Let me tell you about a purchase I once made.

A silver coin against a woman's honour, is nothing. A woman, or anyone at all, who would sell their honour for a silver coin either has no honour, or is in state so desperate that taking their honour is not a noble deed at all.

But a silver coin against a kingdom's honour, well that... that is something, is it not?

Sure, if you're buying the ale, a silver coin gets you a round for you and your nine best friends. Whether or not they were your friends before you bought them a drink is hardly the point. A silver coin often promises a private room if you're a traveller on the road, in less well-heeled areas a silver coin will get you a private room and a hot meal, and robbed in the morning instead of in your sleep.

The silver I carry, though, is the silver of myth. Coins minted by Kenarathal himself, so the story goes, in his never ending quest to find a bride. And coins minted by a deity surely have taken some of that god's essence with them, as they travelled from his forge to the world to my purse.

And so I can offer a coin of ancient silver struck with the image of a god on one side and a rune so old your grandfather's grandfather hadn't even been conceived the last time the word it tells was spoken into reality. But perhaps even more than that, I can offer you something more valuable still.

A story.

The money of the gods can buy many things, but there's no kingdom on earth that might accept currency like this. So after I found this collection of coin, this purse which I carry—which, the legend goes, was sewn for Kenarathal by Endetheir, to hold his coins, and which will open for no one but its rightful owner (that would be me)—I made to make a purchase.

I knew what I had, you see. I had studied what I searched for.

There are not many items of the gods that still remain on this earth, uncollected or unprotected. The Axe of Mathreinu, so heavy that no three men of your acquaintance or mine might lift it, stands on display in his temple, guarded by magic so dense that even the priests that wove it fear to approach the weapon. The chains that bound the Titan Pyrhora as penance for daring to look on the face of her lover Ademia are used now to bind the moon to its monthly orbit; surely you have seen them. The pearl of Juras, which contains the whole of the fifth ocean which once covered all but the highest of mountains, is in the treasury of the Queen of Il-Basraon, safely guarded by her immortal constructs of blood and steel, so that no one may crack it and flood the world before its time.

But there are some few, here and there. The Pendant of Ghys, which will turn its wearer to stone and vanish into the darkness, still wanders the world, uncontained; now and again we hear tell of a disappearance and a new statue matching the description of the lost, and those of us who study such things look for patterns and still find none. The Ice-born Mirror of Shea-Schlee-Kascha is thought to be at the bottom of the sea, though no one is truly certain. And these, the coins of Kenarathal and the purse of Endetheir...

Well, they're mine, now.

And the money of the gods will buy many things.

I asked a young woman on my walk back to town—my horse had been lost in an unfortunate accident on the way to the ruin, you understand—if I might purchase her voice with a silver coin. She sang beautifully for me. She is truly a wasted talent, as a farmer's wife. I stayed with her and her husband—they have no children—and when I heard her speak, I asked if she would sing for me. I purchased her voice, for a silver coin. Her husband seemed amenable, especially once I showed him that I did truly have silver, and she sang. She sang wonderfully.

But I had not purchased her song.

And so you can hear, if I sing a few words—like so—yes, you understand. The money of the gods will buy many things.

I purchased their memories of my visit for another coin, so I wouldn't ask them about me, if I were you. You would no doubt only receive confusion.

The coins lose their power once a purchase is made. Indeed, the magic of them is such that they become the sort of coin that the recipient might expect to find in their area, in a few days.

And while the purse only holds so many coins, it does fill itself, slowly. Not so quickly that I could just purchase everything I would ever want, of course. Though that, too, depends on what you might want.

In town, I hired a carriage—I no longer had a horse of my own, and there were none to purchase—for I wished to travel away from the cursed place where I found the coins. I didn't know if something might be following me, but I didn't intend to wait nearby to find out. The old gods may be long gone from this world, or dead, or sleeping, but often their shades or their irate followers will chase any who disturb the sanctity of their graves. I used my own money, the last of my own money, for I had proven that the coins were able to do as I suspected, as I had discovered in my research, and I wanted to use no more magic at that time. The carriage took me to the port, where I offered myself for work on a ship. One of the sailors, one of the older sailors, cursed me for being bad luck, though whether because of my gender or my dark skin or maybe my green eyes I have no idea. Or perhaps he could smell the magic coin on my belt.

