The Queen's Opal: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book One)

by Jacque Stevens

  Kol smiled more easily. His show wasn’t the most popular, but it held its own.

  Kitti laughed anyway. “Is that all? This’ll barely cover The Lord’s cut! Hopefully, Picc’ll be able to fix this or you’ll be whipped for sure.”

  Kol’s grin didn’t drop for a second. “If I were beaten ’alf the time you said I'd be, I’d be hauled to the Tower so the robes can figure out why I’m still standin’. You really shouldn’t worry so much, princess; you’ll make Master Cain jealous.”

  “Why you—" Kitti leapt at him like a devil she-cat ready to rake him with her overly groomed claws. Kol backed away, feeling the air as she rushed by. She would catch him eventually. Or someone else would. He could delay the blows at times, get a few token victories through taunting his various tormentors or playing them off each other, but that was all.

  Fighting back would bring to life the old visions: screams through the smoke and blood covering everything. A rain of death set free from the monster within.

  “Hey, Kol! What’cha done now?” Dwarf yelled. The gray-bearded dorran walked up with another boy from their crew—Picc.

  Kitti straightened with all the dignity she could muster. “The boy is out of control. Cain’ll ’ear of this. I promise you that.” That had become Kitti’s favorite threat ever since she became mistress to their troop leader. It happened so often that Kol laughed in reply, but stopped when she looked back, giving her a more innocent smile.

  Picc saved them another unpleasant scene by passing Kitti his “findings.” Picc was a little older than Kol and a pickpocket like most of the other boys. He usually “worked the crowd,” as they called it, when Kol performed.

  Kitti poured Picc’s gold into the hat she had snatched from Kol. There would be no way of knowing where the piles were originally divided. “You’re lucky you ’ave someone who knows his job to save your neck all the time.” She flipped her hair as she stalked away.

  “There’s one good thing about workin’ your crowd,” Picc said after she left. “No matter how slim the pickings, the princess gives me full credit for reachin’ quota.” Kol was the only one to call her princess to her face, but general dislike for her was common among all the boys.

  The dorran grunted and handed Kol back his daggers. He mainly worked with setting up and pulling down props as he was the only one who could lift some of them.

  Kol stashed the blades around his person.

  Picc watched, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “How’d you do it? That dagger turned in midair! Twice! When I saw that, I swear I touched the guy I was lootin’, but he didn’t even notice! Got a couple silvers off ’im.”

  Kol had no ready answer. He never understood where any of it came from. All he knew was that if he concentrated, he felt some energy that directed the daggers. It was hard work, only came a little at a time, and he always felt drained when it ended. This time, it had come all at once, and that had made the dagger turn. But how could he explain it to Picc?

  Kol shrugged. “Sometimes I even amaze myself.”

  Picc’s laughter was echoed by someone else coming up: a girl who worked by dancing at the inns. One of her many male admirers shadowed her. Picc turned, grinning like a lovesick puppy dog. “Bell! How’d you make out today?”

  The girl smiled. “Oh, you know, pickings are low all over. How’d you do?”

  Kol snorted and Picc rushed to explain. “Kitti was terrible as usual, but Kol did good.”

  “Also as usual.”

  Kol shrugged, watching as her much older escort’s face burned red with jealousy.

  “You did good too.” The man tried to bring her back around.

  “Hmm . . .” She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Little places like this tend to be old-fashioned, so I cleaned up the act a bit. But, just my luck, there were some foreign monks or something in the crowd that seemed to make everyone uncomfortable. When they left, I did better. I made quota anyway, and the innkeeper asked me to come back in an hour for the later crowd.”

  Kol perked up. “Monks?” He thought back to the cloaked figures he had seen moving through the crowd. “Wot’d they look like?”

  Bell shrugged. “They wouldn’t look at me and were covered in these dark cloaks. Younger, though, I think. And they had a dwarf with them. A female. Isn’t that a little odd?” She turned to the dorran. There were always a few dorrans in the cities Kol visited, but their loyalty was back in their mines and females were more elusive to the public eye than the males.

