you sixty-four, and if you can't play it, the second one will cost a hundred twenty-eight," Lambsie said.

 

"I can multiply by two, thank you, Lambsie," Giogi said with an insulted sniff, though after the last brandy he'd downed, he probably couldn't.

 

Giogi counted out sixty-four points' worth of his yellow scoring sticks. Lambsie dealt him a card, a jester—nearly useless, but playable. Giogi turned it over and sifted it into his single army line.

 

"You've got a two-strength army stacked with a sorceress, a bard, and a jester, Giogi," Chancy said. "Are they leading your troops or entertaining them?"

 

Ignoring Chancy's taunt, Giogi paid another sixty-four points. "Another card, please," he asked Lambsie.

 

Lambsie dealt him a four of winds, unplayable, but safe to discard, except, once he discarded, Giogi could buy no more cards. He slid the card into his unused pile. "One more," he said sliding one hundred twenty-eight points' worth of sticks across the table to Lambsie.

 

Lambsie dealt him a third card.

 

Giogi drew a priest out from his unused stack and played it with the new card.

 

"The moon!" Shaver exclaimed. "How lucky can you get?"

 

"You know what they say," Lambsie said, "Tymora looks out for fools."

 

"The tide goes out, wave troops retreat," Giogi said.

 

Visibly annoyed, Chancy picked all his minor Talis cards off the table and slipped them into his unused stack of cards.

 

"I think my leaders will challenge yours to personal combat," Giogi said. "My sorceress against your priest and my rogue against your warrior."

 

"That doesn't leave anyone to command your troops," Chancy pointed out.

 

"Jesters can command troops when the moon is in play," Giogi said.

 

"That's right," Lambsie agreed.

 

Confronted with the possibility of losing big, Chancy asked. "What kind of surrender terms are you offering?" he asked.

 

"Half your debt," Giogi offered magnanimously.

 

"Accepted," Chancy said, offering his knight and priest to Giogi.

 

"Earth wins," Shaver declared. "You let him oft too easy, Giogi."

 

"It's getting late," Giogi said. "I have to be going."

 

"So soon?"

 

Giogi nodded, signaling a servant for his check.

 

His friends counted up their scoring sticks. Lambsie paid out his eight silver pieces' worth of debt while Shaver and Chancy wrote out IOUs. Shaver would be good for his before a day had passed. As head of the second noble family in Immersea, Shaver's father was always keen to prove to any Wyvernspur that the Cormaerils had no problem meeting their obligations. It would take some time before he could wheedle Chancy's money out of him, though. Chancy's father, like Lambsie's was a very wealthy farmer, as well as a successful merchant. He lavished his money on Chancy, but Chancy had more gambling debts than Cormyr had trees, or so people said.

 

Bottles, the inn's owner, came up to their table and presented the tab without a word. People didn't generally argue over a check presented by Bottles. The retired soldier's massive physique discouraged the timid, and his gruff, unsophisticated manner indicated to his haughtiest customers that he was not a man one could intimidate.

 

Giogi glanced at the check for the total and reached for his purse. Then he began patting down his pockets frantically while Bottles cleared away their glasses.

 

Chancy smacked him on the back and asked, "Something wrong, Giogi?"

 

Giogi turned to his drinking buddies and muttered, "I seem to have mislaid my purse."

 

"Oh, dear. We'll have to call out the sheriff now," Shaver announced in a deadpan voice. "Bottles doesn't take anyone's chits. Cash and carry only."

 

Giogi swallowed hard. When Bottles had married the inn's previous owner's widow, the inn had been debt-ridden. The business thrived under Bottles's management, not just because he kept the same staff as had his predecessor, but because he had a shrewd head for business—in other words—no credit. His policy was renowned throughout Immersea, as were the two youths he kept on retainer for dealing with deadbeats and other heavy lifting.

 

The young Wyvernspur rummaged through his pockets again, then checked his boots for good measure. He pulled out the yellow crystal, which glittered in the chandelier light.

 

It would be impossibly hard to let the stone out of his hand, let alone out of his sight, but he had announced he was hosting the evening's revelries, and the humiliation of reneging on friends would be even more unbearable.

 

Giogi laid the crystal on the table. "Will you take this as collateral, Bottles? I haven't had it appraised, but I'm sure it's worth a great deal. It is to me, anyway. I'll ransom it back tomorrow."

 

"No, Bottles," Lambsie cried, "hold out for those boots. They're the most comfortable pair in the Realms."

 

Giogi flushed. Why doesn't anyone like these boots? he wondered. They're so sensible.

 

"Already got a pair of them kind," Bottles said. Shaver, Lambsie, and Chancy broke into laughter. Bottles eyed the three "gentlemen" with disdain. He pushed the yellow crystal away. "Keep your stone, milord. Your credit's good here."

 

"Whoa!" Shaver exclaimed. "Is that the breaking of a tradition I hear?"

 

"How come my credit isn't good here?" Chancy demanded.

 

"'E feels bad about it. You don't," Bottles replied.

 

Giogi smiled gratefully. "Thanks, awfully, Bottles. I'll have Thomas stop by to settle up first thing in the morning."

 

"See that you do," Bottles said, and walked off.

 

"First thing in the morning for Giogi, isn't that somewhere around noon?" Shaver joked.

 

"For your information," Giogi replied with a haughty tone, too inebriated to consider what he was saying, "I'll be up before the crack of dawn tomorrow, crawling through the family crypt."

 

"Whatever for?" Chancy asked.

 

"Someone's stole the spur and he's trapped down there," Giogi explained in a conspiratorial whisper. "Or not," he added, still confused by Uncle Drone's mysterious confidence to the contrary.

 

"Not really?" Shaver gasped.

 

Lambsie and Chancy looked up with horror.

 

Too late Giogi recalled that Aunt Dorath hadn't wanted outsiders to know about the theft.

 

"But the spur's supposed to ensure your family's success," Chancy said.

 

"No," Shaver corrected, "his family succession. Right, Giogi?"

 

"That's just a superstition. Look, do you think you might keep this between the four of us?" Giogi asked. "It's best if it doesn't get around."

 

"Of course," Shaver said. Lambsie and Chancy nodded in agreement.

 

Looking at his friends' faces, Giogi did not feel reassured. They were all too blank. One of Uncle Drone's little sayings popped into his head: Nothing flutters so frantically when caged like a secret, nor flies so fast when released.

 

Giogi didn't like to imagine Aunt Dorath's reaction if, when she sat down to breakfast tomorrow, she were to find a letter of condolence from Lady Dina Cormaeril, Shaver's mother. At least I'll be in the catacombs by then, Giogi thought. Maybe Aunt Dorath will have calmed down by the time I come out. No, he realized, Aunt Dorath could stew for hours and still be boiling mad by sunset.

 

With a feeling of doom, Giogi took leave of his friends and wove his way out of the Immer Inn. He headed west, toward the Wyvernwater. "A bracing sea breeze would fit the bill," he said aloud, though there was no one present to hear him, nor did it matter to him at that moment that the Wyvernwater was a freshwater lake, not a salty sea.

 

He grew less anxious walking in the fresh, cold air, and by the time he'd turned south on the main road, he'd reasoned himself out of his fear. If Aunt Dorath finds out I babbled about the theft, he thought, I can always go abroad again. Maybe, though, if I find the spur, she'll forgive me and I can stay home.

 

A stiff gust of wind off the lake blew right through his cloak. He shivered and suddenly felt very tired. What am I doing walking around in this cold? I could be home sleeping in my warm bed.

 

He quickened his stride, but before he turned down the road leading home he remembered the duties facing him in the morning. His desire to sleep vanished, and he slowed his pace. If he stayed awake, it would be hours before he had to go into the crypt with Freffie and Steele and face the guardian.

 

Somewhere nearby Giogi heard the strumming of a yarting and the jangle of a tantan. He turned toward the music to find the door to the Five Fine Pish standing open as a crowd of travelers squeezed its way in.

 

"Sudacar," Giogi whispered, suddenly remembering the local lord's invitation to stop by the Fish to talk about Cole.

 

The Fish was renowned for its ale and very popular as a meeting place among adventurers who passed through Immersea. Giogi's friends all patronized the Immer Inn, so Giogi, who had never felt very comfortable among strangers, had not been in the Five Fine Fish very often. It would be full of strangers tonight, but Sudacar, while not exactly a friend, could hardly be considered a stranger—not if he knew things about Cole that Uncle Drone hadn't even spoken of.

 

Determined to learn more about his father's adventuring life, Giogi strode purposefully toward the inn. He slipped through the front door behind the last of the travelers and squeezed his way past them into the common room.

