Кейт Новак - The Wyvern's Spur

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 Daisyeye 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 doorjamb.

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 you 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.

“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.