At the end of the corridor, Rothgar was waiting as the Oracle had said he would be. Alex followed him down another staircase, and after several turns and more stairs, Rothgar led him into a garden. He bowed, then departed without saying a word.
Alex looked around the garden expecting to see the rest of the company, but he was alone. This didn’t bother him, because he wanted some time to think about what the Oracle had said. He walked deeper into the garden, looking at the different plants and flowers that grew everywhere. Soon he heard the sound of falling water, and following the sound, he found Arconn sitting next to a large fountain.
“Your meeting with the Oracle went well then?” Arconn asked politely.
“Yes,” said Alex, then stopped short. “Shouldn’t you be speaking with the Oracle now?”
“I have no need,” replied Arconn. “As I told you before, I am of the elder race.”
“What does that mean, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking,” said Alex.
“We elves are the eldest race of thinking creatures—except perhaps for dragons,” Arconn answered, looking at the falling water in the fountain. “We came first to all the known lands, though in some lands we have been forgotten.”
“And why don’t you need or want to speak with the Oracle?” Alex asked.
“Oracles are for mortals,” replied Arconn, turning his attention back to Alex. “Though I have spoken with many, it has been only to gain wisdom, not to learn about myself.”
“You are not mortal then?”
“You know nothing of elves,” said Arconn with a laugh.
“Well, no,” Alex admitted. “You’re the first elf I’ve ever met.”
“I will try to explain,” said Arconn, looking back at the fountain. “Elves are not mortal as you think of it, though we can die. We do not grow old or sick, but we may become tired of life and choose to fade away. There are also a few of my race who have chosen to live and die as mortal men, though for most of my race, life is too pleasing and we choose to remain as we are.”
“I think I understand,” said Alex.
“Then we should join the others,” said Arconn, standing and moving away from the fountain. “Though I doubt they’ve waited for us before eating.”
Alex felt hungry as soon as Arconn mentioned food. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and now it was well past midday.
“Do the others know that I was last?” Alex asked with some concern. “I mean . . . I didn’t want to be last because . . .”
“Because I told you the last to see the Oracle was considered a wizard,” Arconn finished for him. “Yes, they know you were last, but then they already know you are a wizard—or at least that you may become one. Even if you have doubts, the others believe what Blackburn and Iownan have said.”
“My doubts are less than they were,” said Alex.
“That is good,” said Arconn, putting his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Doubts can hold you back when need calls.”
“There is one other thing,” said Alex, stopping again. “Iownan—I mean the Oracle—said I should ask you about my sword. She said it was a great sword and that you would know about it.”
“Then we shall look at it this afternoon, after we have eaten, and I will tell you what I can,” said Arconn.
chapter nine
The Promise
Alex and Arconn found the others in a much better mood than they had been that morning. Even Tayo smiled as they entered the feasting house to join the company.
“At last,” said Skeld, lowering his mug. “I thought you’d have to go hungry. Andy has been eating everything in sight.”
“No, I haven’t,” Andy protested, spitting bits of food and throwing a hunk of bread at Skeld.
“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.