  Dwarf grunted again. He rarely said anything unless he was spoken to directly. “You don’t usually see females hiring themselves out, but I suppose they’d be capable.”

  “I saw ’em walkin’ by when I was finishin’ up,” Kol said. “They seemed off to me too.”

  “Kol! Get yourself over ’ere, boy!”

  Kol winced. For whatever reason, Cain had decided to listen to Kitti today.

  “Well?”

  Kol had barely entered the tent and Cain’s arms were already crossed, looking down at Kol in his special way that made Kol feel much shorter than he actually was. Muscles rippled under Cain’s shirt. He lifted objects and people for the crowd’s pleasure and could have passed for a dorran if he weren’t so tall. Kol pretended not to notice, running his fingers through his blond hair.

  As the “evil bandit,” he often wrapped a piece of cloth around his head to keep his bangs out of his eyes, but now he had another part to play. He pulled his cap from his belt and put it on, covering the abnormal yellow shade that distinguished him from the rest of the band.

  “Well, wot?” Kol’s voice dripped with innocence.

  “Don’t play dumb. I know you too well for that. Kitti tells me you wrecked your show tonight. Seems to think I gave you too much freedom too fast and that you should be workin’ the crowd with the other boys, no matter what The Lord thinks about it.”

  Kol shook his head like he pitied the thick-headed girl. “And you believed her?” The Lord might have placed him here, but he kept the job on his own.

  “You’re not givin’ me any reason not to.” Cain would get violent soon. Kol knew all the warning signs from the red face to the free-hanging arms.

  “The show went fine. I made quota and a little extra because most people don’t think that turnin’ daggers are mistakes.” He sounded calm and collected, but inwardly he cursed himself for rambling. He hadn’t wanted to mention the strange behavior of the dagger, nor the energy surge that had triggered it.

  “Turnin’ daggers, huh? Seems Kitti was right. That’s not an approved part of the show.” Cain was back to arm crossing and towering, but this did not comfort Kol much. Now Cain wanted an explanation, and Kol didn’t have one.

  “I didn’t really plan it.” What could he say? “There was something weird about that crowd. Monks with a dorran bodyguard. Maybe the magic was theirs.” It was stupid, but their appearance was the only odd thing besides his show, and he couldn’t make up something in so short of notice.

  Cain sighed. “Monks now, is it?”

  “You can ask Bell if you don’t believe me. She saw them too.”

  Cain didn’t answer for a moment. When he spoke next, a lot of his anger seemed to have dissipated. “Kol, I don’t know if you noticed, but things are gettin’ tight. We need to do everythin’ we can, or The Lord’s cut will be all we’re takin’ in. Why don’t you see if these monks are carryin’ anythin’? A magical object could save our necks.” Cain pleasantly made it sound like a request, but it wasn’t. It was either this or be punished physically.

  Kol, just as pleasantly, agreed. He turned toward the door flap of the tent, but Cain called him back. “Oh, and, Kol, I’m really countin’ on you ’ere. One more complaint like today, and we will have a lot more to talk about.”

  * * *

  Though Drynn had known it was unlikely that the first person they visited could help them, he couldn’t help feeling discouraged when they left the journeyman healer.

  Cindle had hel
d a brief conversation with him but quickly shook her head, saying he wouldn’t be the right one to help them. The only “useful” information he had was that the healer’s guild was in Charamere, a city to the far south that would take more than a month to reach on foot, farther than Cindle’s original plan to take them to Wildred.

  Just as she had predicted, they were no closer to completing any of their goals.

  Streetlights lit up pointed rooftops of bundled hay, and fewer humans darted along the path as they followed her to the inn. Tayvin frowned at her back. “How can you be so sure that’s all he knew? He seemed a bit cross, but maybe if you were nicer—”

  Cindle brushed him off without turning around. “If you don’t trust me to speak for you, then stop following me and learn to speak for yourself.”

  Tayvin glared, but not at her—at Drynn. Most of Tayvin’s teasing had seemed more good-spirited than Cindle’s version, but maybe she was wearing him down. Maybe he still would rather they were on their own, but that couldn’t work. Drynn had caught a few more words when Cindle spoke to the journeyman, but a whole conversation? Maybe he could do it, but they wouldn’t pass for natives. If letting the wrong human know they were elven was dangerous . . . it just wouldn’t work.

