Novak,Kate - Finders Stone 2 - Wyvern's Spur

Wyvern's SpurWyvern's Spur

By Kate Novak and Jeff Grubb

Map of Immersea

Wyvernspur Family Tree

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."

Novak, Kate - Finders Stone 2 - Wyvern's Spur

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