"There is magic swirling in all the pieces," Icelin said, "of varying degrees. It would take further study to determine how much and of what type."
"What about the bracelet?" Kredaron asked her. "The charms on the chain, what were they?"
"The charms were a lock and key, both tarnished, a tiny slipper, and a rose," Icelin said. "The rose was pink topaz. There was no bracelet. Shall I keep going?"
"How long could you recite them?" Kredaron asked, fascinated. "Will you remember the pieces tomorrow, or is this just a mind trick you've mastered?"
"I will remember them tomorrow and every day for the rest of my life, if it serves me," Icelin said. Kredaron was right. She felt no joy in the admission. "Since it likely won't serve me beyond this day," she added, "I will put the knowledge away, find some dusty corner where my memory has space-there's always space, of course-and there it will stay. Once I've put a recollection like that aside, it's difficult to find again, since I don't have a ready use for it. It's much like locating a single crate in all the warehouses of Dock Watd. It may take hours, days, but I can remember them all."
Kredaron shook his head. "Well, lass, you are a wonder, which is rare in a city full of them. You have shown me your skills. I am assured of success in this transaction."
Icelin inclined her head. "Then let us proceed." When he'd spread out his items again, she laid a finger on a cameo brooch. The figure was of a thin woman sheathed in lace. The piece was smooth with age, but the detail was still astonishing, from the creamy relief to the oval background. She'd briefly touched the magic in the piece, but that was not her reason for choosing it. Her interest lay in its value to a jeweler.
"May that be my payment, Kredaron?" she inquired.
"You have excellent taste," said the merchant. He lifted the brooch for her inspection. "It's not the most valuable, nor the most ostentatious of the lot. But there is history here, I think."
"You think:'You don't know the origins of the pieces?"
"Not all of them," Kredaron admitted. "They came from my father's family, and he's been gone a long time. I don't even know who the woman is, so I haven't formed any particular attachment to the piece. You may have it with my gratitude."
Icelin slid the brooch into the coin-purse fastened around her neck and tucked the pouch away in her dress. Kredaron ordered them light wine from the vendors. The glasses were just being poured, the wine's buttery color glowing warm in the sunlight, when Kredaron's buyer arrived.
CHAPTER 2
Icelin was surprised to see the gold elf approach their table. She didn't know what sort of man she'd expected to be interested in Kredaron's pieces, but this one was an anomaly, even among the varied folk of South Ward.
The elf was unusually tall. Not gangly, but thinner than he should have been. He was dressed in a tailored, deep blue doublet with a subtle river of silver thread ornamenting the shoulders. The cloth was only marginally above workman's material, however. She recognized the style from what Brant sold in his shop.
He buys for resale, Icelin thought, not for his own collection. Yet his style and carriage suggested he had at least some means of his own.
When her eyes reached his face, Icelin took care to keep her expression politely blank. His own features were impossible to tead. The right side of his face appeared robust and healthy, the color enhanced by his dark clothing. But the left side was a patchwork of burn scars.
Puckerings of deep red skin quilted his forehead and all the way down to his jaw. From what she could tell, his left eye appeared to see normally, but it moved slightly out of concert with his right. The strikingly blue orb in the left socket looked like it was being chewed up by the field of angry red. Part of the elf's ear on the scarred side was missing, skewing the pointed end. The disfigurement caused a jarring, asymmetrical appearance to his face.
An elf, but not an elf, Icelin couldn't help thinking.
"Well met, Kredaron." The gold elf bowed to the merchant and took a seat at the table. Icelin watched in silence while the pair conversed. The merchant did not introduce her, but she hadn't expected him to. Kredaron's buyer was well aware that her purpose in the transaction was security. Icelin watched him closely, but she could detect no deception in him when he bargained for the jewelry.
It was well into late afternoon by the time a price had been decided for each piece. Kredaron chose the type and denomination of coin, and the elf agreed to his terms. Through it all, Kredaron was calm and eloquent. Icelin had no doubt his new business venture would do well, and she was glad of her small part in bringing that about.
When they were alone again, Kredaron beamed at her. "I thank you, Icelin, for all your help."
"It was my pleasure."
"Cerest is a good businessman," Kredaron said. "He has always dealt fairly with me, but it never hurts to ensure the success of a transaction."
"You've had dealings with the elf before?" Icelin asked, surprised.
"Oh, yes." Kredaron wiped perspiration from his brow. The sun baked the dusty streets during the day, though it would be cold once night fell. "Cerest came young-a relative phrase for the elf folk-to his trade in Waterdeep. A handsome eladrin and shrewd bargainer-he was born to be a merchant."
"Handsome?" Icelin said. "Then how did he come to be… as we saw him today?" She knew she was rude to ask. It was none of her affair, but she couldn't fight her curiosity.
Kredaron must have sensed her discomfort. He chuckled. "Don't worry, you're not the first to gossip about him. There's been wild speculation about Cerest's scars and his business dealings," the merchant said. "I first heard of him when he was buying antiques from the poorer upstarts, like me. I had little to sell back then, but he treated me politely, never made me feel as if I were less a man for having little wealth. For that I was grateful. I didn't realize then what he was truly seeking."
"But you know now," said Icelin. She considered, remembering how the elf had examined each of the pieces. In most cases he'd passed over the fashionable items in favor of the older pieces-the ones that sparkled with magic. "He is not a jeweler or an antiquities dealer, is he? He's hunting for treasure."
"Exactly right," Kredaron said. "Magic in all forms draws Cerest's attention. Of course magic is unstable at the best of times, but Cerest knows his market well. Folk seek magic trinkets now more than ever. They trust them. And I think solid objects sit better in their hands than spells cast by strangers."
"I can see how they would be justified in their fear," Icelin said. She stared at the tabletop, her eyes following the swirling patterns in the wood. "So Cerest buys and resells the magic items?"
"And anything else of value he can get his hands on, these days," Kredaron said. "He had a good eye and a bright future in the city, or so I thought."
"What happened?" Icelin asked. "Was it anything to do with his scars?"
"I don't know how he received them," Kredaron said sadly, "but I've heard he has spent most of his accumulated wealth trying to repair the worst of the damage. The whole affair is mystery and rumor. He disappeared for a time and left his business in the hands of his employees. When he returned, he was as you saw him today. He never spoke of what happened to him, and none of the clients who relied on him has dared to ask."
"What do you think it was?" Icelin asked.
"I think he dabbled too closely in dangerous magic and paid the price," Kredaron said. "We'll likely never know the full story."
"But if he deals honorably in business, why should he be judged for his appearance?" Icelin said. "Whatever mistakes he made, his scars have more than paid for them."
"You are right, of course," Kredaron said. "I shouldn't have doubted his character. But if I had not"-his eyes twinkled-"1 would never have met and conversed with you. So you cannot fault me too harshly."