 

The room was packed with people. Five musicians in the corner struck up a reel, and several people began dancing on the wooden floor. The dancers' shadows swayed against the wall whenever someone bumped into one of the oil lamps hanging from the low ceilings. The tables and chairs of the Fish's common room were built for durability rather than style, not carved, but hewn, and polished, not with wax, but by generations of oily hands and elbows. Lem, the inn's owner, was tapping a fresh keg of ale, banging the spigot into the barrel in time to the music. He looked up at Giogi and gave him a wink.

 

Giogi searched the room for Sudacar while people coming in and out jostled him. Finally the young noble spotted the local lord in a corner opposite the musicians. He was seated with a few members of the town guard and some adventurers Giogi did not recognize. Sudacar rose to greet one of the travelers who'd just come in—a wool merchant. The two men gave each other a hearty handshake. Sudacar offered the newcomer a seat and signaled for more drinks before sitting back down himself.

 

Giogi suddenly felt very nervous. True, Sudacar had invited him, but the local lord was obviously very busy with friends and associates. Uncertain as to what sort of reception Sudacar would have for him, Giogi turned about and left the inn.

 

Once outside again, Giogi felt aimless. He meandered toward the market green with his hands stuffed deep in his cloak pockets and his head tilted back toward the stars. At the near end of the green stood a statue of Azoun III, grandfather of the present king. The stone monarch sat on a granite stallion frozen in the act of rearing and trampling rock-carved bandits. Giogi leaned against a stone bandit and sighed loudly.

 

"This was not the homecoming I expected," he explained to the bandit.

 

The wind, chill and damp, blew from the lake. Giogi sighed again and watched the ghosts of his breath drift east toward his own home.

 

"The house felt like a tomb when I got in last night," he told the bandit. "I have to spend my second day back, tomorrow, visiting the family crypt. Shaver says I missed the best summer regatta in ten years. His yacht, The Dancing Girl, came in second against four hundred-to-one odds. And Chancy says that his sister, Minda, did not wait for me. She married Darol Harmon, from over in Arabel. Not that there was anything official between us, mind you. I thought we had an understanding, but I guess a year is a long time for a girl to wait."

 

Giogi studied the bandit's grimace. "I suppose, though, that you have your own troubles."

 

The bandit did not keep up his end of the conversation, so Giogi continued. "Everyone laughs at my boots, and no one wants to listen to the tale of my travels. I'll admit, there aren't any princes or elves or casts of thousands in it, but it does have a whopping big dragon, and an evil sorceress, and a lovely, but quite mad, lady sell-sword. Wait. There was one person who was interested," Giogi amended. "Gaylyn, Freffie's wife. Nice girl, and pretty, too. Olive Ruskettle, the renowned bard, wrote a song in honor of their wedding—Freffie and Gaylyn's wedding, that is. Now, how did it go?"

 

Giogi began singing snatches of the song: "Something, something, syncopated breath. Something, something, love transcends even death."

 

"Giogioni!"

 

Giogi was so startled, he slid off the stone bandit.

 

Samtavan Sudacar had to grin at the sight of the young nobleman lying beneath the hooves of the stone monarch's stallion as if he were being trampled with the bandits about him. "That's no sort of company for you to keep, boy," Sudacar said, offering him a hand up.

 

Giogi accepted the assistance gratefully, and as Sudacar hefted him to his feet, he could easily imagine the well-muscled arms slaying giants. "What are you doing here?" Giogi asked.

 

Sudacar laughed. "Coming to fetch you. Lem said you came in but left. Couldn't find me in the crush, eh?"

 

Giogi nodded, then shook his head. It would be too difficult to explain that he was afraid he wouldn't be welcome.

 

"I came out to bring you back inside, unless you're too busy rendering assistance to Azoun's granddad. Getting to be a habit with you, I hear."

 

"What?" Giogi asked, wondering if Sudacar meant that rumors abounded that he drank heavily and often collapsed beneath town monuments.

 

"Lending the royal family a hand. Someone told me tonight you weren't just abroad, you were on a mission south for His Highness."

 

"Oh, that," Giogi replied. "It wasn't much, really. Just a messenger job."

 

Sudacar chuckled at the nobleman's modesty. "You'll have to tell us all about it inside. If you're not too hoarse or too tired to tell it again."

 

Giogi grinned. Someone wanted to hear his story. He stood up straighter. "Love to oblige."

 

The two men walked toward the Five Fine Fish, but just outside, Giogi hesitated. "1 just remembered. I, uh, seem to have mislaid my purse."

 

Sudacar looked at the nobleman darkly. "You, too, eh? A lot of that going around lately. Seems we have a new element in town. I've got to have Culspiir look into it. Don't worry. Tonight you're in my hands. We've got to raise that glass in honor of your father."

 

Entering the Fish with Sudacar was very different from entering it alone. Sudacar knew everyone, and everyone in turn seemed to know and like Sudacar. The crowd parted for him. He had the best table in the house. He sat Giogi down at his right-hand side and introduced him around as Cole Wyvern-spur's son. Many of the older merchants and their even older adventurer bodyguards nodded in approval. Giogi saw some of the younger adventurers whisper a question to their elders, and when the veterans whispered back the answer, the younger adventurers turned friendly smiles on the nobleman.

 

As the tavernkeeper set fresh mugs of ale down in front of Giogi and Sudacar, the local lord asked, "Lem, Mistress Ruskettle come in yet?"

 

"Not yet," Lem replied. "Odd thing. You know. usually you could set the town clock by her stomach."

 

"I'm looking for that woman she goes around with, Jade More."

 

"So's Ruskettle. Been asking all week if anyone's seen her."

 

Sudacar knitted his brow. "Jade leave town?"

 

Lem shook his head uncertainly, "Her packs are still up in her room, not stuffed with rags, either. I checked. Full of nice clothes, and plenty of money. I'm holding it for her return."

 

"Business must he good, whatever it is she's in."

 

"Aye," Leni agreed with a smirk.

 

When Lem had left their side, Sudacar gave a toast, "To Cole Wyvernspur, a brave adventurer."

 

Giogi drank to his father, but his curiosity was suddenly running in another direction. "This Mistress Ruskettle," he said. "Is she Olive Ruskettle, the bard?"

 

"Yes. She's been wintering here. You know about her?" Sudacar asked.

 

"She sang at Freffie's—um—Lord Frefford's wedding to Gaylyn. In a way, she's responsible for my being sent on my mission for the king."

 

"Oh?" Sudacar said encouragingly.

 

"She had this bodyguard with her, named Alias, you see. Very pretty but quite mad. Alias, that is."

 

"Yes, Ruskettle's told us all about her. Wait a minute'" Sudacar said, his eves sparkling with amusement. "Are you the noble whom Alias attacked after doing an impression of Azoun?"

 

Giogi nodded. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, relieved to see that Sudacar did not seem to be offended that he'd done an impression of His Highness. "Anyway," Giogi continued, "on my way home after the wedding, I was waylaid by this dragon who ate my horse—a monstrous, ancient red beast—the dragon, that is, not my horse. A good horse, too. Then this dragon sent me to His Majesty with the offer that she would leave the country if he could tell her where Alias was."

 

Sudacar's brow furrowed. He didn't like the idea of making deals with evil red dragons. "What did His Majesty do?"

 

"His Majesty didn't want to have anything to do with it, but Vangy told him that Alias could be an assassin and convinced him to settle with the dragon."

 

"Sounds like Vangerdahast," Sudacar muttered.

 

"Yes," Giogi agreed, taking a sip from his mug. The young Wyvernspur had no love for the court wizard, who was an old chum of Aunt Dorath's. In his few interviews with the wizard, Giogi felt more than a little intimidated by the man's magic powers and overweening certainty that he was always right.

 

"Still," Sudacar sighed, "the old mage keeps our king safe, and for that we should be grateful. The king's health," he added, raising his mug.

 

"Long live the king," Giogi agreed, raising his drink.

 

They both took a pull on their ale and sat quietly as it ran down their throats.

 

"So why did you travel to Westgate?" Sudacar asked.

 

"Well, Vangy never really did know exactly where this Alias was. Seems she couldn't be magically detected, but she was supposed to come from Westgate. So His Majesty sent me down there to inquire of what the authorities knew about her, and to see if she showed up there. She did. I spotted her outside the city. I spent the rest of the season in Westgate trying to find her again, or some information about her, without luck. I wintered there and came back as soon as a safe sea crossing could be made."

 

"According to Ruskettle, Alias is up in Shadowdale now," Sudacar said.

 

"Really? Maybe I ought to bop off a letter to His Majesty about that," Giogi said.

 

"Let me handle it. According to Ruskettle, Alias was working for Elminster. Vangy ought to know that before he tries making any more trouble for the lady."

 

Giogi grinned. He wondered if a wizard as powerful as Elminster could make Vangerdahast as nervous as Vangerdahast made him.

 

"So how'd you like Westgate? I noticed you got yourself a pair of dodders. Won't get a better pair of boots anywhere in the Realms, not even in Waterdeep."

 

"Got one of these, too," Giogi said, pulling out the yellow crystal from the top of his boot.

