"Right." Eriale nodded and ducked into the house.
"And get a second sack ready!"
"You're coming with me?" Aeron asked.
Kestrel shook his head. "If I do that, they'll think I put you up to it. That'll smell like a revolt to Raedel; he remembers who your father was. No, I'm going to send Eriale with you so she can tell me where you're hiding. I can always tell the count she's gone off to visit her mother's kinfolk in Saden."
"What are you going to do?"
Kestrel sighed heavily and looked toward the stone towers of Raedel Keep, across the river. "I'm going to go down to the castle and try to set this straight. If it turns out right, I can always tell them you panicked and ran off when I left you. If I can't smooth things over … well, you'll be glad you're not here."
Three hours later, the long afternoon was coming to an end. The sky had taken on the color of beaten copper, with red streaks marking a storm front pushing in from the south. Aeron and Eriale rested by an old trapper's lean-to, about six miles southwest of Maerchlin. They hadn't spoken much during the march. Aeron couldn't bring himself to talk about what had happened, and Eriale's gibes and barbs fell flat when he was so preoccupied.
"It'll be dark soon," Eriale said, standing to gaze up at the sky. The lodge stood by a long field that stretched away to the west, and the red and gold of the sunset blazed in the soft tasseled grasses. Eriale had changed into breeches and a rough shirt not dissimilar from what Aeron wore. It was much more practical for hiking than her skirts. "Should we build a fire?"
Aeron glanced around at the watchful woods. "I've seen wolf tracks in this part of the Maerchwood. And troll signs, too. It might be a good idea to have a fire."
They scoured the forest floor for suitable firewood, gathering dry pine needles for kindling. As darkness fell, Aeron managed to get a good fire going. They broke into their supplies and roasted a hen over the campfire, singeing their fingers and faces as they ate.
"Do you think the constable's looking for you, Aeron?" Eriale asked after they finished. She busied herself with banking the fire to burn all night.
"Raedel would never let me go," he said bitterly. "I stand up to him, and I'm going to lose everything for it. It doesn't seem fair, does it?"
"You're safe as long as you don't go home," she said quietly. She looked up at him, her mouth tight. Aeron and Eriale had grown up together, family in fact if not in blood. He could read her moods with some accuracy. Eriale was a level-headed girl with a strong stubborn streak, confident in herself and those close to her. She didn't worry without good cause, and Aeron could tell she was working to keep her concern from showing. She tried to put on an optimistic face. "Perhaps Father can get Lord Raedel to hear your side of the story."
He shrugged. "I doubt it, Eriale."
"What will you do?"
"I can live off the land as long as I need to." He reached behind him for his quiver and emptied it into his lap. Fifteen good arrows, two only fair, and the makings for a dozen more. He selected a rough shaft that was almost done and began to pare it carefully with a sharp fletching knife.
Eriale watched him. "All by yourself? No one to talk to, no friends?"
"You and Kestrel could come visit me from time to time. As for friends. ." He met her eyes. "I don't have many anyway. No one in Maerchlin has much use for the last of the Morieths, not after my father pushed Lord Raedel into setting Oslin's soldiers on us. You'd have a lot more friends yourself, Eriale, if your father hadn't taken me in."
The forester's daughter smiled sadly. "People misjudge you, Aeron. They don't know you like I do." She spread out her bedroll by the fire and drew a thin blanket over her shoulders. "We'll probably need to move again in the morning. Better get some sleep."
"As soon as I finish this arrow." Aeron turned his attention to the fletching. He lost himself in his task for half an hour or more. Eriale rolled over and started snoring softly. When he finished, he stood and walked away from the fire to gaze at the stars. By night, the forest was alive with the sounds of movement. Animals rustled as they moved through the brush; frogs croaked and called to one another; nocturnal insects chirped and buzzed quietly. In the distance, a hound bayed mournfully. Aeron smiled, closing his eyes to catch every song of the night. The hound bayed again, several others joining in a rough chorus.
