The Wyvern's Spur

12 The Ass’s Pocket

Olive stamped her hoof and cursed Cat for the twentieth time. Why do mages always have to be so damned efficient? she wondered. As if it’s not bad enough she’s going to betray good ol’ Giogi, she’s got to go and leave me locked in the carriage house so I can’t get out to stop her. I knew that woman was trouble from the moment I set eyes on her.

With some effort, Olive had gotten her burro mouth around the door handle and turned it, but found that Cat had taken the precaution of sliding the bolt on the outside of the door. Ordinarily, given sufficient time, Olive could have worked the bolt over with a wire or something, but hooves severely limited her dexterity. I’d give a small fortune for a thumb, she thought, rattling the door handle with her teeth.

The burro paced the carriage house like a nervous cat. I may never make Giogi understand I’m not a burro. I’ve got to get out of here and find someone a little brighter than he and powerful enough to change me back into a halfling. Then I have to get back here and warn Giogi that Flattery is one of his relatives, as well as a murdering lunatic, and that Cat is really a viper.

Olive made a mental list of the few halfling adventurers in town who might be trusted with the secret of her awful and embarrassing transformation, and began thinking up ways to communicate with them. She found that with some effort she could scratch her own name in the dirt with a forehoof.

Now, if I could just get out of this carriage house, corner one of my people, and make them hold still for an hour while I demonstrate my abilities, I’m all set, Olive thought.

After an hour of planning, though, she grew tired of anticipating her escape and the heroics that would follow. Each version she imagined ended in a spine-tingling tale of derring-do and last-minute rescues, but all ignored the problem of getting out of the carriage house.

With nothing better to do, she began exploring the carriage house more fully. The last rays of the setting sun broke through the clouds and streamed through the windows, so there was enough light for her to make out her surroundings.

On the other side of the buggy was quite an organized assortment of adventuring gear. Not the kind of stuff one would expect to find in the carriage house of a man-about-town, Olive mused. This was where all the things that Giogi loaded on me this morning came from.

Everything Olive had carted into the catacombs was stashed neatly in a long line of open chests and crates, which also held sacks and backpacks, tents, blankets, saddlebags, chains, knives and whetstones, camp dishes, a beat-up shield, a Talis deck, dice, a backgammon board, mirrors, snares, nets, magnifying glasses, a few bottles of wine, and even lockpicks. In the loft overhead Olive could spy a few more chests, but she was unable to navigate the ladder to the loft. Gardening tools hung from the back wall, beside varying sizes of tack and saddles.

The halfling studied everything. Most of the equipment was old and worn, though well maintained. In the end, however, her interest in the carriage house’s trove waned. A burro had limited options with human tools.

I’m going to die of boredom, Olive thought, walking back into her stall. Cat had left Nameless’s portrait leaning against the wall, presumably to prevent a repeat of Flattery’s flame-flinging at their next rendezvous. The sun had set, but in the gray twilight within the building Olive could see the splotch of black paint on the portrait’s back, which blotted out the bard’s given name. The paint had begun peeling from the heat of Flattery’s outburst.

Let’s have a closer look, shall we? Olive thought. She brushed against the back of the canvas with her muzzle, and paint flaked away. She had to step back to focus both her eyes.

Nameless, you aren’t nameless anymore, she thought excitedly. Your name is … Finder? Finder Wyvernspur. That’s a peculiar sort of name. Sounds like a—like the finder’s stone!

Could the stone have been the Nameless Bard’s? Olive wondered. Is that why Elminster gave it to Alias? Is it only coincidence that it’s fallen into the hands of another Wyvernspur?

Olive’s nostrils twitched at the smell of the charred painting. Was Flattery’s violent reaction to the painting merely a reflection of his hatred for his entire family? No, Olive realized. Flattery’s first words upon flaming the portrait were “curse him.” His anger had been directed most specifically at Finder. Finder’s been in magical exile for nearly two hundred years, though. How could Flattery have recognized him? Has Flattery lived that long and remained as young as he looks by using magic?

Well, I’m never going to answer all these questions by just thinking about them, Olive sighed. I need to get out of here.

She left the stall to stand next to the outside door; she planned to try to slip out the next time someone opened it. I have to be ready to spring into action. I have to be as vigilant as a spider in a web, able to strike with the speed of a snake, as fierce and as wild as a panther, she thought.

As she waited for her chance, Olive fell asleep on her feet.