 

Sudacar sat up more attentively. "Boy, where did you get that?" he asked.

 

"Found it lying in the mud just outside Westgate."

 

"Found it lying—" Sudacar's words halted. He looked flabbergasted. "Boy, that's a finder's stone. I know, because Elminster himself loaned me one once."

 

"What's a finder's stone?"

 

"It's a magic crystal. It helps the lost find their way."

 

"But I'm not lost," Giogi said.

 

Sudacar gave the nobleman a queer look. "Maybe you better hang onto it, just in case."

 

"Oh, I intend to. I like it. It makes me—this is going to sound silly—"

 

"It makes you feel happy," Sudacar said.

 

"Yes. How'd you—oh, right, you said you had one once." Giogi tucked the crystal back into his boot.

 

"Tell me more about Westgate. Things are shaking down there, I hear."

 

Giogi nodded. "A dead dragon fell on their city just before I arrived, followed by an earthquake the day after. Then there was a power struggle going on for the property and business of some sorceress and her allies. A woman named Cassana, the Followers of Moander, and the Fire Knives all were missing after the earthquake."

 

"The Fire Knives. Now that is good news. I remember the year His Majesty broke their charter for the murder of that scullery maid. Ever since Azoun sent the thugs packing they've been a threat to him. May they stay missing," he toasted and took another swig of ale.

 

Giogi did likewise. The warmth of the ale augmented the warm, comfortable feeling he had in Sudacar's company.

 

Giogi and Sudacar drank and compared stories about Westgate until Lem stood over them and coughed politely. Giogi looked up and realized that the other tables and booths were empty, and Lem's waiters were stacking the chairs and benches.

 

The two noblemen were the last customers in the tavern, and Giogi suspected Lem had staved open well after hours just to oblige Sudacar. Sudacar left a small pile of gold lions on the table, stood, and led the way to the door. Giogi stumbled after him.

 

Many of the streetlamps had burned all their day's oil and expired or been blown out by the wind, but the waxing moon gave the two men plenty of light to see their way. They crossed the market green together and halted beneath the statue of "Azoun's Triumph."

 

"You know," Giogi said, "you let me babble on so long, you never had a chance to tell me about my father."

 

Sudacar grinned. "It's part of my fiendish plot. Now you have to visit me another night," he said.

 

"I'd like that," Giogi said.

 

"We'll keep an eye out for your purse, too. You really ought to get yourself an enchanted one, you know. The kind that makes some noise if it's touched by someone else."

 

"It was enchanted. Trouble was, I kept leaving it places, so whenever the servants found it anywhere and touched it, there was a big fuss. Uncle Drone fixed it so it would do something only if someone besides myself actually opened it."

 

"What was it supposed to do?"

 

"I think Uncle Drone said it would make a fool or something out of the thief."

 

"Well, I'll tell my men to keep an eye out for any fools."

 

Giogi giggled. "I'd hate to end up arrested for the theft of my own purse."

 

Sudacar gave a disapproving frown and pointed a finger at Giogi. "You shouldn't put yourself down like that, boy. His Majesty wouldn't have entrusted you on a mission for the crown if you weren't competent. As a matter of fact, now that you and your cousins are grown, Azoun will soon be relying on the services of all three of you, just as he did with your father and his cousins. Once vou get this spur nonsense cleared up, it'll be time for you to take up the responsibility of nobility—serving your king."

 

"Me?" Giogi gasped.

 

"You," Sudacar replied, chuckling at the shocked expression on the young man's face.

 

Giogi had assumed he'd only been sent to find Alias in Westgate because he would recognize the sell-sword. It had never occurred to him that the king would ever require him on other missions. Apparently, finding the spur was no guarantee that his life would return to normal—the way it had been before last spring. "Wait a minute. How'd you know about the spur?' Giogi asked Sudacar. "You said Aunt Dorath wouldn't tell you what was going on?"

 

"I have my sources," Sudacar replied with a wink. "It's getting late. Time to go." He gave Giogi a pat on the back and strode south from the market square toward Redstone Manor. He called out, "Good night, Giogioni," before he disappeared into the darkness.

 

Automatically Giogi called back, "Good night, Sudacar." Sudacar had left him feeling bemused and astonished, but not in the least bit anxious. He headed west down the side street that led to his townhouse.

 

Tired and inebriated, the nobleman did not remember Drone's warning that his life might "just possibly" be in danger. Nor did he notice the sound of clattering hooves on the paving stones made by the angry beast following him.

 

5

 

Mistaken Identities

 

After failing to recognize Olive in her transmuted condition, Nameless continued his inspection of the stable. He searched methodically in grim silence, slamming each stall door a little harder than the last. Olive could sense the anger and frustration building in him. Pulling a needle-thin dagger from his belt, he jabbed it into any bag of grain or stack of hay large enough to hide a halfling.

 

Finally, when Olive began trembling at the thought that he might study her bestial form more carefully and realize he had her at his mercy, she heard the sound of someone unbolting the stable's front door. Nameless cursed and began muttering another spell.

 

The stable door opened, and a young woman carrying a lantern strode in. Olive recognized her as Lizzy Thorpe, the stable's owner. Whether Lizzy was aroused by the noise or was just checking on the animals wasn't clear, but when she spotted the cloaked figure in her stable without permission, she gave a shout. The cloaked figure vanished. Lizzy ran out, still shouting for help.

 

Olive noticed a peculiar churning of straw where Nameless had stood, and it moved down the center aisle to the stable's front door. Olive also sensed the floorboards shift slightly and heard them creak from the weight of a human.

 

He's gone invisible, she realized, but at least he's leaving.

 

Lizzy returned less than a minute later with two of the night watch. "He was standing right there when I came in," she told them, pointing to where the cloaked figure had turned invisible. Lizzy and the watchmen began to search the barn as methodically as Nameless had, though without his intense desperation.

 

Still hiding behind the sacks of grain, Olive heard Lizzy cry out, "Look what he's done to my wall. Left a bloody huge hole in it, big enough to ride a paladin's mount through!" The two guards made their way back to Snake Eyes's stall.

 

"Wood's just vanished, edges left smooth as butter cut with a hot knife," the older night watchman noted. "Looks like mage work to me. If it is magic, it'll fade, and you'll get your wall back, probably in an hour or two."

 

"You're lucky this pony had the good sense to stay put," the other watchman said. "Any horses missing, Lizzy?"

 

Before Lizzy noticed the addition of one small donkey to her stable, Olive snatched up Giogioni Wyvernspur's purse in her teeth and slipped quietly out the open stable door.

 

The halfling waited what seemed an eternity for Giogi to come out of the Immer Inn. Olive wondered if she were succeeding at hiding in shadows in her new four-legged configuration or if the people passing by simply weren't keen on donkey-snaring this late at night. Whichever was the case, no one approached her.

 

For a while she savored the irony that the noble's cursed purse had saved her life, but as the hour grew later and the night colder, she became annoyed. Now that she was no longer in immediate danger, her situation appalled her. By the time the young Wyvernspur finally emerged from the Immer Inn and wobbled down the street, she slunk after him, feeling considerable animosity.

 

She realized, however, that the streets were too open for a confrontation and that she would have to follow him home. Unfortunately, Giogi seemed to have no interest in going back. He wandered along the lakefront. Then the sound of music from the Five Fine Fish attracted his attention. He hurried over to the inn and disappeared inside.

 

Olive imagined with longing the fish and chips and ale the Fish served, but apparently the same things did not interest Giogi. He came out only a few minutes later and wandered over to the market green and began talking to one of the stone bandits.

 

That's just great. Olive thought sarcastically. My fate is in the hands of a man who talks to statues. She hung back in the shadows, and she was glad she had, for just as the fop began serenading the statue—with another one of her compositions—Samtavan Sudacar came out from the Fish and called out to him.

 

The local lord had never shown Olive anything but the utmost courtesy when she entertained in the Fish. There was something about Sudacar's thoughtful gaze, though, that convinced Olive he suspected her of something. It wouldn't do to be seen holding Giogi's purse in her teeth, even if she were an ass.

 

Sudacar talked Giogi into re-entering the Fish, and Olive was forced to wait for a second eternity before they came out again. They were the last patrons to leave the inn, and Lem locked the door behind them when they left. The moon had begun its descent as they crossed the market square to the statue of Azoun III. They lingered, chatting, beside the stone carving. Olive considered creeping closer to eavesdrop on their conversation, but she was still wary of Sudacar. Finally, the local lord left Giogi and strolled south.

 

Giogi watched Sudacar walk away, then headed west. Olive, her spirit by now burning with a righteous wrath, trotted after the long-legged Cormyte, her hooves clattering on the cobblestones. She no longer bothered to avoid his detection. She was determined to give the Immersea fop a healthy piece of her mind. "Only an irresponsible, thoughtless fool," she planned to say, "would leave a cursed purse lying in the gutter where it would be found by some poor, defenseless halfling," namely herself. First, though, she had to get him to change her back into the lovely, talented halfling she'd been born and bred to be.

