Faerling

Book 1, Crystal Mirrors

Part IV

Donal held the brooch out in front of him, not quite allowing the jeweler to take it from him. He rotated it slowly, allowing the light to shine off of it. The gold glittered, as did the jeweler's eyes. He held out his hand expectantly, and Donal hesitantly placed the piece in his palm.

The jeweler held it up to look at it closely and his face paled. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

Donal shrugged. "Where do I obtain anything, you may ask. These fine pieces of jewelry I bring you simply happen to fall into my possession."

The jeweler handed the piece back to Donal. "Then I recommend that this piece find its way back to its original owner, and quickly."

"Why?"

"The piece is a symbol. An old symbol from older times," the jeweler explained. "To those who know what it is, it would be beyond price. But I don't know of anyone who would be looking for one."

Donal felt confused, but tried not to show it. "Perhaps you could tell me more about the history of the piece."

"It is a symbol of Mirya," the jeweler began.

"Of Mirya?" Donal laughed. "Even I know that this bears little resemblance to Her symbol." He examined the brooch again. "Well, perhaps a small resemblance, but no more than that."

The jeweler sighed. "As usual, you do not listen. It is an *old* symbol, older than you, probably older than your elven parents' parents. The symbol has changed through the years, and only the oldest of Her children still possess the older symbols. The older symbols are more powerful in Her magic than the newer ones, but only to those who can use them."

Donal thought, recalling that it was a half Faerie from whom he had removed the piece. He also recalled the fever with which she had burned and figured that by now she had left this world. "I see." He pocketed the piece again. "Then perhaps, should you happen to hear of a buyer, you could direct him to me? I'll be staying at the Darkstar Inn for the week. And you needn't worry about the previous owner of the brooch - she is dead now, and through no fault or deed of my own."

The jeweler smiled faintly. "I am sure that is the case. And I will be sure to send any news to you should I hear of a prospective buyer." He turned to place the pieces he had purchased earlier from Donal into his locked cases, effectively dismissing the half-elf.

As Donal walked back towards the inn, he slipped his hand into his pocket until it closed over the brooch. He traced the delicate gold work with his thumb. He figured he had two options. The first was to wait until a buyer who knew the true worth of the piece presented himself. This could make Donal a rich man. But it could also make Donal a very dead man, should the piece be as powerful as the jeweler claimed. Sighing, he released the brooch and let it fall deeper into his pocket. He followed Tam, the god of fate, and thus knew that no matter what he decided upon, Tam had already made His decision, and there was nothing Donal could do about it.

Genna woke and stretched. There was a gnawing empty feeling in her stomach, making her feel nauseated. "I'm hungry," she announced to the room in general.

Alec came instantly awake. "Genna?" He turned to see her starting to climb out of bed, then stop as she realized she wore only her tunic. She turned to him, bewildered.

"I find my mind especially blank this morn'," she said, blushing fiercely. "I have forgotten what I did last night."

A laugh rumbled up and Alec could not keep from letting it out. "You have forgotten? You were only deathly ill for most of the night." He gestured towards her bare legs. "Your pants are gone only because the cleric and I thought you might feel better without them, considering you were positively burning up with a fever."

Genna cocked her head to one side, trying to remember, but she couldn't recall anything after breakfast the previous morning. She shook her head, then scanned the room for her things. Her pack lay on the floor at Alec's feet and her pants were draped over the back of his chair. He saw the direction of her glance and handed her the items, then heading for the door.

"I'll leave while you clean up, and I'll bring back breakfast." He grinned. "But no falling sick on me this time. This time, when I bring food, you'll eat it." He hastily left.

Genna climbed out of bed and quickly dressed, then splashed some cool water on her face. She truly didn't feel as if she had been ill recently, although she had to admit that her tunic felt as if she had been wearing it for a week. Her nose wrinkled. It smelt rather bad as well. She grabbed her pack and began looking in it for a comb.

Alec returned a few minutes later carrying a plate heaped with hot ham and two mugs of coffee. He paused as he stepped into the room, for Genna had spread every item from her pack onto the bed and was shaking the empty pack upside down over the bed. "What's wrong?"

"'Tis gone, Alec." She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "The gold piece my mother gave me 'tis gone."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced over her things. "Here, give me that and go eat." She obediently handed him the pack and went to the table where he had set the food.