Voices out in the garden woke her. Darkness had fallen completely. Olive stiffened with alertness. The carriage house door opened a crack. Olive waited for her chance.

“All clear,” a male voice whispered.

The door opened farther, but it was blocked by two bodies. A man and a woman slipped in quickly and closed the door behind them. I could get that door open with my teeth if they would just move away from it, Olive thought.

“Steele, this is crazy,” the woman hissed. Olive recognized Julia’s voice. The man unshuttered his lantern, and its glow illuminated Julia’s lovely features. She looked less haughty at the moment. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, and her eyes were glazed with confusion.

The halfling stepped back into the shadow of the ruined buggy. Olive wouldn’t put it past the little witch to exact revenge on the burro for foiling her plan to drug Giogi.

“Sister, dear,” the man hissed, “would you stop whining and try to show some spine?”

Interesting advice, Olive thought, from a man who tortures kobolds and nearly had his own spine crushed in one of their traps.

Steele held his lantern up to survey the interior of the carriage house.

There’s a simple way, Olive realized, to tell Steele apart from Frefford, Nameless, and Flattery, aside from his age and the birthmark by his lip. Frefford had a sympathetic, pleasant smile, which would be impossible for the others to imitate. Nameless’s years of exile and subsequent tortures had taken a lot out of him, so he generally stared into space with a stern, thoughtful look—void of haughtiness, unlike Steele’s face.

Steele’s demeanor most resembled Flattery’s. They had the same cold, calculating look, and, Olive suspected, the same icy laugh. Except for that moment when he’d been burning down the barn—and had resembled a mad dog—Flattery’s coolness seemed imperturbable. Steele, on the other hand, was unable to hide a desperation that lay just beneath the surface. And, while Olive doubted he was half as powerful as the mage Flattery, Steele managed to look twice as arrogant.

“You still haven’t told me why, in the worst possible weather, we’ve come all the way out here from Redstone just to sneak into this awful barn,” Julia said, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

“It’s a carriage house, not a barn,” Steel corrected, “and we’re here because it’s unthinkable that our weak-willed, idiot Cousin Giogi should have the spur. It should be in the hands of someone who knows how to wield power. Someone who knows how to make the best use of it. Someone of strength and valor.”

Olive recalled how Alias had once called Nameless a man with overweening vanity. No doubt it runs in the family, the halfling thought. Compared to Steele and Flattery, though, Nameless is downright modest.

“Steele, would you get to the point,” Julia snapped.

“You said Giogi had a burro,” Steele said.

“Yes,” Julia replied. “A vicious little creature that I would rather not run into again.” She looked around the interior of the carriage house nervously.

The feeling is mutual, I’m sure, Olive thought.

“I need to find that burro,” Steele said.

Olive backed deeper into the shadows. She didn’t especially want to be found by a known torturer of kobolds. If only Julia would move away from that door, Olive thought.

“What’s so special about the burro?” Julia asked, leaning wearily against the door.

“It cost me a small fortune,” Steele told her, “but I paid the priest at the church of Waukeen to perform a divination for me. I asked where the spur was. He told me: ‘In the little ass’s pocket.’ ”

“If it’s in Giogi’s pocket, why are we out here?” Julia complained.

“It’s not in Giogi’s pocket,” Steele replied with exasperation. “It’s in the little ass’s pocket.” Very slowly, as if talking to a child, he explained to his sister, “A burro is a little ass.”

Wherever I go, Olive whined silently, people are always blaming me when something goes missing. It’s not fair. I’ve never even laid eyes on this stupid spur. Besides—

“Asses don’t have pockets,” Julia snapped.

Took the words right out of my mouth, Olive thought.

“Obviously it’s some sort of riddle,” Steele said. Feigning patience, Steele continued to explain to Julia in a slow, steady voice, “The spur could be in the burro’s saddlebags, or maybe Giogi made it a little jacket—that’s the sort of fool thing he’s always doing. Maybe the spur is inside the burro. Then I’ll have to skin it.”

Olive’s heart thudded in her chest as she looked around for some place safer to hide than the shadows. This isn’t fair, she thought again. I haven’t got the spur in my pocket. Unless—unless it’s in Jade’s magic purse, she realized.

Steele stepped into the stall that had been Olive’s. “Waukeen’s wits,” he snarled, “what a mess.”

“What is it?” Julia asked, too nervous to stray from her post by the door.

“Looks like there’s been a fire in here,” Steele said. “Maybe Giogi had an accident with a lamp.”