  They were trusting Cindle a lot, but what else could they do? Should he apologize to Tayvin or to Cindle for Tayvin, or just let them sort through it? They might end up arguing all night. And the next night. And every night after that until they made it to Kalum City or Charamere or wherever Cindle wanted to go to meet the next healer.

  Drynn’s shoulders slumped, exhausted at the thought. His pace slowed as a young man strolled toward them. He wore a cap over his light hair—his white shirt and dark vest in the same style as most of the humans here, but his were oversized and patched. Most of the crowd had dispersed for the night, and the roads were wide enough for the boy to pass on the other side, but he was so distracted it looked like he would plow right into Drynn.

  Drynn adjusted to avoid him and glanced over to see what might have caused his distraction. Another batch of human players took full advantage of the dim light, doing tricks with flaming sticks in front of a small crowd—far more interesting than the poor excuse for tumblers that had been there earlier. Letting Tayvin and Cindle walk ahead, Drynn paused as the man brought a torch to his mouth.

  Footsteps drew closer than the small crowd merited. Drynn turned. Another young man stood at his side, completely average in appearance except for the knife in his hand.

  Drynn frowned. Why was he carrying his knife out like that? Nothing seemed particularly threatening or out of the ordinary, nothing except the players who had acquired the ability to eat fire. Drynn almost turned to look for a potential threat when the knife bearer made a grab for his arm.

  Drynn jerked back and skidded through the mud at his feet. The human missed his arm, fingers catching in the folds of his cloak. Drynn could slip out of the cloak, but Cindle had pressed the need for them to hide their elven features enough to make him pause.

  The young man’s hand clamped over Drynn’s arm.

  Pain shot through his trapped limb, a small yelp escaping his throat. He squirmed, and a few people in the crowd turned. Drynn’s attacker lowered his knife out of sight.

  “Come on, Joe,” he said loudly in Human. “You can watch the players tomorrow—that is, you can if Mum isn’t cross at us for being late.”

  The crowd looked away. Drynn stared. Maybe it was just his limited knowledge of the human language, but it seemed as if the other were speaking nonsense.

  Drynn jerked around, looking for Tayvin and Cindle. Where had they disappeared to? The human tightened his grip and pulled Drynn the opposite direction. Drynn stumbled toward him. If the human hadn’t been holding his arm, Drynn might have even tripped.

  Only luck stopped the hood from falling.

  The human raised his knife. “Stop dancin’ around, monk. You’re comin’ with me.”

  Drynn tried to puzzle out the human words. He thought the human had said something about dancing, but Drynn had no idea what that had to do with the present situation. Then there was the word monk. He had never heard that before. The last part Drynn got, but even if he hadn’t, the man pushed him along. It was either walk or be dragged.

  CHAPTER 9

  A SINGLE LAMP flickered in the dark alleyway, highlighting the edges of some trash bins. A small cat hissed at them before running off, leaving him alone with the strange young human carrying a knife.

  Well, not quite alone. Another young human had followed, the same young man who had almost run into Drynn on the road. The two humans were very similar in appearance, except the younger one’s cap and lighter hair. The most obvious difference was their expressions. The one holding Drynn just looked nasty, but the other looked distracted, as if he had so much on his mind that he hadn’t even noticed who shared the alley with him. But he must have known because he stopped next to them and leaned up against the opposite wall. He seemed completely content there, even if he was avoiding Drynn’s eyes.

  Drynn’s captor pinned him up against the wall, halting his thoughts. “All right, ’and over your gold or any other valuables you’re carryin’ and we won’t hurt you.”

  The worst part of this wasn’t being detained or frightened by this boy—it was trying to figure out Human under his scrutiny. The few moments it took Drynn to figure it out seemed like ages now. Gold. That was one of the metals the humans used as currency, right? And the man wanted Drynn to give him some.

