Кейт Новак - The Wyvern's Spur

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

“What’s ‘the guardian’?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steele scowled at the woman’s exactness.

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

“What’s the difference?” Steele growled.

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

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

“By twelve days,” Gaylyn added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Aunt Dorath made me swear not to.”

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

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

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

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