it? M'brother made it. He's blacksmith here."
She lifted it in her hand held it out as she spoke so Denoriel could see it better. He cringed back against the wall, shaking his head.
"I've trouble seeing things near-at-hand," he said, swallowing hard. "Makes it cursed hard to read—but then, what's a clerk for but to read to a gentleman, eh? Do hold it away from me so I can better see it."
Evidently the barmaid had heard of folk with the long-sight. She smiled agreeably. "Ay, there's those as can't see what isn't right by their noses and there's those that's arms ain't long enough to hold summat they want to see."
But she drew the cross back the width of the table and Denoriel let out his breath. "Yes, that's a lovely thing. Is it the only one your brother ever made? Could he make another?"
She looked at him quizzically. "If'n he made one, surely he could do more. Why, d'you want one, sir?"
"Well, yes, I do, but I am only traveling through on my way . . . ah . . . to visit a lady." Now, how to get her to part with this cross, now? "She'd be pleased with such a well-made ornament."
The barmaid cocked her head. "A lady what would be pleased to have a cross like mine? It's only iron, sir, not silver, and sure not the good gold."
"Because it's iron. You know, there are tales of such things holding particular virtue." Denoriel hesitated and then said, "I know this was a gift from your brother, but if you would be willing to part with it and