Slathbog's Gold - Forman Mark L - Страница 29

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“There is more than enough,” said Thrang, raising his mug as if to toast Alex and Arconn. “The lady’s kitchens have left us wanting for nothing.”

“Perhaps too much of your red ale,” Skeld laughed, launching the bread Andy had thrown at him in the direction of Thrang’s mug.

“It is a fair vintage,” Thrang replied, slapping the bread away.

Alex and Arconn helped themselves from the three tables that were once again covered with food.

“You seem more at ease than you were this morning,” commented Thrang, looking closely at Alex. “Did the Oracle tell you what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” replied Alex.

“It is not your concern,” said Bregnest sternly to Thrang. “You know that the Oracle’s words are private.”

“Forgive me,” said Thrang, smiling ruefully at Alex. “Perhaps Skeld is right—I’ve had too much ale.”

Alex simply smiled, bowing his head slightly to accept Thrang’s apology. He was happy, and the thoughts that had troubled him for so long now seemed distant. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace.

Alex and Arconn ate their meal while the rest of their companions joked and picked at what remained on their plates. They spent their time talking happily, not worried about what tomorrow would bring. There was no reason to rush, and they were all relaxed.

“We should look at your sword,” said Arconn as the company walked out into the afternoon sunlight. “Though I should tell you, my knowledge of swords is small.”

“The Oracle said you would know about this one,” Alex said, turning toward the sleeping house.

“Then bring it out into the sunlight,” Arconn called after him. “It is too fine a day to be indoors.”

Alex entered the sleeping house and picked up his sword. He remembered how easily the blade had passed through the troll’s leg, as if his own effort was unimportant, and the strange heat he had felt during the fight. Picking up the scabbard, he saw that the inlayed swirls of gold still seemed to spell something, but he still couldn’t make out what the words might be.

Leaving the sleeping house, Alex saw the others had gathered on the shady side of the bathhouse. Carrying his sword in both hands, he approached Arconn, who was laughing at one of Skeld’s jokes. Arconn’s laughter stopped as soon as he saw Alex’s sword and his eyes widened in surprise.

“You recognize it then?” Alex asked.

“I do,” said Arconn, his voice slightly higher than normal. “Though I never thought I would see such a weapon again.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Alex held out the scabbard as the others gathered around to get a better look.

“I . . . I can,” Arconn answered slowly. “Draw the blade so that I will be correct in what I tell you.”

Alex drew the sword from its scabbard and held it up in the sunlight. The gold inlay flashed like fire in his hand, and Alex heard Arconn catch his breath.

“A well-made weapon,” said Thrang, looking from the sword to Arconn and back again. “Looks like elfin work, though better than anything they’ve made in many years.”

“Indeed it is,” said Arconn, regaining his speech. “The Oracle was wise to have you ask me about it. Please, return it to its scabbard.”

As Alex obeyed, Arconn looked at Andy. “You bought this at Blackburn’s? He sold this to you?”

“Yes,” Andy answered, looking worried. “He said it wasn’t one of his swords, but that an adventurer had sold it to him. He said it was as good as anything he’d ever made, maybe

better.”

“Better indeed,” said Arconn with a laugh. “This sword is the one the elves call Moon Slayer. The name is written on the scabbard, though in the ancient language of the dark elves.”

“Dark elves?” Alex questioned, concerned.

“Not evil elves as you might think,” Arconn clarified. “They were called dark elves because they loved the earth. Mining ore and making wonderful things with it was their passion. They loved it as much as the dwarf races do, perhaps more.”

“Not more,” Halfdan stated in a defiant tone.

“At least as much then,” said Arconn, bowing slightly to Halfdan.

“You speak of them in the past,” said Skeld. “Are they no longer to be found?”

“Most of them were destroyed long ago,” replied Arconn, sounding troubled. “The few who were left were scattered. Now most have faded away, overcome by the sorrows of the mortal lands.” Arconn’s eyes returned to the sword. “Men, goblins, even dwarfs, desired weapons and armor made by dark elves, as there has never been any better. Dragons hated them because not even their scales could protect them from a dark elf blade. The dark elves were wise, however, selling little of what they made. When they did sell a weapon, it was only to trusted friends.”

“Do you know any more about this sword and its history?” Bregnest asked.

“Moon Slayer was the sword of many great warriors, but I’ll not trouble you with their names and deeds,” replied Arconn. “I also know that whatever price Blackburn asked it was nothing compared to the sword’s true value. Indeed, in the elfin kingdoms, a treasure as great as a dragon’s hoard would be given for such a sword.”

“Then you made a good bargain,” said Alex, looking at Thrang. “You paid for this sword, and I cannot claim it as my own.”

Thrang looked at the sword and then at Alex. He seemed a little nervous, almost afraid, when he spoke.

“The sword is yours,” said Thrang, his hand automatically stroking his beard. “I have no claim on it. You have chosen it—or perhaps it has chosen you. I offered to stand good for you, that is all. I won’t go back on my word.”

“You show great wisdom, Thrang Silversmith,” said Arconn, nodding to the dwarf. “This sword chooses its own master, and it is clear it has chosen Alex.”

Alex felt pleased that such a famous sword would choose him as its master. He hoped he would be able to live up to the ancient tradition of the sword, though he still had some doubts about his skill as a warrior.

“For as long as you carry Moon Slayer, you will find honor among the elves,” Arconn said. “Keep it well, and it will keep you.”

“Thank you,” said Alex, bowing to Arconn. “You have told me a great deal. I see the wisdom of the Oracle in having me ask you about my sword.”

“As do I,” Arconn replied, glancing up at the tower.

Alex returned the sword to the sleeping house, though he was reluctant to leave it there. He placed it carefully beside his magic bag, then quickly rejoined his companions.

“A warrior anda wizard,” said Skeld, slapping him on the back and grinning broadly. “You’ve come a long way in a short time, little brother.”

The others laughed at Skeld’s comments and so did Alex. He knew he was not a wizard or a warrior—at least not yet—but somehow, he knew he would be both someday.

As the shadows started to creep across the courtyard, Rothgar appeared, carrying a large book. He bowed politely to Bregnest before addressing the group.

“The lady Iownan asks for your forgiveness, as she cannot dine with you this evening. She asks also that I deliver this book into Master Taylor’s hands. She thanks you for your kindness and bids you all a good evening.”

When he finished speaking, Rothgar bowed to Alex and handed him the large book. The others crowded around Alex as Rothgar departed as quickly as he had appeared.

“Another gift from the lady? You must have made a great impression,” said Skeld, looking over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex waved him off but didn’t say anything. The fine leather cover of the book was blank and he wondered what it might contain. He opened the book slowly and a note slipped out from inside the front cover.

My Friend,

Please accept this gift. It will aid you on your future journeys. I’m sure you will find it useful.

                                  Iownan

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