The Wyvern's Spur

4 Night on the Town

The Immer Inn catered to an exclusive clientele. It was patronized by only those travelers and members of Immersea society who were able and willing to pay exorbitant prices for board, drink, and lodging. Giogi, who had on occasion slept off one too many drinks at the inn, could attest that the guest rooms were very nice. As a local resident, though, he was generally more familiar with the board and drink aspects of the inn.

The decor of the dining hall was the inn’s biggest attraction, though. The floor was covered with plush carpeting, the walls lined with elaborate tapestries, and the ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers. The room was warm and dry and furnished with tables covered with elegant linen and surrounded by the most comfortably cushioned chairs in Cormyr.

Giogi had patronized the Immer Inn since he’d come of age six years before, but, after being away nearly a year, he thought the dining room seemed as strange as his own home had felt. He thought that perhaps it was because the inn was nearly empty this evening, but his friends were there, and their company was strange, too.

They’d welcomed him back heartily enough, but they had cut short the tale of his travels with their pointed lack of interest, insisted his yellow crystal must be ordinary quartz, and teased him about his boots. In addition, he no longer understood half the things to which they alluded in their conversations and jokes. So, though he was not really keen on it, he’d accepted their offer to play a game of Elemental Empires. The game, at least, was familiar.

Giogi began drinking too much and losing lots of money, habits that also were familiar. With a roll of a pair of ivory dice on a felt-covered gaming table, Chancy Lluth had just vanquished all Shaver Cormaeril’s troops. In response, Shaver sacrificed all his leaders to protect a hidden card.

“Primary of flames—that’s a guarded assassin,” Giogi announced when Shaver revealed the card to Chancy. Giogi grinned. One could always count on Shaver to do something vindictive just before he lost.

With a scowl, Chancy tossed one of his knights into the discard pile. Shaver surrendered his unused cards to Chancy and signaled a servant to bring him a fresh drink.

Shaver drew a priest from Chancy’s unused cards to replace his murdered knight.

“How many cards do you want, Giogi?” Lambsie Danae asked. Lambsie had folded much earlier, as usual, unwilling to risk as much money as the others. Lambsie’s father, while one of the wealthiest farmers in Immersea, kept Lambsie on a strict gambling allowance, and Lambsie never exceeded his limit.

Giogi stared at the crystal chandelier hanging over the game table and tried to calculate the odds of his drawing a card he could use. His element was earth, and there weren’t too many stone cards left in the deck. Nor were there too many major cards he could use without the minor stone suit cards to act as armies to protect them. Each unused card he held doubled the price of a new card, but he could not afford to discard those he held—they were mostly wave cards, which Chancy, whose element was water, would snatch up and use against him.

“First card will cost you sixty-four, and if you can’t play it, the second one will cost a hundred twenty-eight,” Lambsie said.

“I can multiply by two, thank you, Lambsie,” Giogi said with an insulted sniff, though after the last brandy he’d downed, he probably couldn’t.

Giogi counted out sixty-four points’ worth of his yellow scoring sticks. Lambsie dealt him a card, a jester—nearly useless, but playable. Giogi turned it over and sifted it into his single army line.

“You’ve got a two-strength army stacked with a sorceress, a bard, and a jester, Giogi,” Chancy said. “Are they leading your troops or entertaining them?”

Ignoring Chancy’s taunt, Giogi paid another sixty-four points. “Another card, please,” he asked Lambsie.

Lambsie dealt him a four of winds, unplayable, but safe to discard, except, once he discarded, Giogi could buy no more cards. He slid the card into his unused pile. “One more,” he said sliding one hundred twenty-eight points’ worth of sticks across the table to Lambsie.

Lambsie dealt him a third card.

Giogi drew a priest out from his unused stack and played it with the new card.

“The moon!” Shaver exclaimed. “How lucky can you get?”

“You know what they say,” Lambsie said, “Tymora looks out for fools.”

“The tide goes out, wave troops retreat,” Giogi said.

Visibly annoyed, Chancy picked all his minor Talis cards off the table and slipped them into his unused stack of cards.

“I think my leaders will challenge yours to personal combat,” Giogi said. “My sorceress against your priest and my rogue against your warrior.”

