Slathbog's Gold

by M. L. Forman

  He followed Rothgar up another staircase, sure they were high up in the tower. He wondered why Rothgar had been carrying the lamp before because the staircase was well-lit by windows placed at regular intervals. Eventually, they reached the top of the staircase and Rothgar stopped, turning to face Alex.

  “I cannot lead you further,” said Rothgar. “Climb the stairs at the end of this corridor. The Oracle awaits you at the top.”

  Alex wondered if this was normal, but Rothgar started down the stairs before he could ask. It seemed strange that Rothgar would leave him alone, but then he wondered if perhaps there was some greater meaning he didn’t know about. It seemed to him almost everything surrounding the Oracle had some meaning he didn’t understand.

  At the end of the corridor, Alex climbed the stairs, counting as he went, trying to distract his worried thoughts. When he reached three hundred and sixty steps, the stairs ended. Alex stepped forward into a small, dim room.

  “You wonder about many things,” said Iownan’s voice from in front of him. “You look for reasons and answers, yet find none.”

  “That is true,” Alex replied.

  “Why do you look?”

  “So that I may understand.”

  “Will understanding help you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “What is the one thing you wish for above all else?” asked the Oracle as she pulled back a curtain and let sunlight fill the room.

  Alex blinked in the bright light. The figure standing before him looked like Iownan, but somehow he knew she wasn’t the same person who had spoken to him last night in the stable. He knew he stood before the Oracle of the White Tower. Alex swallowed hard.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Surely there is something you hope for.” She pulled open another curtain.

  “To do well,” Alex answered.

  “To do well at what?”

  “At whatever needs doing,” said Alex, confused.

  “And that makes you wiser than most,” said the Oracle with a smile. “But you doubt your ability to do well. You think of yourself as a small matter.”

  “I am a small matter,” said Alex. “I’m not special.”

  She shook her head. “You have been measured as a wizard. You defeated a troll. Even now, your magic bag holds seven others that you have won back from a dark place.”

  “I think Blackburn made a mistake,” said Alex in a shaky voice. “And I was just lucky when I fought the troll.”

  “And was it also luck that brought the great sword into your hand?”

  “What great sword?” Alex questioned.

  “The sword you carry,” she replied. “Ask your friend Arconn to look at it. He will know it for what it is.”

  “But even that was luck,” Alex protested. “I closed my eyes and picked it from a pile of swords.”

  “You may wish to call it luck, but is not luck a magical thing?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Alex. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I told you that I see possibilities,” replied the Oracle. “In you, I see many, though you do not see them yourself.”

  “What possibilities? I’m nobody. I just walked into a bookshop and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

  “Not just anyone could walk into that shop, Alex, as I’m sure your friends have told you,” she answered. “Not just anyone could be chosen as the eighth member of Bregnest’s company. And not just anyone could have so much luck.”

  “What are you saying then? That I am a . . . a wizard?”

  “I will speak plainly so you will understand,” she replied, the smile leaving her face. “This is not the normal way for an Oracle, but as you are young and know little of adventures, I will risk plain speech.”

  The Oracle paused for a moment as if thinking.

  “I see in you many things—kindness, loyalty, courage, honor. You have the ability to be a great wizard, if you wish to be one, or a great warrior, if that is what you seek. You can be both or neither, depending on the choices you make.”

  “And what would you advise me to be?”

  “I would advise you to follow your heart and not let your mind get in the way,” answered the Oracle, the smile returning to her face. “If you follow what your heart tells you, in time, you may become both a wizard and a warrior. Perhaps something more than both.”

  “I will try,” said Alex.

  “Yet your doubts remain,” she commented thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is good, as doubts often help keep pride in check.”

  “You know many things,” said Alex as he thought about the Oracle’s words. “You know my feelings and doubts, and still you tell me I can be a wizard and a warrior. I would not doubt your words, so I will try to do the best I can.”

  “It is well then,” said the Oracle with a nod. “Now, you have something else to ask about.”

  “I do?”

  “The ring you carry in your pocket,” she reminded him. “You wish to know what it is.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Alex, taking the gold-and-black ring from his pocket and holding it in his open hand.

  “I cannot say what this ring is,” replied the Oracle. “But I would tell you not to lose it, or sell it. And do not wear it—at least not until you know what it is.”

  “You cannot say, or will not say?” Alex questioned.

  “I see you are already thinking like a wizard,” she replied happily. “Let us say for now that I cannot say.”

  “As you wish,” said Alex, bowing to the Oracle.

  “Now you should go,” she said. “Rothgar will meet you to guide you to the gardens.”

  Alex turned to leave, but as he started down the stairs he heard the Oracle call after him.

  “Remember—doubts may check pride, but too much doubt will keep you from doing what must be done.”

  Alex thought about the Oracle’s words as he descended the three hundred and sixty stairs to the corridor. Though she had given him much to think about, his thoughts no longer troubled him as they had before, and he was grateful that she had spoken so plainly to him.

  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.

  “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 and a 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

  Alex handed the note to Bregnest, who read it out loud while Alex examined the book more closely. The pages were covered with tight, spidery writing and there were drawings of different plants and animals, many of which Alex did not recognize.

  “The lady calls you friend,” Tayo commented, sounding impressed. “It is a great honor for an oracle to call you friend.”