Hounds?
Aeron's eyes flew open, and he wheeled to stare into the forest. It was hard to be certain, but he heard them to the west and slightly north, back toward Maerchlin. The dogs barked and snuffled, the sounds of their approach gradually growing into a continuous gabble of grunts and howls. He smacked one hand against his forehead and bounded up to shake Eriale awake.
"What? What is it?" she asked sleepily.
"The constable," Aeron said. "They've got hounds on our trail!"
Eriale sat upright, cocking her head to listen. "They can't be more than a mile away!"
Aeron turned and started stuffing his pack. "Come on! We're going to have to run for it!"
Eriale scrambled up. She knelt beside the fire and scooped great armfuls of earth over the embers, smothering it. "They'll know we were here," she said over her shoulder. "There's no way we can hide all the signs."
"I know," Aeron said. He slung his pack over one shoulder, grabbed his bedroll, and stood. "Got everything?"
Eriale crammed her blanket into her pack. "Let's move."
They set off toward the south, heading deeper into the Maerchwood. Aeron moved fast in the darkness. From his unknown elven ancestors, he'd inherited exceptionally keen night vision, and he could see quite well by starlight or moonlight. Eriale kept up with him as best she could, but she didn't have his acuity of vision or endurance, and she stumbled over thick roots and tangled undergrowth time and time again. He hadn't gone a mile before Eriale began to rasp behind him. "Aeron, slow down!"
He halted on the edge of a small clearing. The moon was rising in the east, casting a silver light through the tree-tops overhead. Very little reached the forest floor. He caught Eriale's hand in the darkness. Behind them, the hounds were baying with excitement. They'd found the campsite and picked up the new trail.
He rested one hand on Eriale's shoulder. "Let's get off the trail. They might miss us." They stood on the shoulder of a tree-covered ridge, surrounded by impenetrable shadows and scant traces of silver moonlight. Aeron caught Eriale's hand and led her uphill. They crashed through thick briars and undergrowth, scuffling through thick layers of fallen leaves. To Aeron, it sounded like the passage of an army.
At the top of the ridge, Aeron turned and looked back to the west. He could make out angry lantern light bobbing toward them through the trees. They were close enough to hear the cries of the hunters. Aeron squeezed his eyes shut and pounded his fist into his hand, trying to think. How could they lose their pursuers?
"Aeron, they're right behind us," Eriale said.
"They're still on the trail. Come on, let's get down the other side of the ridge." He turned and started sliding down the hillside, kicking up dirt and dead leaves as he snaked down the hill's reverse slope. Eriale followed, a few steps behind. The weak moonlight didn't illuminate this side of the ridge at all. Aeron's night vision was keen, but he needed some light to see. He lurched and stumbled as the slope steepened under his feet.
Aeron tried to arrest his descent, but suddenly there was empty air under him. He yelped in surprise and fell, tumbling through darkness, branches and briars stinging him like whips as he plummeted down the hillside. He fetched up hard against smooth, dressed stone. The impact knocked the wind out of him. A moment later, Eriale fell heavily nearby, gasping in pain. After the clatter and rush of the fall, the sudden silence was disorienting; it took Aeron a moment to gather his senses.
Eriale sat up, a little more fortunate in her landing. "Aeron? Are you here? Where are we?"
Aeron raised himself on one elbow, rubbing at a badly barked shinbone. "I'm here, Eriale." As to where they were … he looked around, tr
ying to make out their surroundings. Gradually he realized it wasn't completely dark. A shimmering faerie-light hovered in the air, casting an argent gleam over the place. They were in the ruins of a stone building, overgrown with green vines. The glossy marble was veined with dark moss and strands of silver. The stones seemed unusual somehow. As he peered closer, he saw they were delicately scalloped with a fine tracery suggesting living trees and animals, a bas-relief of the forest. "I think we're in an old elf tower," he said in a hushed voice.
"I didn't think there were any so close to Maerchlin." Eriale traced the old lines in the stone. "It's beautiful."