 

Giogi stopped in front of a large, well-kept townhouse surrounded by a high iron fence. The noble hummed to himself as he fumbled with the gate latch and pushed his way into the front yard. Before the gate could close, Olive nudged her way through, right behind the oblivious Giogioni. The gate swung shut behind her, its latch engaging with a sharp clang.

 

Olive found herself in a small, formal garden. Straw mulch covered the square, raised beds and dormant vine stalks clung to wooden trellises along the path to the front door. The sight of the dead garden in the moonlight gave Olive the shivers.

 

It's time, she decided, to announce myself.

 

Olive opened her mouth so Giogi's sack of coins fell with a clink, and she gave a loud, annoyed bray.

 

Giogi whirled around with a shriek of terror. Upon spotting the beast that had been stalking him, though, he gave a cry of delight.

 

"What an adorable burro," he said with a smile. He put his hand out to pet her, but Olive backed out of reach. With a forefoot, she kicked Giogi's purse forward.

 

"What's this?" Giogi bent over. "My purse!" he cried, picking it up and brushing the dirt off it. "It wasn't stolen at all. It must have fallen out of my pocket before I even got to the street." Giogi pocketed the sack of coins, once more leaving the strings dangling in full view.

 

No! Olive thought with alarm. I just brought it to you, you idiot. You have to change me back to a halfling. She tried to snatch at the purse strings with her teeth, but Giogi gave her a swat on the muzzle, and she missed.

 

"Silly creature. Mustn't chew on them," he said tucking the strings all the way into his cloak pocket. "They're not good for you, you know. Now, what are you doing roaming loose in my garden? Hmm?"

 

Olive glared at the nobleman in frustration.

 

"Thomas must have had a reason for procuring you," Giogi said. "Not the sentimental type, ol' Thomas. Very responsible. Always spends my money wisely."

 

Olive tried to protest that Thomas had not bought her, but, of course, she could only bray angrily. This she did, at a volume that would put a banshee to shame.

 

"Shh. You'll wake the neighbors. Thomas wouldn't have left you untied. He's responsible, you know. You must have chewed through the rope, eh? Maybe we'd better tuck you in the carriage house." With those words, he undipped the buckle fastening his belt and slid his belt from his waist with a whiplike snap.

 

Olive's eyes widened, and she backed away from the nobleman. She brayed now with fear. Her tail and hindquarters banged against the iron gate, which rattled but remained securely fastened, blocking her escape. She dodged to the right, but before she could maneuver around him, Giogi had fashioned his belt into a noose and slipped it neatly over her head.

 

Olive jumped away, hoping to jerk the noose free of Giogi's grip, but the noble's grasp was too firm. The sudden choking sensation broke her spirit immediately.

 

This had been the worst night of her life. Watching her best friend murdered had been awful. Recognizing the murderer had been a shock. Fleeing for her life had been terrifying. Being mistaken for a beast was completely humiliating. More miserable than she'd ever been in her life. Olive walked docilely alongside Giogi as he led her to the carriage house.

 

"Daisyeye," Giogi called out softly as he opened the smaller of the carriage house's two doors and led Olive inside. "I've brought you some company, Daisyeye."

 

Giogi lit an oil lamp beside the door. In the light, the carriage house looked warm and cheery. From her burro's-eye-view, Olive could see a buggy painted vibrant yellow and green and two horse stalls, one occupied by a chestnut mare.

 

The other stall was empty, and Giogi led Olive into it. He fussed about her—the perfect host trying to make his guest comfortable. Olive realized he meant well, but she could have wished he weren't trying so much in his drunken state. He laid only half the amount of bedding straw she needed, but left her with twice as much hay as a horse could eat in a day and sloshed more water on the floor than in her water trough. Ignoring the hay, Olive dipped her muzzle in the water and gulped thirstily, thinking how much she really needed something stronger to drink. When she finally came up for air, her gaze wandered idly around the walls of her stall.

 

Hanging on the outer wall was a portrait of a man with bird-like features, silky black hair, and piercing blue eves. His powerful hands rested on a seven-stringed yarting. A silver brooch glistened on his tabard. The eyes in the portrait seemed to stare right at Olive, boring into her soul, so that she imagined the man was watching her, undeceived by her magical disguise. Instinctively Olive backed away, braying with alarm.

 

Giogi looked up at the wall where the burro's gaze was fixed. He seemed startled by the portrait, too, for a moment, at least. Then he laughed, reached up, and took the painting down.

 

"Nothing to worry about," he murmured soothingly. "Look, silly," he said, holding the frame up to her muzzle so she could sniff at the painting. "It's only the picture of some old, dead ancestor. Completely harmless."

 

Wrong, Olive thought. He's not dead, and he's not just some old ancestor, and he's not harmless. He's the Nameless Bard, and he's a mad murderer.

 

"His name should be on the back somewhere," Giogi muttered, searching the canvas. "How odd. The name's been blotted out"

 

Naturally, Olive thought. The Harpers went to a great deal of trouble wiping his name from the Realms.

 

"Doesn't matter," Giogi said. "He could be any Wyvernspur. Wyvernspurs all look alike. Except me, of course. I take after my mother, you see."

 

Giogi hung the picture back up and offered Olive a handful of oats, sweetened with molasses, from a wooden bucket. "See what I have? Num-nums," he said.

 

The halfling-turned-burro declined to even sniff at the grain.

 

"Not hungry, eh? Well, we'll leave them for you as a midnight snack, in case you get peckish."

 

Giogi dumped the oats back into the bucket and left it against the wall. "Nighty night," he said, scratching Olive between her ears before she had a chance to dodge away. He slipped his belt off her and left the stall, closing and latching its door behind him. Before he left the stable, he blew out the lamp.

 

Left alone in the dark, Olive tried to make plans. I have to think of a way to get out of here, she thought. I have to get someone to turn me back the way I belong. I have to avenge Jade's death. All she could think about, though, was Jade.

 

Olive had benefited from her association with Jade, as with no other person. Of course, there had been the practical benefits. Like Alias, Jade could not be detected magically, and this protection extended to her companions. Jade had also been an appreciative audience for all Olive's songs—unlike Alias, whose habit of performing better songs had constantly pricked Olive's jealousy. Most importantly, though, Jade had simply been the best friend Olive had ever had.

 

Jade had been a perfect companion. She had enjoyed all the things Olive did: practicing her craft, celebrating with food and drink, gossiping, traveling—but only in fair weather—and meeting new people. Olive had once wondered if, instead of getting a spirit and soul from a paladin, as Alias had, Jade's spirit and soul had been cleft from the halfling's own. That would have explained why Olive felt so drawn to the human. Whether it was true or not. Olive knew for a fact that the last six days without Jade had been the loneliest she could recall in her lifetime.

 

Not only had she missed the woman, but secretly she'd been worried sick about Jade. Olive had been able to think of only one reason why Jade would disappear, but she could hardly go up to Lord Sudacar and ask, "Have you arrested my friend Jade for picking someone's pocket?" It certainly wouldn't have helped Jade any. Olive had searched through Immersea as subtly as she could. She didn't want Jade to think she kept tabs on her, but the halfling had felt responsible for the human.

 

She'd felt that way ever since she'd spotted Jade in the streets of Arabel—picking the pocket of a purple dragoon. Jade's technique had been superb, but, of course, purple dragoons were never paid in anything but royal script, which civilians were not allowed to have. If someone doesn't warn her about that, Olive had thought, she'll end up a bonded servant, and those talented fingers will be wasted scrubbing floors.

 

Right then Olive had realized she was the perfect candidate to look after the girl, train her, and offer her guidance, just as Alias had a saurial paladin to keep her safe. Who better, Olive had thought, than I? Not only do I know more about her than she probably knows about herself, but we share the same craft.

 

Nonetheless, Olive had been surprised at how easily Jade had accepted her offer to become her apprentice, how quickly Jade had come to depend on her, and how completely the human had trusted her. Because of all this, Olive had come to think of Jade as a daughter. An overgrown daughter, but a beloved daughter.

 

When Jade had said she'd been visiting family, Olive had felt an unreasonable flare of jealousy Now she wondered angrily, Who was this phony family member who'd kept her Jade away for six days, tempting her with magic sacks and the gods knew what else? A fat lot of good he'd been to her when she'd been murdered on the street.

 

A fat lot of good you'd been to her, Olive derided herself. You failed her. You knew there was something evil about the mark she went after. Why didn't you stop her? If you'd insisted harder, she would have stayed. Why did you let her go? You'll never see her again, now. Never, ever.

 

Unable to weep in her burro body, Olive found herself banging her head against the stall door in a mindless fury. Daisyeye nickered nervously, upset by the noise Olive made.

