said urgently, each one linked to the elements: Earth, Air, Fire and Water.
It is said that they predate even the oldest of the Elder Races. The swords
have had many names through the ages: Excalibur and Joyeuse, Mistelteinn and
Curtana, Durendal and Tyrfing. The last time one was used as a weapon in the
world of men was when Charlemagne, the Holy Roman Emperor, carried Joyeuse
into battle.
This is Joyeuse? Josh whispered. His sister might be good at geography, but
he knew history, and Charlemagne had always fascinated him.
Scathach s laugh was a bitter snarl. Joyeuse is a thing of beauty. This this
is an abomination.
Flamel touched the sword s hilt and the tiny crystals in the stone sparkled
with green light. This is not Joyeuse, though it is true that it once
belonged to Charlemagne. I also believe the emperor himself hid this blade in
Andorra sometime in the ninth century.
It s just like Excalibur, Josh said, suddenly realizing why the stone sword
was so familiar. He looked at his sister. Dee had Excalibur; he used it to
destroy the World Tree.
Excalibur is the Sword of Ice, Flamel continued. This is its twin blade:
Clarent, the Sword of Fire. It is the only weapon that can stand against
Excalibur.
It is a cursed blade, Scathach said firmly. I ll not touch it.
Nor I, Joan said quickly, and Saint-Germain nodded in agreement.
I m not asking any of
spun the weapon on the table until the hilt touched the boy s fingers and
then he looked at each of them in turn. We know Dee and Machiavelli are
coming. Josh is the only one amongst us without the ability to protect
himself. Until his powers are Awakened, he is going to need a weapon. I want
him to have Clarent.
Nicholas! Scathach cried, horrified. What are you thinking. He s an
untrained humani
with a solid gold aura, Flamel said coldly. And I am determined to keep
him safe. He pushed the sword into Josh s fingers. This is yours. Take it.
Josh leaned forward and felt the two pages from the Codex press against his
skin in their cloth bag. This would be the second gift the Alchemyst had
given him in as many days. Part of him wanted to accept the gifts at face
value to trust him and to believe that Flamel liked him and trusted him in
turn. And yet, and yet even after the conversation they d had in the street,
somewhere at the back of his mind, Josh couldn't forget what Dee had said by
the fountain in Ojai: that half of everything Flamel said was a lie, and the
other half wasn't entirely truthful either. He deliberately looked away from
the sword and looked into Flamel s pale eyes. The Alchemyst was staring at
him, his face an expressionless mask. So what was the Alchemyst up to? Josh
wondered. What game was he playing? More of Dee s words popped into his head.
He is now, and has always been, a liar, a charlatan, and a crook.
Don't you want it? Nicholas asked. Take it. He pushed the hilt right into
Josh s grip.
Almost against his will, Josh s fingers closed over the smooth
leather-wrapped hilt of the stone sword. He lifted it though it was short, it
was surprisingly heavy and turned it over in his hands. I ve never handled a
sword in my life, he said. I don't know how .
Scathach will show you the basics, Flamel said, not looking at the Shadow,
but turning the simple statement into a command. How to carry it, simple
thrust and parry. Try and avoid stabbing yourself with it, he added.
Josh suddenly realized that he was grinning widely and tried to wipe away the
smile, but it was difficult: the sword felt
wrist and the sword twitched. Then he looked at Scatty, Francis and Joan and
saw how their eyes were fixed on the blade, following its every movement, and
his smile faded. What s wrong with the sword? he demanded. Why are you so
scared of it?
Sophie put her hand on her brother s arm, her eyes sparkling silver with the
Witch s knowledge. Clarent, she said, is an evil, accursed weapon,
sometimes called the Coward s Blade. This is the sword Mordred used to kill
his uncle, King Arthur.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
and looked down over the Champs-Elys es. The broad tree-lined street was wet
with rain and shone amber, red and white in the reflected lights of the cars
and buses. She checked her watch: it was almost two a.m. on Sunday morning,
yet traffic was still heavy. Anytime after midnight, the streets of San
Francisco would be deserted.
The difference emphasized just how far from home she was.
When she d been younger, she d gone through a phase when she d decided that
everything about herself was boring. She d made a conscious effort to be more
stylish more like her friend Elle, who changed her hair color on a weekly
basis and had a wardrobe that was always filled with the latest styles.
Sophie had collected everything she could find about the exotic European
cities she read about in magazines, places where fashion and art were
created: London and Paris, Rome, Milan, Berlin. She was determined that she
wasn't going to follow fashion; she was going to create her own. The phase
had lasted about a month. Fashion was an expensive business, and the
allowance she and her brother got from their parents was strictly limited.
She still wanted to visit the great cities of the world, though. She and Josh
had even started talking about taking a year off before college to go
backpacking around Europe. And now here they were in one of the most
beautiful cities on earth, and she had absolutely no interest in exploring
it. The only thing she wanted to do right now was return to San Francisco.
But what would she return to?
The thought stopped her cold.
Though the family had moved around a lot, and traveled even more, two days
ago, she d known what to expect in the coming months. The rest of the year
was mapped out in boring detail. In the fall, their parents would resume
their teaching positions at the University of San Francisco, and both she and
Josh would return to school. In December, the family would take their annual
trip to Providence, Rhode Island, where their father had given the Christmas
