FicWad

Prologue.

A tall young woman with long sleek black hair lay on her bed sobbing. This was the way she’d spent the last three weeks, shut away in the confines of her room, unable to bear the sorrow she felt for the loss of her companion. She missed him greatly, and for the last few weeks she had not slept, barely eaten, and had been crying constantly.
It was hard for her to imagine, but just over a year ago she’d been happy. She’s lived a simple life and had been completely oblivious to anything other than what went on at the farm she helped her parents and brother run.
Shed lived at the edge of a small town near the city of Marsia and spent her days helping out her family by feeding the animals and such like.
The town had been a quiet one, with only an annual celebration each new year. It had been a plain but satisfying existence, but it seemed so long ago now. There had been so much sadness since then, since the day the town was attacked, and now she could barely remember being happy. He’d always been there for her though, looking after her and making her feel better, but now even he was gone…and she was alone.
Slowly, the young woman’s crying came to a halt. She made herself take deep breaths and she blinked away the tears. With a heavy sigh, she sat up, and looked blearily about her. The room was still the same as when she and her companion had left it those 3 weeks ago. There were two packs stacked together in a corner, one was hers, and the other was his. There was a heavy black cloak hung on the back of door, which had also belonged to him. The rest of the small room was just about bare.
When the young woman and her companion had arrived they had asked for the cheapest double room that the inn had, and they had got it. There wasn’t a lot of space in the room, but just enough to boast a small double bed, a chest of drawers, a small desk and a chair. Apart from a mirror which hung above the desk, there were no decorations on the walls. Despite this, it was comfortable enough, certainly for two people who’d be spending very little time there.
She looked about at the almost empty room. Every time she’d been in here he’d been with her, and the place seemed so desolate without him. She decided that she would stay one more night, but then she’d better head home. Suddenly, with the decision that she’d leave the place where she’d last seen him happy, she felt a pang of sadness. She gazed mournfully down at her hands as if to say, ‘Why couldn’t I do anything, why couldn’t I help him? Why did I have to fail?’ An expression of pain passed over her face. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. She had to learn to move on; if she began to cry at every memory she’d never stop.
For a moment she stared vacantly at the wall, drowned in her sorrows. Something sparkled in the corner of her eye. She flicked her gaze toward it. There, on the floor lay a silver ring. It had a fiery red jewel which was called a firestone, embedded in it. He himself had been a fire weaver, and had crafted the firestone. She had been wearing the ring on her engagement finger the night that she returned alone to the inn, but in her desperation and anger she had throw it at the wall. A lump formed in her throat. He had given it to her, as a token of his love. Tenderly, she reached down and picked it up. She turned it over and over in her hand before sighing, and slipping it back on. It was of no use now, but still, she swore to herself never to stop wearing it. After all, it had meant so much.
The young woman stood up. She put her robe over the travel clothes she was already wearing. She picked up her own pack, and slung it over her shoulder. The she pulled up her hood as far as she could, as he had almost always done, and stepped into the hallway. She followed it to the stairs which led down into the bar area of which the other side the door was situated.