 

With some effort, Olive controlled herself. She took a deep breath and another drink of water.

 

Its not all my fault, she thought with a flash of anger. Nameless killed her, though why he should murder one of Alias's copies is a mystery. Face it, Olive-girl, she told herself, he's never been completely sane. He could have a reason, albeit a twisted one.

 

The first thing that had occurred to her, because of what Nameless had said to Jade on the street, was that he'd judged Jade to be unfit because she was a thief, and that he'd taken it upon himself to destroy her because he'd been partly responsible for creating her.

 

"You've escaped," he'd said to Jade. Had he kept her prisoner for the past six days? Was that what Jade had meant when she said she'd been "visiting family"? In a way, Nameless was kin to Jade. He thought of himself as Alias's father, and Alias was Jade's older sister, sort of. Who else could she have meant?

 

Of course! Olive thought with a start. She could have meant one of Nameless's relatives! If the portrait on the wall of Giogi's carriage house was Nameless, as Olive was sure it was, and if, as Giogi claimed, the man in the portrait was some ancestor, then Nameless was a Wyvernspur, and Jade would be kin to all the Wyvernspurs, at least in as much as she was kin to Nameless.

 

Even better than that, though, was the inevitable conclusion that if, as Giogi also claimed, the portrait could have been of any Wyvernspur, since they all looked alike, then Jade's murderer might not have been Nameless at all, but some other Wyvernspur.

 

With the realization that Nameless wasn't her only suspect, a feeling of relief swept over Olive. She hadn't wanted to believe he would murder anyone. From the day she'd freed him from the sorceress Cassana's dungeon, Olive had respected his talents as a bard, and he had gained her sympathy with his tale of being stripped of his name and exiled to another plane. Of course, Olive had not approved of the callous way Nameless had risked people's lives in order to satisfy his egotistical desire to create an immortal vessel to sing his music. On the other hand, his treatment at the hands of the Harpers had been nothing short of tyrannical. Exiling him had been cruel enough, but repressing his songs was unforgivable. The halfling could not help but admire the way Nameless had defied the Harpers a second time. His scheme had been mad, but it had ended in the creation of Alias and Jade. On the whole, Olive had really liked Nameless.

 

She was pretty sure he'd liked her, too. After all, he'd spent hours teaching her new songs on his yarting, possibly the same yarting he held in his portrait. He'd also given her his Harper's pin, the same silver brooch he wore in the portrait. The piece of jewelry fashioned in the shape of a harp and crescent moon was pinned somewhere in Olive's vest pocket—wherever that was beneath her burro hide. Some might have interpreted his presenting the pin to a halfling thief as an act of defiance against the Harpers, but Olive chose to think of it as a reward for helping Alias gain her freedom.

 

Now that she thought about it, Olive recalled that there had been something about Jade's murderer that was different from Nameless. The murderer's hair was as dark and silky as the hair in Nameless's portrait. The portrait was done two centuries ago, though. The last time Olive had seen Nameless, his hair had been splotched with gray and was somewhat lusterless. So it couldn't have been Nameless who killed Jade, unless he'd found some potion of youth.

 

Olive shook her head, unwilling to believe Nameless capable of such treachery as long as there were other possibilities in the Wyvernspur family. Giogi might know who those other possibilities were, she realized. Remaining with him would be my best opportunity to discover the identity of Jade's murderer.

 

And when I find out which Wyvernscum murdered my Jade, Olive thought, I can avenge her death.

 

Having settled her mind about Nameless and realizing that her transformation and captivity might have some tactical advantage, Olive's thoughts turned to more mundane matters. Her stomach was rumbling. She'd missed dinner, and her appetite had not diminished upon her transformation. She sniffed experimentally at the bucket of oats.

 

*****

 

Giogi tossed uneasily in his sleep. He was dreaming that he was soaring over a meadow on a spring morning. He knew that he was asleep. He hadn't the ability to soar over anything except dream things. Besides which, he'd had this particular nightmare before. That's why he tossed uneasily. While most people would find the beginning of this dream enchanting, or even exhilarating, Giogi was too well acquainted with the ending to appreciate the soaring part.

 

His chestnut mare, Daisyeye, galloped into sight beneath him. Giogi swooped down on the horse more silently than an owl on a rabbit. He sunk his talons into the mare's haunches and his fangs into her neck and snatched his prey from the ground. Daisyeye neighed in terror and pain as Giogi beat his wings harder and faster and climbed back into the air. The horse writhed in his grasp for a few moments, then went limp.

 

Giogi landed back in the meadow. Blood flowing from Daisyeye's neck and haunches steamed in the cool air. Her bones snapped as Giogi began swallowing her whole.

 

Giogi awoke with a gasp, trembling with fear. "Why me?" he moaned.

 

That was the question he'd been asking himself since he'd come of age and he'd started having the dream. At first, the prey in his dream had been wild creatures: stags and boars and mountain goats, and while the dream had disturbed Giogi greatly, at least he was accustomed to hunting such creatures for real—with a bow, of course. Ever since the dragon who'd waylaid him last spring had eaten the first Daisyeye—not Daisyeye II, who was safe in the carriage house—the prey in Giogi's nightmares had become Daisyeye. Like all Cormyrian nobles, he loved his horses, and the idea of slaughtering and devouring them appalled him.

 

Just to reassure himself, Giogi padded barefoot over to his bedroom window to look out at the carriage house, where Daisyeve was stabled. Giogi could make out the silhouette of the carriage house and see that nothing had burned it down or broken in looking for an equine snack. The moon had set, but the sky was not completely dark. The sun would be up soon.

 

"Oh, my gosh. I have to be at the crypt," Giogi remembered aloud.

 

*****

 

Thomas was awakened by a thumping noise followed by the clatter and clash of metal on metal, like the sounds made by gladiators battling in an arena. Thomas listened more intently, trying to determine if the noise wasn't coming from outside the house, created perhaps by a band of drunken adventurers with no respect for the conventions of town living—such as sleeping at night. A second thump and more bashing noises reached his ears. Now he was able to tell for certain that the disturbance came from within the house. The noise originated from his own kitchen.

 

It was early dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten to iron gray. Presuming the noises had been made by some very careless burglar, the servant picked up the poker from beside his fireplace and carefully eased open his bedroom door. A bright light shone across the hall. A very brazen, as well as careless, burglar, Thomas thought as he tiptoed to the kitchen door and peeked around the door jamb.

 

His kitchen was in complete disarray. Serving trays and mixing bowls lay scattered about the table and floor. All the cabinets stood open—most of them emptied of their contents. One stack of plates sat balanced so precariously on the edge of the linen chest that it appeared as if a passing breeze could send them plummeting to the stone floor. In the midst of the chaos stood the intruder—a lean young man who scowled at the tabletop with a long, sharp knife in his hand. Thomas gasped in surprise.

 

Giogioni looked up from the kitchen table at Thomas, who stood in the doorway with a raised poker clenched in his fist and his mouth hanging open. "Ah, good morning, Thomas," the young noble greeted him and smiled. "Didn't mean to wake you. Just getting together some tea. Why are you waving that poker about?"

 

"I—I—I thought you were a burglar, sir," Thomas explained, carefully leaning the iron rod against the wall.

 

"Now why would you think that, Thomas? You know I have scads of money. Why should I become a burglar?"

 

"No, sir, I meant that I heard a sound, sir, and that I thought at this hour down in the kitchen, it must have been made by a burglar. Couldn't you sleep, sir?"

 

Giogi snorted. "With all I had to drink last night?" he replied. "I went out like a snuffed candle."

 

"Bad dreams again?" Thomas guessed.

 

Eager to forget the dream, Giogi denied it with a shake of his head. "I am awake at this ungodly hour," he explained, "because Aunt Dorath has condemned me to crypt-crawling with Steele and Freffie. They've put me in charge of provisions, so I've boiled water for tea and now I'm hacking at this cheese for sandwiches. I made a bit of a mess looking for that earthenware tea jug. Sorry. I seem to be having trouble with this knife. Since you are up anyway, would you oblige, please?" The young Wyvernspur waved the knife at the servant, handle first.

 

Thomas picked his way across the kitchen to the table— carefully pushing the stack of dishes back from the edge of the linen chest on his way. Large crumbs and chunks of cheddar littered the table, but none could be even charitably described as a slice. Thomas took the remnants of the wheel of cheese and carved through it neatly six times. "Will that be sufficient, sir?"

 

"Excellent," Giogioni said, stacking the cheese slices between chunks of bread. He lay each sandwich on a piece of oiled paper. "And would you slice them into those cute little triangles like vou always do for tea?"

 

Automatically Thomas quartered the sandwiches, wrapped them in the oily paper, and stuffed them into the waterproof sack Giogi held out. Finding his master not only awake at this hour, but fully dressed, shaved, and alert was enough to confuse Thomas; discovering Giogi also making an attempt at self-sufficiency in the kitchen had left the servant dazed.

