Кейт Новак - The Wyvern's Spur

The guardian understood him, though. “I suppose you think of whatever humans dream about,” she said. She made a yawning sound. “Dull things,” she suggested.

Giogi tried to think of what he dreamed about when he wasn’t dreaming the wyvern dream. He thought about Cat. Unconsciously he began beating the air with his wings, and he remained a wyvern. He thought of galloping on Daisyeye, but that reminded him too much of chasing prey. Then he thought of Aunt Dorath, knitting by the fireside. The ceiling got farther away. His boots covered his feet. His arms dropped to his sides. He straightened up, no longer needing to balance his tail with the weight of his neck.

He picked the pillar off the floor, and laid the velvet cloth over it. Then he retrieved the finder’s stone.

“When will I see you again?” the guardian asked.

Giogi shivered, but it would be rude to say she scared him to death and he didn’t like coming into the crypt. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why?”

“I’ll miss you.”

“You will? Do you get lonely down here?”

“Sometimes. Not often.”

“Why do you stay?”

“This is where my bones are buried. Beside the bones of those I love—my mate, and all your ancestors who took his form, from Paton to Cole.”

“Oh,” Giogi said, thinking how strange it must be to love so many people dead for so many years. “I’ll be back when I’m finished with what I have to do,” he promised, “unless I die.”

“You’ll be back in that case, too,” the guardian said solemnly.

Giogi’s eyes roamed over the blocks of stone sealing in his ancestors. “You’re right. Well, until whichever.”

“Until whichever,” the guardian agreed.

“Thank you for the advice.”

“You’re welcome, my Giogioni.” The guardian’s shadow faded from the walls and left him alone.

For the first time ever, Giogi left the crypt without a feeling of terror.

Outside, the sun was getting low in the sky. Giogi slipped the finder’s stone in his boot beside the spur. He untied Daisyeye, slid her reins off her head, and tucked them into one of her saddlebags. “Go home, girl,” he said, slapping her on her backside. The mare took off down the hill without looking back.

Giogi watched her race away for a minute. He closed his eyes and imagined a deer springing through the forest. The sensation of pounding blood overwhelmed him more quickly this time. He beat the air with his wings and ran through the graveyard.

A gust of chill wind caught under the leathery canopies and lifted him over the trees. He flapped the wings faster and propelled himself over the edge of the graveyard hillside, catching an updraft. He soared over the valley. In less than a minute, he was circling over Spring Hill. He could make out Mother Lleddew far below, beside the rented carriage full of provisions for Uncle Drone’s memorial service.

He resisted the temptation to fly over Redstone. There was no sense in disturbing Aunt Dorath. Besides, he wasn’t sure how well he would land, and he knew it wasn’t something he should try after dark. He was also growing very hungry. With any luck, Giogi thought, Thomas is roasting a slab of venison or a side of pork. He banked eastward toward the townhouse, his shadow flying far ahead of him and his stomach growling all the way.

Olive stood propped up against the closet wall like a walking stick. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tie her up, sir?” the treacherous Thomas had asked the wizard before closing the door and leaving the halfling in the pitch dark.

Flattery had said it wasn’t necessary. After that, Thomas had excused himself so he could get started on cleaning out the bedroom fireplaces.

For the longest time there was no sound in the attic but that of the wizard turning pages in a book. Finally, an interminable twenty minutes later, the wizard’s spell faded and Olive could move again. She collapsed to the floor. Her legs and arms were all pins and needles from having been stuck in the same position so long. She stumbled against a box on the floor and banged her shin.

“Keep it down in there, Ruskettle,” the wizard ordered, “or I shall turn you into a newt.”

Only a newt? Olive thought. Is he serious?

Not wanting to find out, Olive kept silent. Very quietly, she began working on the closet lock.

“Put the lockpicks away, Ruskettle,” the wizard ordered in a calm, distracted voice, “or I’ll firetrap the door.”

Olive slipped the picks back into her pocket. He’s watching me through the walls, she thought.

Why doesn’t Flattery just kill me? she wondered. If Thomas is his agent, then he must know I’ve been plotting against him. Perhaps he doesn’t consider me a serious enough threat. Well, I’ll show him. The halfling sat quietly on the floor, thinking of ways to warn the young noble. Tapping coded messages on support beams was supposed to be good. Tying messages to mice had worked in some stories. Neither support beams nor mice seemed to be in ready supply, though.

The stairs creaked, and Thomas returned. “He’s gone to speak to the guardian, sir, fifteen minutes ago,” the servant reported.

“Excellent,” the wizard said. “And Cat?”

“She’s offered to return Lord Frefford’s horse to Redstone for me. I would imagine she wants another crack at the lab.”

“Resourceful girl.”

Thomas began collecting the tea things. Olive took advantage of the clattering noise to renew her attack on the closet door lock. The click of the lock was covered by the rattle of the silver tea pot on the tray.

Thomas went back down the stairs.

Olive opened the door just a crack. The black-and-white spotted cat sat right in front of the door jamb, blocking the door. Olive pulled out her spool of string and wrapped a bit of it up into a ball. She tossed the ball so it rolled away from the cat.

The animal watched it travel across the floor and yawned.

How can you ignore a ball of string? Olive thought at the cat. Haven’t you got any self-respect? What kind of cat are you, anyway?

“Mystra’s minions,” the wizard cursed softly.

Olive heard the spell-caster rise and walk toward the closet. He pushed the closet door shut. “Thank you, Spot. Good kitty.”

Of course, Olive chided herself, that kind of cat. A wizard’s familiar.

“Mistress Ruskettle,” Flattery said through the door, “I have tried to be a polite host, but you have tried my patience once too often. Incendiary. There, now I’ve firetrapped the door.”

The wizard’s footsteps stomped away. Olive heard him flipping through pages of another book. She sat in the back corner of the closet and fumed. Then she began testing the floorboards. They were nailed solidly. She pulled out her dagger and began working on digging the nails out of the wood.

Olive had just worked out her first nail when she heard Thomas climbing the attic stairs again.

“I think you’ll want to see this, sir,” the servant said.

“What?”

“At the window.”

The wizard stood and pushed open a window. “It’s Giogi! He’s flying! He’s circling overhead. Quickly! The other window!”

Olive heard the two men scurry across the attic and push open a second window. “Mystra’s minions,” the wizard chuckled. “I’ll bet he doesn’t know how to land.”

Giogi! Olive thought. I have to warn him! I can signal him from the window. She scraped furiously at a second nail.

This will never do. Olive pictured Giogi flying by, with Flattery pointing at him, waiting for the right moment to reduce him to dust.

I have to risk the firetrap! she decided recklessly. With her body pressed against the wall, Olive reached out, turned the handle, and pushed!

The door swung outward silently.