“That doesn’t leave anyone to command your troops,” Chancy pointed out.

“Jesters can command troops when the moon is in play,” Giogi said.

“That’s right,” Lambsie agreed.

Confronted with the possibility of losing big, Chancy asked. “What kind of surrender terms are you offering?” he asked.

“Half your debt,” Giogi offered magnanimously.

“Accepted,” Chancy said, offering his knight and priest to Giogi.

“Earth wins,” Shaver declared. “You let him off too easy, Giogi.”

“It’s getting late,” Giogi said. “I have to be going.”

“So soon?”

Giogi nodded, signaling a servant for his check.

His friends counted up their scoring sticks. Lambsie paid out his eight silver pieces’ worth of debt while Shaver and Chancy wrote out IOUs. Shaver would be good for his before a day had passed. As head of the second noble family in Immersea, Shaver’s father was always keen to prove to any Wyvernspur that the Cormaerils had no problem meeting their obligations. It would take some time before he could wheedle Chancy’s money out of him, though. Chancy’s father, like Lambsie’s was a very wealthy farmer, as well as a successful merchant. He lavished his money on Chancy, but Chancy had more gambling debts than Cormyr had trees, or so people said.

Bottles, the inn’s owner, came up to their table and presented the tab without a word. People didn’t generally argue over a check presented by Bottles. The retired soldier’s massive physique discouraged the timid, and his gruff, unsophisticated manner indicated to his haughtiest customers that he was not a man one could intimidate.

Giogi glanced at the check for the total and reached for his purse. Then he began patting down his pockets frantically while Bottles cleared away their glasses.

Chancy smacked him on the back and asked, “Something wrong, Giogi?”

Giogi turned to his drinking buddies and muttered, “I seem to have mislaid my purse.”

“Oh, dear. We’ll have to call out the sheriff now,” Shaver announced in a deadpan voice. “Bottles doesn’t take anyone’s chits. Cash and carry only.”

Giogi swallowed hard. When Bottles had married the inn’s previous owner’s widow, the inn had been debt-ridden. The business thrived under Bottles’s management, not just because he kept the same staff as had his predecessor, but because he had a shrewd head for business—in other words—no credit. His policy was renowned throughout Immersea, as were the two youths he kept on retainer for dealing with deadbeats and other heavy lifting.

The young Wyvernspur rummaged through his pockets again, then checked his boots for good measure. He pulled out the yellow crystal, which glittered in the chandelier light.

It would be impossibly hard to let the stone out of his hand, let alone out of his sight, but he had announced he was hosting the evening’s revelries, and the humiliation of reneging on friends would be even more unbearable.

Giogi laid the crystal on the table. “Will you take this as collateral, Bottles? I haven’t had it appraised, but I’m sure it’s worth a great deal. It is to me, anyway. I’ll ransom it back tomorrow.”

“No, Bottles,” Lambsie cried, “hold out for those boots. They’re the most comfortable pair in the Realms.”

Giogi flushed. Why doesn’t anyone like these boots? he wondered. They’re so sensible.

“Already got a pair of them kind,” Bottles said.

Shaver, Lambsie, and Chancy broke into laughter.

Bottles eyed the three “gentlemen” with disdain. He pushed the yellow crystal away. “Keep your stone, milord. Your credit’s good here.”

“Whoa!” Shaver exclaimed. “Is that the breaking of a tradition I hear?”

“How come my credit isn’t good here?” Chancy demanded.

“ ’E feels bad about it. You don’t,” Bottles replied.

Giogi smiled gratefully. “Thanks, awfully, Bottles. I’ll have Thomas stop by to settle up first thing in the morning.”

“See that you do,” Bottles said, and walked off.

“First thing in the morning for Giogi, isn’t that somewhere around noon?” Shaver joked.

“For your information,” Giogi replied with a haughty tone, too inebriated to consider what he was saying, “I’ll be up before the crack of dawn tomorrow, crawling through the family crypt.”

“Whatever for?” Chancy asked.

“Someone’s stole the spur and he’s trapped down there,” Giogi explained in a conspiratorial whisper. “Or not,” he added, still confused by Uncle Drone’s mysterious confidence to the contrary.

