Read Online Guardians of the Lost by Margaret Weis - Free Book Online

streaked each nugget. The blue was the color of the summer sky reflected in a smooth lake. His fingers itched to touch it and he had to restrain himself from snatching it from the elf’s hands.
    â€œI will trade you one of my boxes for this,” said the elf. “Whichever you want. Take your pick.”
    Wolfram had to bite his tongue to keep silent. Elves believe thatturquoise is magical, has the power to protect the wearer from harm. A necklace like this, made up of at least thirty turquoise nuggets—the largest the size of the dwarf’s large thumb—would be worth the price of a small house in any Tromek city. Wolfram cursed the luck that left him dirt poor when such a wonderful opportunity had come his way.
    The pecwae cast a polite glance over the boxes. “Nice,” he said and reached out his hand to gather up the jewelry. “Not for me.” He looked at the Temple of Healing. “Potions.”
    â€œAh, I understand.” The elf was effusive. “You want healing potions. I have money. I will pay you money for the necklace and you can buy your potions at the Temple.”
    The pecwae looked blank.
    â€œHe doesn’t understand the concept of money,” Wolfram told the elf.
    â€œWhat? Doesn’t understand money?”
    â€œShow him,” suggested Wolfram. “I’ll explain.”
    The elf was dubious, but a glance at the turquoise necklace that was disappearing back into the pecwae’s pouch made up his mind. The elf left the booth, entered the covered wagon in which he lived, and returned a moment later with a small bag of coins. He took out several very large, shiny phennigs.
    The pecwae found the coins, decorated with the head of a former Emperor of New Vinnengael, interesting. He admired the engraving, but, beyond that, had no idea what to make of them.
    â€œThis is money. You take that for the necklace,” Wolfram said. “If you take these coins to the Temple, the man there will give you potions in return.”
    The pecwae looked at him in astonishment. “Why? Worth nothing. Copper.”
    Wolfram grinned and jerked his thumb at the elf. “He has other coins that are worth more in his pouch. Coins made of silver.”
    The pecwae nodded, his blue eyes glittered. He was bright, this one, quick to catch on. He shoved the coppers back to the elf. “Skystone worth more.”
    The elf cast Wolfram an angry glance.
    â€œHe’s not a child,” Wolfram said. “Nor is he a sheep to be sheared. He made that silver jewelry. He knows the quality and value of metal. You won’t fool him with such tricks.”
    The elf reached into his bag and drew out two argents and laid these on the counter. The pecwae studied them and was more interested, obviously recognizing their worth. While his head was bent, he cast a sidelong glance at the dwarf. Wolfram made a very small movement with his head.
    The pecwae held up ten fingers.
    The elf held up five fingers.
    The pecwae, now on firm ground, shook his head.
    Finally, sighing deeply and looking as though he’d been forced to sell his grandmother, the elf rooted through the coin bag and dug out ten argents. The pecwae took these, examined each one, and placed them carefully in his pouch. He handed over the turquoise. The elf disappeared into his wagon with it. He was a long while inside, probably finding the best place to hide it. After all, even for ten argents, he’d made an excellent bargain.
    By his standards, so had the pecwae. Wolfram knew the Temple priest. The man had probably not seen ten silver argents in a year. The pecwae would leave loaded down with all the potions and salves he could carry.
    â€œThat is beautiful skystone,” said Wolfram. “Where do you find it?”
    â€œNear camp,” the pecwae answered.
    His gaze shifted momentarily to his Trevenici friend. Jessan, he’d called him. Wolfram had been right. Jessan was a birth name, meaning