The Misenchanted Sword

Epilogue

Valder stared at the white-haired little man as he came through the door of the inn. “I know him,” he muttered to himself, “I’m sure I do.” He watched as the old man found his way to a table and carefully seated himself.

Young Thetta headed toward the new arrival, but Valder waved her off; something about this person fascinated him. He crossed the room slowly to give himself time to remember, and by the time he reached the table he thought he knew who the man was.

It was very hard to believe, though, after so long.

“Hello,” he said, “I’m Valder; I own this inn. What can I do for you?”

The old man looked up at him, and Valder thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the ancient eyes. Then the old man looked away again and shook his head, as if telling himself he was imagining things. “Wine,” he said. “White wine.”

Valder fetched him wine, and after placing the cup before the old man he sat down across the table from him. “Pardon me, but I believe we’ve met before, a long time ago.”

The old man peered at him. “That soldier? In the marsh?”

Valder grinned. “It is you!”

“I’ll be damned,” the old man said. “So you made it after all!”

“I never expected to see you again!”

“Didn’t expect to see you, either—especially not after two hundred years.” The wizard gulped his wine.

“Two hundred and twenty-one, to be exact.”

“You keep count?”

“Well, it was a pretty important event in my life, getting my sword enchanted that way.”

“Suppose it was.” He gulped more wine. “Suppose I should apologize about that.”

“Apologize about what?”

“About getting the spell wrong. Not really my fault, though; the sun was down when I got to that part, and everything was all sooty.”

“Got to what part?”

“The Spell of True Ownership. I did it wrong. Conditions like that, who can tell a gold ring from a brass one?”

Valder stared for a long, long moment before he started to laugh.