 

"I swiped those leftover tea cakes and some apples. Is that all right?" the nobleman asked.

 

"Yes, of course, sir." Thomas replied.

 

"Oh. I told Bottles you'd stop by the Immer Inn first thing this morning and pay my tab from last night."

 

"Very good, sir," Thomas replied.

 

Giogi packed the waterproof sack, the earthenware jug, some teacups, teaspoons and a jar of tea leaves into a picnic basket. He strapped on his fencing foil. pulled on his cloak, and unlatched the back door. "By the way," he said, pausing in the doorway, "I thought I'd take the burro with me to carry my supplies. That won't be any problem, will it?"

 

"Of course not, sir," Thomas said automatically as he nested a set of mixing bowls and stacked them back into a cupboard.

 

It wasn't until Giogioni's servant had finished tidying the kitchen and had his morning cup of tea that he was sufficiently awake to wonder to which burro his master was referring.

 

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—1 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 Selune 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 vou," 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 Selune."

 

"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."

 

7

 

Cat

 

Giogi stood up straight and took a few deep breaths to compose himself. He was over the worst of it. While the catacombs were no doubt more deadly, they did not hold the same terror for him as the crypt. "Come on, Birdie," he said, heading down the next flight of steps.

 

Olive let out her breath in relief and followed.

 

The passage descending into the catacombs was hewn out of the rock. No marble or cut and fitted stone lined it, and the bare rock was rough and dirty. Water dripped from the ceiling, seeped from the walls, and trickled down the stairs. The steps were crumbling in places and were slick with mud and slimy fungus. Someone heading down the stairs had left large, deep boot impressions in the muck.

 

"Steele's footprints," Giogi muttered unhappily as he plodded down the stairs alongside them. He didn't really want to join his cousin. Steele didn't want his company, and if, as Uncle Drone had said, the thief wasn't down here, Steele was very likely to lose his temper with Giogi. He had to join Steele, anyway, because Uncle Drone had insisted on it. Giogi was just now beginning to suspect why—considering the old wizard's confession last night and Julia's revelation this morning.

 

It looks as if Uncle Drone has been up to skullduggery on my behalf, Giogi thought uneasily. He wants me to pretend to look for the thief so no one blames me for the theft.

 

Giogi sighed, and the sound echoed up and down the stairway. "Have you ever noticed, Birdie," he asked philosophically, "that as soon as one's life has settled down, when there's nothing but clear sailing ahead, one's relatives steer one into the shoals, so to speak?"

 

Olive, whose concentration was riveted on descending the broken, slippery stairs while carrying enough provisions for an adventuring party of twelve, naturally did not reply.

 

"Take Freffie, for instance," Giogi said. "Two years ago, he decided I needed a career, and he talked me into joining the army. Me, a purple dragoon. Imagine! Fortunately, I was dismissed from service after accidentally releasing Aunt Dorath's pet land urchin into the provisions wagon." Giogi broke off detailing his family's interference in his life to concentrate on climbing down an especially crumbled section of stairs. He took care that the burro had sure footing each step before pulling on her lead rope.

 

After they'd overcome that obstacle, the nobleman continued his monologue. "Then last year, Aunt Dorath decided Minda Lluth was just the girl for me. Minda talked me into all sorts of foolish things, then abandoned me while I struggled to extricate myself from the trouble she'd gotten me into. She convinced me to do my impersonation of Azoun at Freffie's wedding, then, after I nearly got killed, she went and married someone else," Giogi griped sullenly. He kicked a chunk of stairs down ahead of them.

 

Unable to ignore Giogi's last comment, Olive suddenly realized, That's the wedding I sang at last year. Giogi's Cousin Freffie must be Lord Frefford Wyvernspur. Olive had sat right in front of the wedding party table, but for the life of her, she could not remember the groom's features. The man had been eclipsed by his bride, three hundred wedding guests, and the excitement of watching Alias try to assassinate his Cousin Giogi. I'll have to get another look at Frefford, Olive decided, before I can rule him out as Jade's murderer.

 

It took Giogi a few minutes to overcome his disappointment with Minda and focus on his current problem. "Now, Julia tells me that Uncle Drone has been trying to arrange for me to use the wyvern's spur," he said.

 

I know. I heard her, Olive thought. I was there, remember?

 

"Did I ask him to do this?" Giogi asked the burro, annoyance creeping into his voice. He answered his own question with an indignant tone. "I most certainly did not. Did he ask me if I'd mind him acting on my behalf? He most certainly did not!"

 

More calmly, Giogi stated, "I love my family," then he shouted, "but why can't they all just leave me alone?"

 

"Alone, alone, alone," the stairway echoed up and down.

 

Disturbed by the sound of his own voice reverberating through the dank corridors, Giogi continued his descent in silence.

 

Finally given the quiet to think, Olive tried to analyze the possibility that Steele could be Jade's murderer—based on all that Giogi and Julia had said about him. Steele Wyvernspur possessed a streak of cruelty and ruthlessness. That matched the murderer. Steel was supposed to be competent with a sword. The murderer could cast powerful spells, and, while it was unlikely he would also wield a sword well, it wasn't impossible. Every now and then, one came across a wizard proficient with a weapon besides a dagger. Steele wouldn't be too old, but he might be too young. If his sister, Julia, is anything to go by, he'll have the Wyvernspur face, Olive thought, but I won't know anything for sure until I get a good look at him.

 

It was at this point that Olive noticed a second set of footprints. They were smaller and less deep, apparently made by a woman or a small man wearing soft-soled slippers. The prints went up toward the crypt and back down to the catacombs. The thief's? Olive wondered excitedly.

 

Curious now to see this thief and eager to get a look at Giogi's cousin, Olive clomped down the stairs with more speed. Before she reached the bottom, the burro was walking ahead of Giogi and the lead rope, like a bloodhound on the hunt.

 

Finally, man and burro reached the bottom of the stairs. They stood in a small anteroom paved with rough stones. The light of the finder's stone revealed corridors leading away in three directions. Two of the corridors were heavily webbed over, but strands of torn spider silk wafted in the subterranean breeze of the third tunnel. Scattered at the tunnel's entrance was the hacked-up remains of a large spider. A heavy boot heel had left its imprint in the smeared spider ichor.

 

"Easy to see where Steele's been," Giogi said matter-of-factly. The noble unsheathed his foil for the first time. "At least he's brushed all the cobwebs away for us."

 

No, Olive thought. The thief would have done that. Steele's just following the culprit's trail.

 

Giogi led the way cautiously down the web-cleared corridor. There was nothing outstanding about the passage. Water had created it, and Giogi's ancestors had widened it. No jewels or precious metals glittered in the walls, no delicately carved stone columns towered over them. The surfaces all about them consisted of well-packed dirt, pockets of sand, pebbles, and rocks, and magically hewn stone. The corridor had been excavated for utility, not for show.

 

The sound of dripping water and their own footsteps echoed around Giogi and Olive. The air was moist and cold. Large, ugly spiders, chittering like angry squirrels, scrambled away from the light of the finder's stone.

 

The corridor continued straight for almost a thousand feet. The spiders and torn cobwebs ended abruptly. A short distance farther, the corridor began to twist and branch. In the absence of broken webs, Steele's route was no longer obvious.

 

At the branching, Giogi halted, sheathed his foil, and began rummaging through Olive's packs. He lightened her load by the weight of the portable stool, the picnic basket, the blanket, the sack of grain, and the map. After sprinkling a little grain on the blanket, he set up the stool, sat down, and poured himself tea in a tin mug.

 

This boy can really rough it, Olive thought sarcastically. No linen, no china, no butler.

 

Steele will have headed for the outer door, to see if the thief is sitting by it, Giogi decided. As he munched some old tea cakes, he examined his map for the quickest route to the door. When he looked up, his burro had its nose buried in his picnic basket. "Bad Birdie," he said, pushing Olive's muzzle away. "That's your food over there." He pointed to the grain on the blanket.

 

Olive pleaded with her eyes.

 

"Oh, very well," Giogi sighed. He drew out a cheese sandwich and fed it to her in pieces, then spoiled her with another slice of apple.

 

I wonder if I can get him to pour me some tea, too, Olive thought with a mental chuckle.

 

"No more, Birdie," Giogi said, rising suddenly to his feet. He packed up everything in a flurry and loaded it back on Olive. Before they continued, the nobleman drew out from the packs a jar of paint and a paint brush.

 

At every intersection, the nobleman consulted the map and painted a number on the wall. Several times, he had to turn the map or turn himself to get his bearings. Twice they retraced their steps to check a previous number. Their progress slowed to a crawl.

 

With their tedious pace and the sound of dripping water percolating through the stonework, Olive felt as if she were being tortured. She fought her irritability by reminding herself, You need the boy to get you out of this pit, Olive-girl. You can't afford for him to get confused.