“Look at his carriage,” Julia said. “He told Aunt Dorath last night that there was nothing wrong with it.”

Steele stepped out of the burro’s stall. “Something snapped the wheel in two. I’ve never seen a break like that before.” He shook his head and turned to continue his search. “Maybe he keeps the burro with the mare,” Steele muttered. He opened the door to Daisyeye’s stall.

Olive’s stomach suddenly felt very queasy. Lady of Luck, don’t let it be the oats, she prayed silently.

Daisyeye nickered.

“Easy, girl,” Steele whispered, handing the horse a handful of oats. “You have any company in here? No.”

Olive held her breath and tried to keep herself from lowing in pain. Unable to double over, her first instinct was to lie down. You can’t do that, Olive-girl! she berated herself, that’s the worst thing you can do. You need to walk around. Fear of discovery by the spur hunters, though, kept Olive frozen in place.

“Aren’t you a beauty,” Steele said to Daisyeye. “Giogi always has the best horses,” he bemoaned, “and then names them all the same idiot name.”

“Maybe the burro’s out in the garden,” Julia suggested.

“In weather like this?” Steele shook his head. “Giogi’s too softhearted to leave an animal out in the cold and wet.”

“Maybe he rented it or boards it out.”

“I checked all the other stables in town. I found four mules, but no asses anywhere. No, it has to be here somewhere. Do you think he was stupid enough to leave it tied to his carriage?”

He’s going to search this side of the carriage house! Olive thought with panic. She hugged herself nervously in the darkness. I’ll never be able to fend off both of them. What should I do? Think, Olive-girl, she ordered herself, massaging her temples with her fingers.

Olive’s eyes widened with the sudden realization of what she was doing. She brought her fingers down in front of her and wiggled them in disbelief. I have fingers! Arms! I have arms! Olive looked down at her body. She was a halfling once again. Thank Tymora! she thought.

Steele’s lantern light began to creep around to the back of the buggy. Olive slipped as quietly as she could toward the ladder to the loft. She tested the first step gingerly. It felt quite sturdy.

She scampered up the ladder, rolled into the loft, and nearly choked herself to death.

Upon her transformation back to a halfling, her halter had slipped around her neck. A strap of the leather caught on the top of the ladder as she dove over the top. Olive rolled back and extricated herself quickly from the leather binding, but not before she’d gagged out loud.

“What was that?” Julia demanded as a small bit of hay drifted down in the lantern light.

“A cat or an owl or something,” Steele insisted. He stood beneath the ladder and held his lamp over his head, looking into the loft.

“Steele,” Julia said with the tone of a woman who would put up with no more nonsense, “burro’s cannot climb ladders.”

She’s right, Steele, Olive thought. Better listen to her.

“You didn’t even know what a burro was until this morning,” Steele pointed out. “How would you know?”

“It walks around on four feet, Steele. For heaven’s sake, be reasonable.” She slapped her arms at her sides and snapped, “I don’t know why I’ve put up with this madness of yours. I agreed to help you sneak the spur from the crypt,” Julia said, desperately trying to convince her brother of her loyalty. “It’s not my fault the door opened twelve days early and someone else stole the spur.”

“We only have Drone’s word for that,” Steele said.

“Why would Uncle Drone lie about that?” Julia asked with disbelief.

“Think, Julia. Giogi is away for three seasons, supposedly on a mysterious mission for the crown. He comes back late one evening. The crypt alarm goes off the next morning.”

“You think Giogi was using the spur on his trip?” Julia asked.

“Precisely,” Steele said. “Uncle Drone was covering for him, just like he covered for Cole. Drone must have forgotten to turn off the magical alarm so Giogi could return the spur when he got back from his trip. Uncle Drone told us he couldn’t see who the thief was—because he didn’t want to give Giogi away.” Steele continued by digging through the chests of adventuring equipment and looking in every tiny nook of the carriage house.

“But if Giogi went into the crypt to return the spur,” Julia objected, “why was it missing?”

Steele shrugged. “Giogi changed his mind at the last moment. Not realizing the alarm had alerted everyone at Redstone, he thought it didn’t matter if he kept the spur or not.”

“But Giogi went into the catacombs looking for the thief,” Julia pointed out.

“Only to keep up the appearance of innocence,” Steele said.

“Why would Drone say the thief was locked in the catacombs?”