“Not really?” Shaver gasped.

Lambsie and Chancy looked up with horror.

Too late Giogi recalled that Aunt Dorath hadn’t wanted outsiders to know about the theft.

“But the spur’s supposed to ensure your family’s success,” Chancy said.

“No,” Shaver corrected, “his family succession. Right, Giogi?”

“That’s just a superstition. Look, do you think you might keep this between the four of us?” Giogi asked. “It’s best if it doesn’t get around.”

“Of course,” Shaver said. Lambsie and Chancy nodded in agreement.

Looking at his friends’ faces, Giogi did not feel reassured. They were all too blank. One of Uncle Drone’s little sayings popped into his head: Nothing flutters so frantically when caged like a secret, nor flies so fast when released.

Giogi didn’t like to imagine Aunt Dorath’s reaction if, when she sat down to breakfast tomorrow, she were to find a letter of condolence from Lady Dina Cormaeril, Shaver’s mother. At least I’ll be in the catacombs by then, Giogi thought. Maybe Aunt Dorath will have calmed down by the time I come out. No, he realized, Aunt Dorath could stew for hours and still be boiling mad by sunset.

With a feeling of doom, Giogi took leave of his friends and wove his way out of the Immer Inn. He headed west, toward the Wyvernwater. “A bracing sea breeze would fit the bill,” he said aloud, though there was no one present to hear him, nor did it matter to him at that moment that the Wyvernwater was a freshwater lake, not a salty sea.

He grew less anxious walking in the fresh, cold air, and by the time he’d turned south on the main road, he’d reasoned himself out of his fear. If Aunt Dorath finds out I babbled about the theft, he thought, I can always go abroad again. Maybe, though, if I find the spur, she’ll forgive me and I can stay home.

A stiff gust of wind off the lake blew right through his cloak. He shivered and suddenly felt very tired. What am I doing walking around in this cold? I could be home sleeping in my warm bed.

He quickened his stride, but before he turned down the road leading home he remembered the duties facing him in the morning. His desire to sleep vanished, and he slowed his pace. If he stayed awake, it would be hours before he had to go into the crypt with Freffie and Steele and face the guardian.

Somewhere nearby Giogi heard the strumming of a yarting and the jangle of a tantan. He turned toward the music to find the door to the Five Fine Fish standing open as a crowd of travelers squeezed its way in.

“Sudacar,” Giogi whispered, suddenly remembering the local lord’s invitation to stop by the Fish to talk about Cole.

The Fish was renowned for its ale and very popular as a meeting place among adventurers who passed through Immersea. Giogi’s friends all patronized the Immer Inn, so Giogi, who had never felt very comfortable among strangers, had not been in the Five Fine Fish very often. It would be full of strangers tonight, but Sudacar, while not exactly a friend, could hardly be considered a stranger—not if he knew things about Cole that Uncle Drone hadn’t even spoken of.

Determined to learn more about his father’s adventuring life, Giogi strode purposefully toward the inn. He slipped through the front door behind the last of the travelers and squeezed his way past them into the common room.

The room was packed with people. Five musicians in the corner struck up a reel, and several people began dancing on the wooden floor. The dancers’ shadows swayed against the wall whenever someone bumped into one of the oil lamps hanging from the low ceilings. The tables and chairs of the Fish’s common room were built for durability rather than style, not carved, but hewn, and polished, not with wax, but by generations of oily hands and elbows. Lem, the inn’s owner, was tapping a fresh keg of ale, banging the spigot into the barrel in time to the music. He looked up at Giogi and gave him a wink.

Giogi searched the room for Sudacar while people coming in and out jostled him. Finally the young noble spotted the local lord in a corner opposite the musicians. He was seated with a few members of the town guard and some adventurers Giogi did not recognize. Sudacar rose to greet one of the travelers who’d just come in—a wool merchant. The two men gave each other a hearty handshake. Sudacar offered the newcomer a seat and signaled for more drinks before sitting back down himself.

Giogi suddenly felt very nervous. True, Sudacar had invited him, but the local lord was obviously very busy with friends and associates. Uncertain as to what sort of reception Sudacar would have for him, Giogi turned about and left the inn.