Alec checked the pack to find it empty, and then carefully lifted each item off the bed, shook it, and replaced it in the pack. He was done quickly, for Genna owned little, and hadn't found the brooch. When he looked back to Genna to tell her this, he saw her strangely contorted, trying to reach around to her back. "What are you doing, Genna?"

"My back itches," she complained through clenched teeth. "And I can't reach it very well to scratch."

Alec walked over to her, grabbing the pot of salve on his way. "We can buy you another one," he announced, quickly slicing the back of her tunic open before she could protest, removing a "v" of fabric so that her back would remain free to the air.

"Feels better already," Genna sighed. "Without the pressure upon it, the itching is not quite so bad."

"And this'll make it even better," Alec told her, rubbing the salve in to the area around her shoulder blades. The skin was not as red as the night before, but he could feel a strange roughness, and it looked as if the bones would punch through the skin, they stood out so much. Having finished, he stashed the salve in his pack, making a mental note to pick up more before leaving town, and then quickly told Genna what had happened during the night.

"Now what?" Genna asked. "Would you like to rest the day while I go and look for a job?"

Alec chuckled at her naivete. "If you looked for a job, Faerling, I doubt you'd like what you found." Genna blushed, making him laugh harder. "Actually," he continued, "I had been thinking of taking the day off and beginning to teach you to defend yourself. A staff, I was thinking off, since then you can carry no obvious weapons and still be able to defend yourself." He held his hand out to her. "Come on, Faerling, let's go find you a nice walking staff."

Donal sat staring into his ale, wishing the lord's private army hadn't happened to be in town at this exact moment. Every single serving wench was fawning over those brawny warriors, making it difficult to order alcohol, let alone get anything else. He glanced around the crowded room, a plan half-forming in his mind. If all the lord's men were here, then his manor might not be well protected. His eye lit on the bartender, and he was about to approach the man in hopes of gaining information about this lord of the area, when he noticed that the bartender was speaking to a dark-cloaked man and gesturing in Donal's direction. Donal changed his mind about moving, and slouched down in the seat, a careful appearance of nonchalance.

"Greetings, sir." Donal glanced up to see the man standing in front of him, drawing out a chair to sit on, a mug of ale in one hand.

Donal nodded his greetings. "Well met. Have a seat?" He gestured at where the man had already seated himself.

The man chuckled. "Don't mind if I do." He sat back, and glanced around the room for a few minutes, sipping at his ale. Donal took the time to study him from lowered eyes, surreptitiously taking in details about the man. Not that much could be seen, but he could see the hint of a sword poking from the cloak, and a glint of silver on the man's hand, each time he raised his mug to drink. The cut of the cloth was fine as well, indicating that this man was probably fairly well off. Probably an adventurer recently come into money, he decided, and waited to find out what was wanted.

Finally the man set down his half-empty mug and turned to Donal. "I believe we have an acquaintance in common. Tural, the jeweler?"

Donal nodded. "I have met the man, yes."

The stranger leaned forward. "I find myself unable to mince words about this subject. You have a piece of jewelry, fine gold work - a symbol of Mirya. I would like to buy this piece."

Donal shrugged, picking up his ale to swallow deeply, signaling a wench for another when he realized the mug was empty. "How much are you willing to pay?"

The man chuckled. "The piece itself is beyond price. However, I am generous, and I will most certainly make it worth your while to deliver the piece to my home."

"I don't work without a price," Donal stated flatly.

The man reached under his cloak and drew out a bag heavy with coin. "This sack contains over twice as much as you earned from Tural this morning. I am prepared to give you this now, and five times this when the piece is delivered on the morrow."

Donal did some hasty calculations in his head, coming up with a staggering sum. "Where shall I take it?"

"The manor on the hill. Take it to the servants entrance, and ask for Blackie. I will meet you there."

"'Tis done."

Donal watched as the man stood and slowly made his way to the door. When he was gone, Donal slipped his hand into his pocket, allowing his fingers to close around the brooch. It would make him a very rich man indeed!

Faerling is copyrighted by Deb Atwood.

Copies may be kept for personal use but may not be redistributed without the expression permission of the author.

Tryslora Eloran (deb_atwood@fac.com)