“To stall for time, so I didn’t have a divination done sooner. I’m on to their game now. Without Uncle Drone, Giogi is no match for me.” Steele thumped his fist on the buggy. It wobbled a little on its three good wheels. “There’s no burro in here,” he growled at last. “Where else could it be?”

“Giogi could have left it with a friend,” Julia suggested. “Shaver Cormaeril keeps a private stable. It could be there.”

“That’s a possibility. Let’s go.” Steele returned to the doorway.

“Where?”

“To the Cormaeril estate, of course.”

“Steele, it’s dark and cold and slicker than oil out there. Couldn’t we just head home and check in the morning?”

“No. It will be easier in the dark, and I need you to keep watch,” he said, shuttering his lantern. He pushed open the door.

“Steele, I want to go home,” Julia said with an iron determination.

“Fine,” her brother snapped. He paused, silhouetted by the moonlight shining in the doorway. “Go home. You’re useless, anyway.” Steele disappeared into the darkness.

Julia stood in the open doorway, and Olive thought she heard the noblewoman sob. After a few moments, though, Julia fled the carriage house without bothering to close the door. Olive heard Julia whisper, “Steele, wait up.”

Still in the loft, Olive rolled over and sighed with relief. She stretched out on the straw, wriggling her fingers and toes in the hay. She was once again the lovely, talented halfling she’d been born and bred to be. Even better, the queasiness had left her. It wasn’t the oats, after all, she realized. Probably an effect of the transformation.

She was still wearing the clothing she’d worn the night before. She patted down her vest pockets. Jade’s magical purse was still there. “I am an ass,” Olive whispered with a chuckle, “for not having figured it out before.” Who else, she thought, would have been so bold and cunning as to steal the Wyvernspur’s prize heirloom out from under their noses? Who else could have gotten past the guardian? Only my protégé, Jade.

Olive’s pride decayed within moments. Jade would never steal anything again. The halfling’s stomach cramped up again, this time with renewed anguish over Jade’s death. She curled into a ball with her fists clenched, trying to fight back her misery.

It was no use. The emotion surged through her and took control. Olive wept, something she hadn’t done since her mother had died. She lay sobbing in the straw until she was weak with the effort and had given herself a headache.

She lay there a while longer feeling empty inside. Finally her determination to avenge Jade’s death returned. Flattery will pay, Olive thought. He may think he’s tough, slapping Cat around and murdering my Jade, but he’s about to learn otherwise.

Once I return the spur to Giogi, we’ll find out what its secret powers are and use them against Flattery, she thought.

Olive sat up and wiped the residue of the tears from her face. She sniffed, looked at her sleeve, and realized that the dirt and grime she’d accumulated as a burro remained with her. If I’m going to enlist Giogi’s help, though, she thought, I need to present a more formidable appearance. I need a bath, clean clothes, a decent night’s sleep, and time to think up a plan. I’ll contact Giogi in the morning, she decided.

Olive stood, brushed the straw off her clothing, and climbed down from the loft. In another minute, she was outside Giogi’s front gate and skating her way along the ice-covered roads, back to her room at Maela’s boarding house.

Giogi stood at the bottom of the staircase, watching Cat descend. He was sure there wasn’t a more beautiful woman in all of Cormyr. She wore a low-cut gown of lavender satin covered with golden lace. Her long hair was fastened high on her head with a matching golden lace net.

“Is this all right?” Cat asked, halting two steps above him.

“I don’t think I’d ever seen mother wear that,” Giogi said, trying hard to avoid staring at the dress’s decolletage. I didn’t know she had anything so, um—”

“Revealing?” Cat suggested, crossing her hands coyly over the gown’s neckline, which was nowhere near her neck.

“Small,” Giogi said, recovering his wits. “My mother was not as slender as you.” He offered Cat his arm.

“Not while she was your mother, perhaps,” Cat replied, laying her fingertips on his sleeve and moving down beside him, “but as a girl, she must have been. I found this at the very bottom of the chest. It might have been something she wore when she came out.”

“Oh, she was never a debutante,” Giogi explained as he escorted the mage through the main hall. “Her father, Shar of Suzail, was a carpenter. He made furniture, of course, but he also supervised the timberwork of all the bridges in Cormyr, and the locks at Wheloon, and they’re all still standing. He made a lot of money, but, according to father, he was very humble. King Rhigaerd II, Azoun’s father, offered him a peerage for his work, but he turned it down. He said he couldn’t do both—work and be a lord. Old Shar begged Father to rescue his daughter, though, when she was kidnapped by an evil mage. That’s how my parents met.”