 

They were halted in an intersection when Olive detected something flutter softly past her long ears. Giogi, intent on his map and paints, seemed not to notice it. Olive felt a prick near her haunches. She swished her tail automatically. She was just thinking, Useful things, tails, when a bloated crow-sized shape swooped down behind Giogi's head.

 

For a moment, Olive thought it was just a bat, but as it hovered by Giogi's neck, she saw it had feathery wings. Then she caught sight of its mosquitolike proboscis.

 

Olive brayed in terror, suddenly realizing what the prick she'd felt earlier had been.

 

Giogi whirled around at the sound. The light from the finder's stone flared, outlining a stirge nearly as large as a tomcat. Giogi leaped backward with a shriek, dropping the map, the paint can, and paint brush. Recovering his nerve quickly, though, he drew his foil and lunged at the creature. Too fat to gain altitude quickly, the startled creature swooped down and away, and Giogi's foil stabbed at empty air. The flying monster disappeared into the darkness.

 

Meanwhile, Olive was smashing her haunches against the uneven rock walls, trying to squash the bloodsucker she knew must be attached to her. She felt something solid catch between her body and the wall and rupture. Something wet seeped through the blanket between the packs and her back.

 

Was that the stirge or a water bag? she wondered. Not taking any chances, she kept on swinging her back half against the stone. The tea basket tumbled to the ground and things in the packs clattered against one another.

 

"Take it easy, Birdie," Giogi said. "You'll hurt yourself."

 

Take it easy, he says, while something's sucking my lifeblood away. In her mind Olive imagined a swarm of stirges hanging from her fuzzy belly like bats did from the ceilings of caves.

 

With a look of grim concern, Giogi raised his foil and lunged at the burro. Olive closed her eyes and held her breath.

 

She never felt the prick of the foil, but in less than a few seconds, Giogi was patting her back, whispering soothing words.

 

"It's all over now, girl. I got the lot"

 

The lot! Then there was more than one, Olive thought queasily. She opened her eyes. Skewered on the nobleman's sword, like cornish hens on a spit, were half a dozen stirges, the largest no bigger than a squirrel.

 

Mercifully the finder's stone's light had dimmed back to its normal soft glow, so she didn't get a good look at them. Nonetheless, Olive had to fight back her nausea.

 

"Disgusting creatures, aren't they?" Giogi commented as he slid the bloodsuckers off his weapon and kicked the corpses against the wall. From the pallor of Giogi's face, Olive could tell he was not inured to battle. The young noble wiped his foil clean with a silk handkerchief, grimaced at the gore and stains on the fabric, and dropped the cloth over his kills.

 

He wasn't boasting after all, Olive thought with relief. He is competent with that foil. He managed to skewer the enemy without harming a hair on my head—or the other end, for that matter. We may live through this little jaunt yet.

 

After sheathing his foil, Giogi bent over to retrieve the supplies he'd dropped. He salvaged as much of the spilled paint as he could by mopping it up with the brush. Murmuring reassuring words to the burro, he reattached the picnic basket to Olive's packs and checked the security of the other supplies. He took another few moments to consult the map, picked up Olive's lead rope. and led her down the left-hand passageway.

 

They hadn't gone five paces when Giogi seemed to stumble. He toppled sideways, slumped against the wall, and slid to the floor. The map, paint brush, and jar tumbled out of his hands again, but his fingers remained clasped about the finder's stone.

 

Olive was at his side at once. Frantically she searched over his body, nuzzling and pawing at his cloak, looking for a stirge that might have attached itself to the nobleman without his knowing it. Her search yielded neither bloodsucking monster nor wound. Moreover, Giogi did not appear in any shock. He was breathing quite naturally and snoring softly. How can he fall asleep at a time like this! Olive thought.

 

A tongue clicked behind her to attract her attention. Olive whirled about. Her eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of the human woman who stepped from the shadows.

 

"Nice burro," the woman whispered, taking a cautious step toward Olive with her hand out for the burro to sniff.

 

The woman's bright hair hung freely about her shoulders like burnished copper wire. She was dressed in a shimmering, flowing robe smeared all about the hem with muck, and the cloth slippers on her feet were equally grimed. Ordinarily, Olive's first thought would have been that the slippers must have made the smaller footprints going up to the crypt, but it was the woman's face that held her attention and excited her.

 

She has Alias's face! Olive thought while her heart raced. She's another copy of Alias!

 

"Don't fret, little one," the woman said soothingly. "I put him to sleep with magic. We'll just get his key before he wakes up, and we'll be out of here in no time."

 

Ordinarily, Olive might have found the offer irresistible, but the woman set Olive's nerves on edge and brought to the halfling's mind Cassana, the sadistic, vain sorceress in whose image Alias had been created. Cassana had often addressed the halfling as "little one" in the same condescending tone and had put her into a magical sleep. There's nothing to guarantee, Olive realized, that just because she looks like Alias, she isn't as evil as that witch, Cassana, had been.

 

Then, of course, there was Giogi to consider. She couldn't leave the nobleman in the foul place, unprotected while he slept, prey to stirges and gods knew what else. Even if he lived to awaken, he wouldn't be able to escape unless he found his Cousin Steele. She had to stay with him, and she had to protect his key. Olive positioned herself fully between the woman and Giogi, bracing her legs against possible assault.

 

"My, but aren't you fierce," the woman said with a nervous laugh—not as cruel a laugh as Cassana's had been, but taunting enough to get Olive's blood boiling. "I will have that key," the sorceress growled, reaching down and picking up a fist-sized rock.

 

The halfling burro charged. The load on her back pitched and threw off her balance. The human woman sidestepped her with remarkable ease. Burdened by the weight of all Giogi's equipment. Olive hit a wall before she could skid to a halt.

 

As Olive turned around, she saw the woman kneeling over Giogi's prone body, reaching for the key chain about his neck.

 

As it had earlier when the stirge attacked, the finder's stone light flared again. It filled the corridor with a radiant brilliance centered on Giogi. The woman fell back with an anguished cry. Olive rushed to Giogi's side and nipped at his arms and legs.

 

"Not now, Thomas," the nobleman muttered, rolling over on his side. "I'm having the nicest dream."

 

No time for subtlety, the halfling realized. She turned and gave him a sharp kick in his rear end.

 

"I'm awake, Aunt Dorath! Really!" Giogi exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. He looked around in confusion at the burro hovering impatiently over him and the strange woman whimpering on her knees a few feet away. He rose shakily to his feet, still clutching the finder's stone.

 

Giogi bent over the woman and touched her shoulder gently. "Are you all right?" he asked.

 

"Of course I'm not all right," she snapped, squinting up at him with watery eyes. "Your damn light-rock nearly blinded me."

 

"You!" Giogi gasped, instantly recognizing the woman's resemblance to Alias of Westgate. "No," he said after a moment, "you're not Alias. Your hair's all wrong."

 

"Would you turn that dratted light down?" the woman growled, shielding her eyes with an outstretched hand.

 

"Urn, I'm not sure I know how," Giogi said, examining the finder's stone with confusion. "If you just give your eyes a minute to adjust, I'm sure they'll get used to it."

 

"I've cast a spell so I could see in this dark pit," the woman snapped. "Any light is annoying."

 

"Oh." Giogi tucked the stone in his cloak and allowed just a little light to peek out. "You can't be Cassana of Westgate, either," he mused. "You're too young. She's dead, anyway. Just who are you?"

 

"I'm Cat of Ordulin," she said, lowering her hand from her eyes. "I'm sorry my age and my eyes and my hair don't suit you," she continued, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "but you might at least thank me for saving your life from a stirge." She held out her hand imperiously, expecting assistance to stand.

 

Giogi helped her to her feet. "I didn't intend any insult," he said. "It's rather nice hair, and your eyes look fine now that you've stopped squinting, and, of course, it's none of my business how old you are. Really, though, you do have the most remarkable resemblance to Alias of Westgate. Is she a relative of yours? Or Cassana of Westgate?"

 

"I've never heard of either of them," Cat declared.

 

"Oh." Giogi tilted his head in puzzlement. Cat had the same green eyes, pert nose, shapely mouth, high cheekbones, and pointed chin as Alias. It was strange enough that two apparently unrelated women should have the exact same beautiful face. It was just incredible that he should meet both of them. Finally, remembering his manners, Giogi said, "Well, thank you for rescuing me. Funny, though, I don't remember any stirge."

 

"Stirge saliva numbs the flesh around the bite," Cat explained. "If you don't notice the prick when it attaches to vou, it can drain all your blood without you feeling a thing. It had drained nearly all the life from you. I only brought you back to consciousness with a potion. It was an especially powerful potion, so you shouldn't be feeling any weakness."

 

"You're right. I don't feel weak," Giogi said with surprise. "Thank you again."