Once outside again, Giogi felt aimless. He meandered toward the market green with his hands stuffed deep in his cloak pockets and his head tilted back toward the stars. At the near end of the green stood a statue of Azoun III, grandfather of the present king. The stone monarch sat on a granite stallion frozen in the act of rearing and trampling rock-carved bandits. Giogi leaned against a stone bandit and sighed loudly.

“This was not the homecoming I expected,” he explained to the bandit.

The wind, chill and damp, blew from the lake. Giogi sighed again and watched the ghosts of his breath drift east toward his own home.

“The house felt like a tomb when I got in last night,” he told the bandit. “I have to spend my second day back, tomorrow, visiting the family crypt. Shaver says I missed the best summer regatta in ten years. His yacht, The Dancing Girl, came in second against four hundred-to-one odds. And Chancy says that his sister, Minda, did not wait for me. She married Darol Harmon, from over in Arabel. Not that there was anything official between us, mind you. I thought we had an understanding, but I guess a year is a long time for a girl to wait.”

Giogi studied the bandit’s grimace. “I suppose, though, that you have your own troubles.”

The bandit did not keep up his end of the conversation, so Giogi continued. “Everyone laughs at my boots, and no one wants to listen to the tale of my travels. I’ll admit, there aren’t any princes or elves or casts of thousands in it, but it does have a whopping big dragon, and an evil sorceress, and a lovely, but quite mad, lady sell-sword. Wait. There was one person who was interested,” Giogi amended. “Gaylyn, Freffie’s wife. Nice girl, and pretty, too. Olive Ruskettle, the renowned bard, wrote a song in honor of their wedding—Freffie and Gaylyn’s wedding, that is. Now, how did it go?”

Giogi began singing snatches of the song: “Something, something, syncopated breath. Something, something, love transcends even death.”

“Giogioni!”

Giogi was so startled, he slid off the stone bandit.

Samtavan Sudacar had to grin at the sight of the young nobleman lying beneath the hooves of the stone monarch’s stallion as if he were being trampled with the bandits about him. “That’s no sort of company for you to keep, boy,” Sudacar said, offering him a hand up.

Giogi accepted the assistance gratefully, and as Sudacar hefted him to his feet, he could easily imagine the well-muscled arms slaying giants. “What are you doing here?” Giogi asked.

Sudacar laughed. “Coming to fetch you. Lem said you came in but left. Couldn’t find me in the crush, eh?”

Giogi nodded, then shook his head. It would be too difficult to explain that he was afraid he wouldn’t be welcome.

“I came out to bring you back inside, unless you’re too busy rendering assistance to Azoun’s granddad. Getting to be a habit with you, I hear.”

“What?” Giogi asked, wondering if Sudacar meant that rumors abounded that he drank heavily and often collapsed beneath town monuments.

“Lending the royal family a hand. Someone told me tonight you weren’t just abroad, you were on a mission south for His Highness.”

“Oh, that,” Giogi replied. “It wasn’t much, really. Just a messenger job.”

Sudacar chuckled at the nobleman’s modesty. “You’ll have to tell us all about it inside. If you’re not too hoarse or too tired to tell it again.”

Giogi grinned. Someone wanted to hear his story. He stood up straighten “Love to oblige.”

The two men walked toward the Five Fine Fish, but just outside, Giogi hesitated. “I just remembered. I, uh, seem to have mislaid my purse.”

Sudacar looked at the nobleman darkly. “You, too, eh? A lot of that going around lately. Seems we have a new element in town. I’ve got to have Culspiir look into it. Don’t worry. Tonight you’re in my hands. We’ve got to raise that glass in honor of your father.”

Entering the Fish with Sudacar was very different from entering it alone. Sudacar knew everyone, and everyone in turn seemed to know and like Sudacar. The crowd parted for him. He had the best table in the house. He sat Giogi down at his right-hand side and introduced him around as Cole Wyvernspur’s son. Many of the older merchants and their even older adventurer bodyguards nodded in approval. Giogi saw some of the younger adventurers whisper a question to their elders, and when the veterans whispered back the answer, the younger adventurers turned friendly smiles on the nobleman.