“Your mother would have been presented to court, though, when she married your father.”

“Yes, I guess she must have.”

“Perhaps she wore this then. I didn’t want to borrow anything too valuable, but this one fit so well. I did pick out something especially nice for you.”

“Pardon?” Giogi asked.

Cat halted and held Giogi back from the dining room door. “Here,” she said, pulling something out of her sleeve. “I found it in the jewelry box.” Cat held out a platinum headpiece and latched it about Giogi’s forehead. “There. That’s just right. It gives you the look of nobility.”

“It feels funny,” Giogi said, shifting it about on his head.

Cat laughed. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, steering him toward the dining room door.

Giogi turned the handle and led the enchantress in to dinner.

The nobleman was heartened to see that their fancy attire had pacified Thomas considerably. The manservant dropped his earlier reserve and served dinner with considerable courtesy. Giogi caught the servant smiling at him once and sneaking appreciative glances at Cat often.

Thomas wished his master had removed the rakish jewelry in his ear and hair, but the headdress actually pleased the servant. He decided it gave Giogi a commanding air—something he’d always lacked. As for the woman, though her earlier slip in decorum marked her of “lower” birth, her speech revealed a certain amount of education.

He could easily see that his master’s interest extended beyond the woman’s ability as a spell-caster. It would be impossible not to do so. The woman’s attractiveness startled Thomas each time he looked at her.

Ever alert to the dangers that beautiful women presented to a man of his master’s fortunes, Thomas considered carefully what course he should take to ensure that Giogioni did not entangle himself with this woman on a personal level. Such a situation, he decided as he served the soup, could only lead to scandal.

The servant considered letting news of the woman’s presence leak to Dorath, but he dismissed that idea almost immediately. Giogi’s aunt would take too heavy-handed an approach, the kind that drove couples closer together. Similarly, Thomas realized while presenting the roast duck, a cautionary word of his own to the young nobleman could backfire drastically.

By the time he cleared the dinner plates and served the apples and cheese, Thomas felt the need to consult with someone who not only cared for Giogi, but who understood the subtlety of the situation, someone who could also keep an eye on Cat and make sure she wasn’t using her magic to influence him. The servant realized that he would have to wait until later for such a consultation, after Giogi had retired.

“So,” Cat began after Thomas had retreated to Servant Land for the final time, “this man you went to see, Sudacar, couldn’t tell you how your father used the spur?”

“No, but we think my father could use it to fly.”

“It must have more power than that,” Cat said after sipping her brandy, “or Flattery wouldn’t have sent me after it. He can already fly.”

“Well, Sudacar suggested I speak with Mother Lleddew. She adventured with my father once, so she may know something more.”

“Who is Mother Lleddew?” Cat asked.

“The high priestess of the House of the Lady. That’s our temple to Selûne. I hiked all the way up there tonight, by the Immer Stream path. It got dark, and I fell in the stream. I told you that already.”

“That’s when you were attacked by the lacedons but were saved by the bear,” Cat said, remembering.

“Yes. One of them scratched me right across my face—the lacedons, not the bear. Then, when I got to the temple, there was a girl.” Giogi knit his brow. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but that girl did look like the Cledwyll statue, except much younger. Since the guardian said I’d been kissed by Selûne, I sort of associated this girl with Selûne, since she healed me with a kiss, and then—poof!—I was home. Oh, but first she told me Mother Lleddew wasn’t there, and that I should try tomorrow. It was all very strange after the fight with the undead. Do you think I imagined it all?”

“Well,…” Cat hesitated and looked down at her lap, then she looked up again. “Do you know what adventurers mean when they say someone was kissed by Selûne, Master Giogioni?”

“Well, Selûne is the goddess of the moon, so I thought it meant I was born under a full moon or something. Sort of like being born under a lucky star.”

Cat shook her head. “Sometimes it’s used to describe a person who goes a little mad. Usually, though, it means a person cursed with lycanthropy.”

Giogi paled. “You mean like werewolves?”

Cat nodded. “Or wererats or tigers or bears.”

“Wererats or tigers or bears? Do you think that’s why I have those awful dreams about hunting things?”

“Have you ever noticed if they’re stronger when the moon is full?”

Giogi thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve never really kept track. No, it’s too preposterous. I’d know if I was a lycanthrope. I’ll admit that sometimes I get in late after imbibing a little too much grape and things are pretty foggy the next morning, but I’ve never come home in torn clothes covered with blood. And tonight’s a full moon, isn’t it? I haven’t shaved since this morning, but I’m not looking any hairier than usual, am I?”