I asked to speak to the captain privately, and he obliged.

It was little trouble to offer him a silver coin in exchange for his defence on my trip. Though when he saw the coin, he asked me why I didn't purchase passage instead of asking to be made part of a crew. In truth, I didn't know the answer myself, but I've long learned that when intuition strikes I ignore it at my peril. Perhaps some guilt of the theft from ancient spirits still hung on me, and I wished to atone by hard work. Still, by the token he held in his hand, the captain promised me safety, and insisted that there was no need to join the crew. I countered that I wished to be part of the crew, only for the short distance to the Isle of Savèr, and that I would cleanse my soul before setting foot on that sacred island, for as you all must know well, the soil of Isle of Savèr is forbidden to those who were not born there and who are not of the purest of spirit. The captain argued against my endeavour, suggesting that I should stay with the crew on the extensive pier that had been built to accommodate visitors, but no, I said, I would chance it.

I rather think the captain was quite taken with me, perhaps a bit overmuch. It tempted me then to buy his heart with another coin, but no, I refrained. I did not need a smitten sailor on my conscience. Still, perhaps against both our better judgments, we did share meals in his cabin and love in his bed.

And the old sailor who had called me a curse, who continued to distrust me, fell overboard one afternoon, when I was the only other person near. I was close at hand only because I saw his balance falter and I attempted to rescue him from the depths. He struck his head rather forcefully on the rail as he fell, and then the wind changed, and by the time I gathered my wits about me to call for help, he was long gone. It was truly a shame.

I purchased the sadness of the crew for a silver coin, and paid another for their memories of the old man. By morning, there were none who missed him.

The captain insisted that I wait with them until they were departing, to not foul their deliveries and threaten them, and though it cost me a day and a half, I agreed. He had been so kind to sell me his defence. For that day and a half I helped with the unloading and loading of the hold, feeding the crew, and entertaining the children of Savèr who came to see the visitors. For my work on the weeks-long journey, and for my patience and aid when ashore, I earned the same silver coin I had given the captain for his protection, now stamped with the crown and scales of the Savèrene currency.

I kept it; I have had no need to spend it, and it holds memories for me. I often wonder what might happen if I were to return it to the pouch that it first came from. I rather think that I cannot, though I've never tried. I suspect that the magic that governs such things would not let me. Have I ever told you of the scabbard that would hold no sword? There was, it was said, a creation of a brilliant leatherworker, a sheath that was special, in that...

Ah, yes, sorry.

After the ship had departed, I went to the temple that marked the edge of the pier. There's a temple there, to an ancient god of the Savèrene (which, I do not know, and I do not believe that they know, either), and I paid a silver coin in the donation bowl to purchase the purity of the god. Much as the old sailor probably could tell that there was something not quite right about me, the people of Savèr can tell when someone lacks the purity necessary for being on their land, and they deal harshly with such people. But the silver I placed in the offering bowl—I admit, I tread somewhat trepidatiously on that hallowed soil, even after that!—seemed to be sufficient to purchase purity. For that, I was immensely thankful. I did not need to be thrown off the island a second time.

Oh yes, I did not tell you, did I? I knew about the laws of Savèr, of course; it is well known, especially among travellers, that the impure cannot walk on the soil of the island without consequence. I had suffered that consequence before, which is why I had returned with the power of the gods in a pouch. There was a treasure I wished to purchase with these coins, though the pleasure of walking on Savèrene soil once more was truly a gift.

It was not long before the visitor with the beautiful singing voice—you will recall that I purchased this voice from the farmer on my return to the city from my expedition to retrieve these coins—attracted the attention of those who make invitations to the palace, and in a few days (the travails of which I do not need to share with you) I was brought to a banquet and asked to sing.

But it was then that I said that before I should sing, I wished to strike a treaty. One cannot simply make a purchase from a kingdom, I opined, even with the coins of a god in one's pocket. So I said that, for my first coin, I wished to purchase the attention of the court for the evening, and I laid the coin at the feet of the queen with a dramatic bow. Did I not mention that the queen was there? She is a strikingly lovely woman, even in her middle age—and those years I would never dare to count, but she does have a daughter full-grown, so one must assume a reasonable age, not to mention her noble maturity of visage and affect—with cold blue eyes that it is said see into the souls of those supplicants who stand before her, judging their purity, their suitability; with bright blonde hair tinted with the blue of cornflower that reminds one of snow on a distant peak; with a visage both so coldly beautiful and sharply severe that all must admire and indeed fear her gaze; with a voice that can soothe, or inspire, great dread. And her daughter, with these self-same eyes, and that perfect hair in curls instead of straight, but with none of the severity that has marked her mother's age, the gentleness and softness of her youth clear to any who saw her, was seated at the woman's left, watching my display with amusement.