‘Oh milady, you’re going out?’ the voice of Astra, the land, rang out across the bar. Stopping, the young woman turned round. She sighed.
“Yes Astra, I need some air. I'm ready to go out now.” The landlady’s face was shadowed in concern. She had taken care of this poor, broken spirited young woman for the last 3 weeks and genuinely cared for her welfare.
Astra remembered when the young lady first arrived, about four weeks ago. She and her companion had come in, in the middle of the night, soaking wet. The weather was awful and Astra wondered what a couple of magicians (she could tell by their robes) had been doing out so late in the rain. However the couple, for a couple they had been, remained mysterious in their business. That said, they paid on time and were always very friendly whenever they had the time to talk. After a week of living in the pub, they once again went out late at night, and hadn’t returned by morning. All through the next day they didn’t come back but the morning after, the young woman returned alone. Astra could see she was heartbroken, and took it upon herself to care for her, magician though she was.
Although Astra didn’t know the story, her instinct told her the young woman’s companion wasn’t ever going to come back. Astra had seen that type of grief before, had experienced it herself in fact, when her husband died, and the widow landlady instantly connected with the young woman’s position. Over the weeks, Astra had become fond of the young woman, and wanted to make sure she was ok, she knew that grief could make you do terrible things, but now the young woman was venturing out into the world again, Astra knew that she wouldn’t be staying much longer. After a pause, Astra decided it was a good thing. Being shut up and sad all your life wasn’t healthy.
“Out you go then milady, get some fresh air,’ she replied to the young woman, ‘You need it after being stuck inside for so long. The weather is overcast but it's not bad. Go out, and forget your troubles.’
“Thank you,” the young woman replied, and turned and went out the door.
Outside, the young woman breathed deeply. The air seemed so clean and fresh after spending three weeks inside. Even though the temperature was not that cold, the young woman shivered. The pub was so warm that it was a shock to step into anything much colder. Wrapping her cloak even tighter about herself and adjusting her hood, the young woman set off down the path and into the town.
It was market day, and the place was bustling. Traders from all different places came, selling variety of things. There were stalls selling fruit, vegetables, shoes, wood carvings, pottery, salted and unsalted meats, yarn, wool, cloaks, leather, fish, small tools, clothing like breeches and tunics, weaponry, cooking utensils, art, wines, jewellery and even live animals.
There were so many people that the young woman became nervous. She muttered a small spell under her breath, which hexed her hood into place, for she did not want to be recognised. If she was, she feared people would ask after her companion, and the grief was still to near for her to feel ready to divulge without collapsing into tears again.
Making sure her hex had worked, they young woman inhaled deeply, and stepped out into the crowd. She looked from stall to stall, examining the wares, but nothing caught her eye. She used to love looking at markets, seeing what was on offer, but now the whole thing seemed a bit lack-lustre.
The young woman was almost ready to turn home, when something on a jewellery stall caught her eye. It was a clasp, made to hold a pair of robes just like hers. It's was silver, and held another of the firestones, carved into a shape of a flame. The stall holder noticed she had picked it up, and sidled over to her.
“May I say that would look lovely on you miss,” he said, trying to charm her into buying it.
“How much,” the young woman asked, her tone flat. The seller looked delighted.
“Real firestone that is miss, costs a pretty penny.”
“How much?”
“Let’s say, a special deal for you miss, how about 12 crowns?” 12 crowns was of course a ridiculous price and usually the young woman would have told him where to stick it but this time, she stayed silent. She delved into her pocket and took out some money. Realising that this customer had money to spare, if she was going to pay that much without protest, the salesman changed his mind.
“I, err, meant 15 crowns,” he said. He really didn’t believe he would get that much, but he thought he’d try his luck anyway. Sighing, the young woman deposited a pile of coins into his outstretched hand.
“Take 20,” she told him, and left with the broach. His mouth dropped open, he wasn’t expecting to make that much in the whole day. He stared at the strange young woman as she walked away, and wondered why she’d wanted the broach that much.
The woman hastily left the market, and went to sit at a table in the corner of the inn. She took her ring off and sat it next to the broach. They matched almost perfectly. There was just one minute difference, which the woman couldn’t quite work out. They were the same colour, had the same flame, like patterning within the stone, and the same elegant beauty. It took her a long time to work out what the difference was.
Suddenly, the woman gasped. She’d figured it out. Firestones are known to have certain properties that normal mined jewels don’t have. They are definitely rarer, and a lot prettier, but the have a unique connection with their crafters that other precious stones don’t have. Because a little of the magicians magic goes into making the stones, they flicker with the magic inside, almost like the flames that the stones were crafted from. But when the magician dies or loses his magical ability, the magic dies, and the light goes out. Now the broach the young woman brought was long since lightless, but the ring her companion had made, it's jewel still glowed faintly.
“Surely no,” the young woman whispered to herself, shaking her head. It was impossible that the light was still going. Surely, her companion, who’s magic had gone into the ring, had
died………..




(A/N) Please review! Id relli appreciate it as I need all the help I can get!