As the tavernkeeper set fresh mugs of ale down in front of Giogi and Sudacar, the local lord asked, “Lem, Mistress Ruskettle come in yet?”

“Not yet,” Lem replied. “Odd thing. You know, usually you could set the town clock by her stomach.”

“I’m looking for that woman she goes around with, Jade More.”

“So’s Ruskettle. Been asking all week if anyone’s seen her.”

Sudacar knitted his brow. “Jade leave town?”

Lem shook his head uncertainly. “Her packs are still up in her room, not stuffed with rags, either. I checked. Full of nice clothes, and plenty of money. I’m holding it for her return.”

“Business must be good, whatever it is she’s in.”

“Aye,” Lem agreed with a smirk.

When Lem had left their side, Sudacar gave a toast, “To Cole Wyvernspur, a brave adventurer.”

Giogi drank to his father, but his curiosity was suddenly running in another direction. “This Mistress Ruskettle,” he said. “Is she Olive Ruskettle, the bard?”

“Yes. She’s been wintering here. You know about her?” Sudacar asked.

“She sang at Freffie’s—um—Lord Frefford’s wedding to Gaylyn. In a way, she’s responsible for my being sent on my mission for the king.”

“Oh?” Sudacar said encouragingly.

“She had this bodyguard with her, named Alias, you see. Very pretty but quite mad. Alias, that is.”

“Yes, Ruskettle’s told us all about her. Wait a minute!” Sudacar said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Are you the noble whom Alias attacked after doing an impression of Azoun?”

Giogi nodded. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted, relieved to see that Sudacar did not seem to be offended that he’d done an impression of His Highness. “Anyway,” Giogi continued, “on my way home after the wedding, I was waylaid by this dragon who ate my horse—a monstrous, ancient red beast—the dragon, that is, not my horse. A good horse, too. Then this dragon sent me to His Majesty with the offer that she would leave the country if he could tell her where Alias was.”

Sudacar’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like the idea of making deals with evil red dragons. “What did His Majesty do?”

“His Majesty didn’t want to have anything to do with it, but Vangy told him that Alias could be an assassin and convinced him to settle with the dragon.”

“Sounds like Vangerdahast,” Sudacar muttered.

“Yes,” Giogi agreed, taking a sip from his mug. The young Wyvernspur had no love for the court wizard, who was an old chum of Aunt Dorath’s. In his few interviews with the wizard, Giogi felt more than a little intimidated by the man’s magic powers and overweening certainty that he was always right.

“Still,” Sudacar sighed, “the old mage keeps our king safe, and for that we should be grateful. The king’s health,” he added, raising his mug.

“Long live the king,” Giogi agreed, raising his drink.

They both took a pull on their ale and sat quietly as it ran down their throats.

“So why did you travel to Westgate?” Sudacar asked.

“Well, Vangy never really did know exactly where this Alias was. Seems she couldn’t be magically detected, but she was supposed to come from Westgate. So His Majesty sent me down there to inquire of what the authorities knew about her, and to see if she showed up there. She did. I spotted her outside the city. I spent the rest of the season in Westgate trying to find her again, or some information about her, without luck. I wintered there and came back as soon as a safe sea crossing could be made.”

“According to Ruskettle, Alias is up in Shadowdale now,” Sudacar said.

“Really? Maybe I ought to bop off a letter to His Majesty about that,” Giogi said.

“Let me handle it. According to Ruskettle, Alias was working for Elminster. Vangy ought to know that before he tries making any more trouble for the lady.”

Giogi grinned. He wondered if a wizard as powerful as Elminster could make Vangerdahast as nervous as Vangerdahast made him.

“So how’d you like Westgate? I noticed you got yourself a pair of clodders. Won’t get a better pair of boots anywhere in the Realms, not even in Waterdeep.”

“Got one of these, too,” Giogi said, pulling out the yellow crystal from the top of his boot.

Sudacar sat up more attentively. “Boy, where did you get that?” he asked.

“Found it lying in the mud just outside Westgate.”

“Found it lying—” Sudacar’s words halted. He looked flabbergasted. “Boy, that’s a finder’s stone. I know, because Elminster himself loaned me one once.”