  Strange. Squabbles over possessions were only between children too young to know better in elven society. Besides, Drynn wasn’t carrying much. He left most of it at the inn—including the bow he had started carving after the panther broke his last one, the pack holding his food, and the opal too since Tayvin had yelled at him for having it out all the time. About all he had was his clothes and his quiver he wore out of habit. He certainly didn’t have any gold, and he had no idea what else a human might find valuable. Would they take any shiny object like a forest bird or kritta would?

  Lost to what else to do and feeling extremely stupid, Drynn shook his head.

  The human’s eyes narrowed and his face scrunched up. “Wot’s that s’pposed to mean?”

  Before Drynn could puzzle out the question, the blond boy laughed. “When a person shakes their ’ead it means no, Picc.”

  Picc turned back to glare at the speaker as he continued.

  “In this case, it could mean one of three things: no, I don’t have any gold; no, I won’t give you my gold; or no, I’m a foreigner and have no idea wot this crazy man is goin’ on about. Based on his expression, I’d go with the last one.”

  Picc frowned at Drynn, a questioning look in his gaze. Drynn was still sorting out what both boys were saying, but his silence seemed to give Picc answer enough.

  “Fine, I’ll look then. Catch.” Picc tossed the dagger back to the blond human.

  It curved too far to the left, but the boy caught it anyway. He didn’t even hurt himself.

  Picc kept one hand on Drynn and used the other to feel around his cloak. Drynn moved to avoid him. Picc slapped him across the face without a word. Drynn stopped.

  Picc searched for a few more moments, then gave up. “Don’t see nothin’ ’cept these.” He indicated the arrows. “You sure they’re monks? That other one was armed too.”

  The other boy shrugged. “That’s just wot Bell said ’cause of the cloaks. And I told you, if they had anythin’, the other one would be carryin’ it. He looked older and he had a sword.”

  “I don’t see you volunteerin’ to go after ’im.” Picc turned his head while yelling at his companion. Maybe Drynn could slip away while they were talking? Drynn wasn’t sure whether he could do it. Picc's hand was still on him even if it was looser than before. And what would this mad man do if he caught him at it?

  “Drynn? Where’d you run off to?” Tayvin’s voice came up the adjoining street.

  “Tay
vin!” Drynn called back without thought. Picc clamped his hand over Drynn’s mouth and hissed at the other boy to be quiet. Too late.

  “There you are. Cindle says that if either of us runs off again—” Tayvin turned the corner. His eyes darted between the three boys and his sword flashed out. Tayvin pointed it at the throat of the closest human boy—the blond one who now held the dagger.

  The human glanced at his blade and dropped it without hesitation.

  “Let him go.” Maybe it was because he was speaking Dorran, but Tayvin’s voice sounded so menacing Drynn would have sworn it was not his own.

  Picc’s face wrinkled. “Wot’d he say?”

  “I think . . .” The other boy stopped, looking at Tayvin as if asking permission to talk. Tayvin didn’t move. “I think it’s Dorran,” the boy said. “Don’t know wot it means though.”

  Picc rolled his eyes. “Oh, that helps. Look, guy, we don’t speak Dwarf. If you wanta make demands, learn ’ow to talk.” He moved Drynn in front of him like a shield, a hand on either arm. “I’ll make it easy. You knife my guy, I’ll knife yours.”

  Did Picc have another knife? Drynn’s mouth had been freed, but instantly ran dry. He hadn’t tried his Human since they’d arrived, and now he had the worst audience imaginable. He listened to himself butcher it horribly. “H-he is not wanting to hurt him. He is wanting me.”

  Picc jumped when Drynn first started talking, but nodded anyway. “Make ’im swear to let Kol go. Then I’ll give you to ’im.”

  Drynn translated the message. Tayvin used the human word for yes and lowered the sword. Picc pushed Drynn toward Tayvin and the lamp’s feeble light.

  Drynn caught himself, but not his hood. It fell to his shoulders, and he pulled it back.

  But both sets of brown eyes widened at the sight of his ears.

  The boys ran. Trash rolled from the bins in their wake.

  Tayvin grabbed Drynn’s shoulders. “Did they hurt you?” He held Drynn out, looking him over thoroughly.