I wondered then if the princess recognized me. Surely I did not look as I had, when I been banished the first time.

But I had purchased, with that silver coin, the attention of the court, as the queen nodded to my request. They would not ignore my words, nor find distraction in their own conversations or amusements, but would hear all that I had to say.

The purse at my side was beginning to grow slim as I drew out another silver piece, and said that such a coin when leveraged against a woman's honour, had little meaning. I sought permission from the queen to continue, and in so doing, bought for myself the right to speak, alongside the attention of the court. None could keep me from speaking, and none could ignore me.

I did not dare try to purchase the purity of the court. They would never have sold it. They would hear me, but they did not have to agree with what I said. And anyway, banishing the whole of the court served no purpose. No, simply, I showed the coin in my pouch to the queen, with the ancient mark of a dead or sleeping god upon it, and the intrigue was more than enough to open her mind to further offers. Safe passage, was my first request. By now it was clear to all that I was not a legitimate visitor, that there was some trick in my arrival, though still I had not been recognized as the one who had been banished the year before. So my bargain for safe passage, that I would leave of my own accord and not be thrown from the island, was my primary goal, and I believe that the queen granted it more from curiosity than out of compulsion.

Whatever was reasonable, I said, placing that third coin at her feet and drawing out another—I worried then that I might not have enough coins to finish my purchase!—is an offer that ought to be accepted, and so I suggested that this coin, this coin minted by a god, might be worth a great deal. Though it seemed only to be silver, the touch of the gods was known to impart power on even the most mundane of objects. Perhaps then even this coin might be worth the greatest treasure of Savèr, unparalleled though it might be. In truth, I told her, and it was no lie, that she might well have been the first ruler to receive coin of Kenarathal's hand in a century, perhaps in ten centuries, so long were the coins buried in the ruin. Compared against the coins of a god, what was the greatest treasure of a mortal kingdom?

I implored her not to decide too quickly, and told her how I came to purchase my lovely voice. And how my coin also purchased the memories of those who sold me that voice. And I sang to them, a song of Savèr, one which all of the court must have heard in their youth, a cradle-song that my own mother had sung me, for I too had come from that isle. And the memory of that song was fresh in my mind. It was a song which had power, for the court could not interrupt me, nor could they ignore me, and all of the court, listening closely, would have been lulled into a state of relaxation. You can hear it in my voice, can you not? The soft, subtle power of it. A song that a farmer would have no use for, but a traveller, a minstrel, an enchanter, one whose words lull another into a sense of stupor, a storyteller that cannot be unseen or unheard or dismissed, the lullaby surrounds you and engulfs you. You cannot sleep, for I have purchased your attention, but there is a place near to sleep, where my voice fills your mind and heart in their entirety, where all your attention and all your thoughts are on my words, and where my words are your thoughts, for your thoughts are lulled into that near-sleep where dreams begin but do not end, and from there you cannot wake, as my song surrounds you, as my lullaby rocks you gently, over and over again, and you cannot sleep as I hold your attention for the evening.

For I have made the same purchase this evening that I did in the court, do you see? A silver coin would not be worth spending upon the honour of a woman, but upon the attention of a woman a silver coin would be a small price indeed, even a silver coin minted by a god.