“Sometimes such curses don’t show up until a person reaches a certain age. Twenty, usually.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Sometimes twenty-five or thirty.”

“Then what about Aunt Dorath? She has the same dreams.”

“She does?”

“Well, she did. She said I had to ignore them.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cat said. “Our dreams tell us important things about ourselves, and sometimes the gods talk to us in them. Do you plan to go back to this Mother Lleddew to find out more about your father and the spur?”

“Yes, the girl in the temple said to try again tomorrow afternoon,” Giogi explained.

“May I come with you?”

“I think it would be safer if you stayed here, so we don’t run the risk of Flattery spotting you.”

Cat looked down at her lap again. “I can’t hide in your home forever, Master Giogioni,” she whispered.

Giogi was suddenly aware of the pounding of his heart. He wanted to say that he wished she could, but he bit back those words. “Just a little while longer,” he assured her. “When we’ve found the spur and locked it safely away again, Flattery will give up and go home. If not, well, I’ll get Sudacar’s advice. He’s the king’s man. He’s supposed to preserve the peace. He’ll know what to do.”

Cat looked up and smiled weakly, but Giogi was afraid he hadn’t reassured her.

“Do you think that if your uncle did know more about the thief, he might have written it down somewhere?” she asked.

“Of course!” Giogi said, smacking his head. “He kept a journal. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. He kept it in his lab.”

“Perhaps, if you don’t think it’s too personal, you could let me help out by reading through it, to save you time while you visit Selûne’s temple. Maybe, too, you could ask Mother Lleddew to perform a divination for you.”

“Steele was supposed to be getting that done this afternoon. He may already have learned something. I’ll ask him. The list of things I have to do is getting pretty long, isn’t it? I know it’s not very late, but I’ve had a long day, and I should be getting to bed so I can get an early start tomorrow. Would you think me a terrible host if I left you on your own?” Giogi asked.

“Of course not,” Cat said. “I’m tired as well.”

Giogi escorted the mage from the candlelit dining room to the hallway. He felt very odd following her up the stairs. While he’d offered her his protection without hesitation, no other woman except his mother had ever stayed in his house before.

Cat halted by his bedroom door and turned to face him.

Giogi, feeling very awkward, stopped short and clasped his hands nervously behind his back. “So, you prefer to stay in the lilac room, then?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s too lovely to resist.”

“I’ll let Thomas know in the morning.”

Cat stepped closer and stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. “Good night, Master Giogioni. Sweet dreams,” she whispered.

Giogi blinked hard. “Good night,” he replied weakly.

Cat turned and walked down the hall to the lilac room. She let herself in and closed the door behind her without looking back. Giogi stood in place for several moments. With a sigh, he entered his own room.

It wasn’t until Giogi had finished undressing that he remembered that he meant to stop in at the Fish to look for Olive Ruskettle and ask her about Alias of Westgate. “Bother,” he muttered, “I’m just too tired. It’ll wait until tomorrow,” he decided, sliding between the sheets.

As exhausted as he was, the nobleman lay awake for a long time, afraid to fall asleep and dream. If only Cat’s wish of sweet dreams for him could come true, he wouldn’t feel so anxious.

He thought he heard Cat crying once, and he hovered on the edge of the bed for several minutes, debating whether he should leave her to her privacy or go in and try to comfort her. The crying subsided before he’d made up his mind. Part of him was relieved, since offering comfort to a lady in the middle of the night could be misinterpreted, but part of him was disappointed he’d missed his opportunity to show he cared. He got back into bed feeling agitated and unhappy. He sat propped up against the headboard, listening for any further sounds from the lilac room.

Finally, unable to resist the silence and his fatigue, he drifted off, still sitting up. As the guardian had threatened, the dream came.

As usual, he soared over the meadow. The field was different tonight, though. It was the meadow atop Spring Hill, and the House of the Lady stood in the center. A great black bear stood on the temple stairs. The young girl acolyte ran through the meadow. Giogi had no control over the dream. His flight was quick and smooth, and the girl didn’t stand a chance. She dodged and darted like a rabbit, but, in the end, Giogi dropped down on her with his rending claws. She shrieked with the death cry of all the other prey in his dreams.

Giogi started awake. He was drenched with sweat but very, very grateful he’d missed the end of the dream.

Then he realized he still heard the shriek. It came from Cat’s room.