 

"You're welcome," Cat said, her tone softening pleasantly. She smiled at Giogi.

 

Olive tried to sneer, but it wasn't in the burro's repertoire. She didn't know which annoyed her more, the female mage's bald-faced lies about rescuing Giogi or Giogi's gullibility.

 

"Really, though," Giogi said, "I must ask what you're doing here."

 

Good thinking, Giogi, Olive thought. A little slow, but good thinking.

 

Cat's manner became suddenly formal. "I don't know that it's any of your business," she replied haughtily. "Who are you, anyway?"

 

Giogi drew himself to his full height. While his gaunt frame was not very imposing, he did tower a good six inches over the woman. "I am Giogioni Wyvernspur," he declared, bowing slightly as he spoke, "of the Wyvernspurs of Immersea. These catacombs lie beneath my family's crypt. They're our catacombs."

 

"Do you have a deed for them?" Cat asked coolly.

 

"Well, no, but the only way into them is through our family crypt and—"

 

"And the secret, magical door, just outside the graveyard, that opens once every fifty years," Cat concluded impatiently. "I used that secret door to get in here. I was going to use it to get out, but some idiot blocked it while I was still inside the catacombs. I've been stuck here for days."

 

"Uncle Drone just sealed that door yesterday morning, so you can't have been in here for that long," Giogi objected.

 

"All right. I've been stuck here for hours," Cat amended her story with annoyance. "I'm starving just the same. You wouldn't happen to have brought food, would you?"

 

Giogi stared at Cat with considerable perplexity as he reached inside the picnic basket and produced a cheese sandwich.

 

"Wonderful," Cat said, snatching it out of Giogi's hand. She unwrapped it halfway, sniffed at it once, shrugged, and took a large bite.

 

Olive stared at the nobleman in amazement. Don't you realize she's got to be the thief who stole the spur? Olive berated Giogi mentally. How can you stand there calmly feeding her cheese sandwiches? "I don't understand," Giogi said. "Uncle Drone said I wouldn't find the thief or the spur down here."

 

Olive huffed, wishing she could tell Giogi, Shake this woman down for the spur and turn her over to Lord Sudacar. Uncle Drone's made a mistake.

 

Cat held up her finger, chewed faster, and swallowed. Then she said with a grin, "Your uncle was right. You didn't find the thief or the spur."

 

"What are you doing in the catacombs if you aren't the thief?" Giogi demanded.

 

Cat took another large bite, chewed, and swallowed before answering. "Wishing I were the thief. You see, my master sent me here after the spur, but when I got up to your stupid family crypt, the thing was gone. Someone else took it. The door from the crypt to the upper mausoleum was locked, so I had to come back through the catacombs, and, like I said, some idiot—that'd be your uncle—blocked the stupid door to the outside."

 

"He's not my uncle, really," Giogi said. "He's, well, he was my grandfather's cousin, so that makes him my first cousin twice removed. We all call him uncle, though, because he's so very old." The young noble frowned suddenly. "You have a lot of nerve, you know, admitting you came to steal my family's most precious heirloom, and then insulting my relatives to boot."

 

"Well, I didn't steal your heirloom, now did I?" Cat pointed out defensively. "And if your uncle knew the thief with the spur wasn't in the catacombs, it was pretty idiotic to seal me up in here, wasn't it?" she asked before popping the remainder of the sandwich in her mouth.

 

"Uncle Drone is a sweet, gentle old man," Giogi declared with indignation.

 

"If you say so," Cat mumbled with her mouth still full. When she'd managed to swallow, she asked, "Do you have anything to wash this sandwich down?"

 

"There's tea," Giogi offered. He began reaching into the picnic basket for the tea jug but stopped short upon noting the disgusted look on Cat's face.

 

"Would you prefer water?" the nobleman asked. "Haven't you got anything stronger?" the sorceress asked with a sly grin.

 

Feeling rather odd, Giogi drew a silver hip flask from his back pocket and held it out. He'd never offered hard liquor to a woman before. "It's Rivengut," he warned. "Quite strong. Would you like me to water it down for you?"

 

Cat took the flask, unscrewed the lid, and took a long swallow. "No, thank you," she said with a cheerful smile. "It's just right."

 

Giogi blinked twice in astonishment, then he shook himself mentally. "Why did your master send you after the spur?" he asked.

 

Cat shrugged. "I have no idea. I just follow his orders. One doesn't ask men like Flattery to explain themselves. It's a good way to get oneself killed."

 

"But you could have been killed, anyway. The catacombs are full of dangerous creatures, and the guardian is supposed to slay anyone in the crypt who isn't a Wyvernspur. Did you really go into the crypt?"

 

"How else could I know the spur was missing? I never saw hide nor hair of any guardian. Are you sure your guardian's not a myth your family uses to frighten would-be thieves?"

 

Giogi shook his head. "She's not," he insisted. "If she didn't kill you, that must mean you're a Wyvernspur. We've always suspected there were missing members. What branch of the family are you from?"

 

"I'm a mage, not a family historian," Cat said with a sniff. You're too proud to admit that you don't know, aren't you, girl? Olive thought slyly. You think you're an orphan, just like Alias and Jade. Somehow, though, the guardian must have realized that you're connected to the Nameless Bard, who is a Wyvernspur.

 

"If your master, this Flattery person," Giogi said, "told you that the guardian wouldn't bother you, then he must have known you were a Wyvernspur."

 

Cat's brow furrowed with some thought. She looked down at her hands, as if to examine them for proof. "You could be right," she admitted softly.

 

Giogi lifted the mage's chin so that her eyes met his own. "Why do you serve him if he sends you out to steal for him?"

 

"I was just beginning to wonder about that myself," Cat said, smiling weakly.

 

Giogi dropped his hand from the mage's chin to her shoulder "You should leave his service," he advised.

 

"I may have to," Cat said, lowering her green eves again. So softly that Giogi could barely hear her, she whispered, "Flattery will be furious with me for failing my mission."

 

"Don't go back to him," the noble suggested, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze.

 

"I wouldn't," Cat said, looking up at Giogi through her long red eyelashes, "except—" Cat looked down and hesitated. Then, as if she could barely contain her misery, she looked back up at Giogi and burst out, "except I have nowhere else to go, and he's sure to find me, and when he does he'll be even angrier that I tried to leave." Her voice quavered slightly with fear.

 

Bravo! Olive thought cynically. Excellent performance.

 

"I see," Giogi said solemnly.

 

Don't be a fool, Giogi, Olive though.

 

"I shall offer you my protection, then," Giogi said.

 

What a sap, Olive thought, shaking her burro head.

 

"That's very kind of you, Master Giogioni, but I can't accept your offer. Flattery is a very powerful mage with a violent temper. I don't dare risk your life as well."

 

Think about it, Giogi, Olive pleaded silently. She's just vying for your sympathy, old boy. Make it backfire. Accept her refusal. You don't really want to interfere with the business of powerful mages with violent tempers.

 

"I insist," Giogi replied staunchly.

 

I knew he'd say that, Olive thought.

 

"After all, you saved my life. You must come with me," Giogi continued. "Uncle Drone is a powerful mage, too. He can help protect you. He'll probably want to know all about this Flattery, anyway."

 

Olive pricked up her ears. Giogi might consider his Uncle Drone a sweet, gentle old man, but if he was a powerful mage, he was another suspect for the man who'd disintegrated Jade. Except, according to Giogi, he was very old. Wizards could disguise their age, though, Olive knew.

 

"I should accompany you out now, before Steele sees you," Giogi said. "He's my second cousin. He'll think you're the real thief, because Uncle Drone told him the thief was down here."

 

"That really won't be necessary—" Cat began, but she was interrupted by a crash.

 

"What was that?" Giogi asked.

 

"They're your catacombs. You tell me," Cat challenged.

 

From the same direction as the crash came a blood-curdling scream. A human scream.

 

"Steele!" Giogi exclaimed. "You wait here with Birdie," he ordered Cat. He drew his foil and ran off in the direction of the scream.

 

8

 

Steele's Rescue

 

Olive took only a moment to consider her options. On one hand, she was sure she didn't want to run into whatever had made Steele scream that way. On the other hand, if whatever it was happened to swallow Steele and Giogi, she was stuck in the catacombs—as a burro—with Cat, possibly for the rest of her life, as short as that might be.

 

Not an amusing prospect, Olive thought. I have to keep the boy from doing something rash. She trotted down the corridor after the shrinking light of the finder's stone.

 

There was another scream, and Giogi dashed down a narrow side passage to follow it. The ceiling was lower there, and he had to stoop as he ran. Shrill cries of anger and laughter echoed down the hall. The nobleman slowed. There were no further cries from his cousin. The laughter had a sinister tone which chilled Giogi to the marrow. He stopped.

 

Olive bumped into the nobleman. He gasped and whirled around. "Birdie, you naughty girl. You were supposed to wait with Mistress Cat."