And so you hear my lovely voice, telling you the story of how I purchased at great price the finest treasure in all of Savèr, from where I had been banished. Because the coins are metaphor; Kenarathal is a god not only of the forge, but of all makers, of all creators. Those who craft coins, and those who craft stories. The silver they are made from is the very stuff of creativity, and in the hands of those who create, can purchase all things. And it was not only the voice of the farmer that I purchased, but her image—I took her to the mirror and gently, carefully disrobed her, and asked her, begged her to purchase not her self, but her likeness, that I might not be in my own image anymore but in that of a charming, simple, dark-haired, dark-eyed, freckled, full-figured woman. And her husband, that night, lived a true fantasy, having not only one wife of his own, but two, identical in image—of course he could tell us apart! I had only her likeness, and not her habits, her manners, none of the way that she knew to touch him or to kiss him, but Oh I envy that man his wonder that evening! And indeed I purchased their memory but left them their fantasy, for the lady herself seemed more than a little the narcissist who was more than ready to make love with herself, too, though I think we should all be so lucky to find ourselves so attractive. And do you not feel beautiful now, listening to my song and feeling the draw of my voice? Do you not understand the farmer's self-appreciation? I do not see how you might not, for I can see your loveliness, even if you choose to hide it from yourself.

A night at the court cost me a coin, but it was a truly reasonable request. The right to choose my accommodation created some hesitancy, and so I suggested to some mild laughter that I would only stay in a room where I had already spent the night; that, the queen deemed, was suitable, and accepted my coin. And it seemed a very reasonable request; none had ever seen a woman such as I seemed to be, I had arrived only a few days before and had only just been brought to the palace. I had not spent a night anywhere but in the city, since departing the ship. And finally, the last coin in my pouch, a coin touched by a god, offered to them a riddle: with that coin, I would take with me anything that had been placed in the room before midnight and remained thus until dawn—to which the queen, in her trance, laughed again, for there was no room she knew of where I could spend the night to begin with, and I had just given her another coin touched by a god, in exchange for nothing! Ah, but I shook my head, by morning I said I shall own the greatest treasure in all the kingdom. And the queen asked, in her slow, sleepy way, if I had at some point slept in the treasury, to which I gave no reply but that where I had spent my night was my own business and I would trouble her no more come the ebb tide, when I would leave on the boat moored in the harbour with the greatest treasure in all the kingdom.

And as she took my final coin in hand, and I gave thanks that I had enough money within the pouch to purchase everything that I would need—and that only just!—the deal was struck in full, and with the power of the attention I held, I continued to sing a lullaby until all were in a deep stupor and I could leave the room freely. Soon their activity, I could hear, began again, and all were mystified and asking questions of themselves and of each other. I took up my agreed-upon place, though to be sure that my duplicity might not be discovered I did hide. And it was not long before the greatest treasure in all of Savèr was brought into the room by a maid who proceeded to wash and prepare my prize, then to place the treasure in the bed under which I had been hiding. The lights were dimmed, followed almost immediately by the sound of the maid leaving the room.

I was alone, then, with my perfect treasure.

It was of almost no consequence then to slide out from under the ornate and highly elaborate bed, and to perch myself on the edge, causing the treasure to move towards me, and I said, do you recall when I left, I told you that I would return and take you with me?

And she, the princess, the greatest treasure in Savèr, sat up, her eyes searching mine, for she did not recognize me. A year ago I had been found impure for my daring to woo, successfully, the young woman. She did not recognize me, for I wore a different body, carried a different voice, bore an entirely different shape, but she knew me all the same. By my words, if not my voice. By my touch, if not my body. By my kiss, if not my shape. And though our means of lovemaking changed by necessity, though it had been a year since my hands had felt that beautiful soft face, those luscious full breasts, those gently curved thighs, it was unquestionably familiar.

It was certain, she said in a pause while we breathed together, that her mother would be furious. But as my fingers played in her warm, wet centre, that concern faded, and in any case, her mother had bargained with me for her, using silver of the gods. The greatest treasure of Savèr would be mine.

And my voice in her ear convinced her to put aside all those fears and worries for another time. The voice of the farmer, perhaps, but the words, the words were mine, too familiar, too comfortable—surely you can understand the comfort of words, words you know, words you've heard again, again and again, even if the voice has changed, the words still relax and comfort, still lull and soothe, do they not? And had I not paid my coin for your attention, would you still be listening, or are my words themselves enough?

Perhaps you would listen without the coin. Or perhaps you prefer to imagine that you have no choice, no option but to hear what I say. A silver coin against a kingdom's honour.

And in the morning, perhaps I'll purchase your memory, as well.

But the fantasy, ah the fantasy... that comes without price. And is as priceless a thing as ever there could be.

Or nearly so, given that I still keep close the greatest treasure of Savèr.