“What’s a finder’s stone?”

“It’s a magic crystal. It helps the lost find their way.”

“But I’m not lost,” Giogi said.

Sudacar gave the nobleman a queer look. “Maybe you better hang onto it, just in case.”

“Oh, I intend to. I like it. It makes me—this is going to sound silly—”

“It makes you feel happy,” Sudacar said.

“Yes. How’d you—oh, right, you said you had one once.” Giogi tucked the crystal back into his boot.

“Tell me more about Westgate. Things are shaking down there, I hear.”

Giogi nodded. “A dead dragon fell on their city just before I arrived, followed by an earthquake the day after. Then there was a power struggle going on for the property and business of some sorceress and her allies. A woman named Cassana, the Followers of Moander, and the Fire Knives all were missing after the earthquake.”

“The Fire Knives. Now that is good news. I remember the year His Majesty broke their charter for the murder of that scullery maid. Ever since Azoun sent the thugs packing they’ve been a threat to him. May they stay missing,” he toasted and took another swig of ale.

Giogi did likewise. The warmth of the ale augmented the warm, comfortable feeling he had in Sudacar’s company.

Giogi and Sudacar drank and compared stories about Westgate until Lem stood over them and coughed politely. Giogi looked up and realized that the other tables and booths were empty, and Lem’s waiters were stacking the chairs and benches.

The two noblemen were the last customers in the tavern, and Giogi suspected Lem had stayed open well after hours just to oblige Sudacar. Sudacar left a small pile of gold lions on the table, stood, and led the way to the door. Giogi stumbled after him.

Many of the streetlamps had burned all their day’s oil and expired or been blown out by the wind, but the waxing moon gave the two men plenty of light to see their way. They crossed the market green together and halted beneath the statue of “Azoun’s Triumph.”

“You know,” Giogi said, “you let me babble on so long, you never had a chance to tell me about my father.”

Sudacar grinned. “It’s part of my fiendish plot. Now you have to visit me another night,” he said.

“I’d like that,” Giogi said.

“We’ll keep an eye out for your purse, too. You really ought to get yourself an enchanted one, you know. The kind that makes some noise if it’s touched by someone else.”

“It was enchanted. Trouble was, I kept leaving it places, so whenever the servants found it anywhere and touched it, there was a big fuss. Uncle Drone fixed it so it would do something only if someone besides myself actually opened it.”

“What was it supposed to do?”

“I think Uncle Drone said it would make a fool or something out of the thief.”

“Well, I’ll tell my men to keep an eye out for any fools.”

Giogi giggled. “I’d hate to end up arrested for the theft of my own purse.”

Sudacar gave a disapproving frown and pointed a finger at Giogi. “You shouldn’t put yourself down like that, boy. His Majesty wouldn’t have entrusted you on a mission for the crown if you weren’t competent. As a matter of fact, now that you and your cousins are grown, Azoun will soon be relying on the services of all three of you, just as he did with your father and his cousins. Once you get this spur nonsense cleared up, it’ll be time for you to take up the responsibility of nobility—serving your king.”

“Me?” Giogi gasped.

“You,” Sudacar replied, chuckling at the shocked expression on the young man’s face.

Giogi had assumed he’d only been sent to find Alias in Westgate because he would recognize the sell-sword. It had never occurred to him that the king would ever require him on other missions. Apparently, finding the spur was no guarantee that his life would return to normal—the way it had been before last spring. “Wait a minute. How’d you know about the spur?” Giogi asked Sudacar. “You said Aunt Dorath wouldn’t tell you what was going on?”

“I have my sources,” Sudacar replied with a wink. “It’s getting late. Time to go.” He gave Giogi a pat on the back and strode south from the market square toward Redstone Manor. He called out, “Good night, Giogioni,” before he disappeared into the darkness.

Automatically Giogi called back, “Good night, Sudacar.” Sudacar had left him feeling bemused and astonished, but not in the least bit anxious. He headed west down the side street that led to his townhouse.

Tired and inebriated, the nobleman did not remember Drone’s warning that his life might “just possibly” be in danger. Nor did he notice the sound of clattering hooves on the paving stones made by the angry beast following him.