Faint and subtle, the old stones gleamed like soft silver in the moonlight. Despite the clamor of the approaching hunters, Aeron reached out to stroke the cool and perfect stone. Foxfire danced on his fingertips; he could almost hear the faraway cry of elfin horns in the forest, inhale the scents and sounds of vanished starlight. "Who were they?" he wondered aloud. "Where are they now?"
Eriale could not reply. Her eyes wide and dark, she stood rooted to the spot. With a soft gasp, Aeron realized that he'd been holding his breath, afraid to break the faerie dream around him.
Dogs howled and bayed on the hillcrest above them. Slowly Aeron rolled to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet. "They're still on our trail. Keep moving."
Eriale nodded and drew back from the stone wall. She turned to pick up her pack, then halted. "Aeron, wait."
"What? What is it?" He glanced over, alarmed by the strange tone in her voice. In a jumbled gap in the opposite wall stood a white wolfhound, an ethereal shadow of gray and pearl with dark, intelligent eyes. It watched them without moving. Eriale slowly backed away as Aeron straightened, facing the apparition.
"What do we do?" she whispered.
Aeron started to reply, but he noticed the spectral illumination was growing brighter. The entire place was glowing with pearly light. He blinked as a tiny mote of coruscating radiance danced and darted a handspan in front of his nose. The sphere retreated in the blink of an eye, hovering beside the white hound, and then it began to grow, expanding and dimming until it had the outline of a man-shaped white radiance.
The light brightened one last time, and then flashed silently, revealing a tall, thin man with fair skin and long silver hair. He was dressed in pearl gray hose, over which he wore a soft white doublet embroidered with silver designs. His face was long and expressive, with a sad wisdom hidden in his perfect features. He reached down to stroke the white hound's head. "Cuillen de fhoiren, Baillegh," he said softly, in a voice like liquid music.
"Aeron, he's an elf lord," Eriale whispered. "We've trespassed in his house."
Aeron glanced at her, then back to the tall elf. "Who are you? What is this place?"
The elf gazed into Aeron's face with a hint of a smile. He started to speak, grimaced, and then tried again. "I am called Fineghal Caillaen, though some know me as the Storm Walker. I have been waiting for you, Aeron Morieth," he said. An odd inflection weighted his speech, as if he hadn't spoken a human language in a very long time. "Who is your companion?
"This is Eriale, daughter of Kestrel the forester," Aeron replied. A moment later, he realized the import of the elf lord's words. "Waiting for me? How do you know me?"
'The Morieths are known to us of old," the elf answered, ignoring the rest of Aeron's question. "Why do they hunt you? You seem too young to be an outlaw."
"I wounded two noblemen. I'm just a commoner. It's death to take up arms against a lord." Aeron had the uncanny feeling the elf prince could read the truth of his words, seeing the events he alluded to. The baying of the hounds grew louder, and he could hear men cursing and calling out as they came nearer. "Damn, they're almost on us," he hissed. "Come on, Eriale. We have to flee!"
The silver prince raised his hand. "None will find us here if I do not wish to be found." He looked at Eriale, and back to Aeron. "You and your friend may shelter here tonight under my protection. I will see to it that no harm befalls you."
Aeron turned to look up the hillside. Red-faced soldiers in Raedel's colors picked their way down the slope, dragged on by hounds that strained at their leashes. He quailed in fear as he realized the soldiers must be close enough to spot them, but the eerie silver radiance seemed to attract not the slightest notice. "Why don't they see us?" he asked.
"An enchantment on this place," Fineghal replied. "I'd better help the hounds along, though. They're not so easy to fool as men." He lifted his hand and muttered a liquid phrase under his breath. Silver motes danced around his hand. Aeron was acutely conscious of a thrumming in his heart, a prickling sensation that tickled the center of his chest. He realized he had sensed Fineghal's magic at work. When the feeling faded, he had a sudden and fierce wish to bring it back.
Outside the moss-grown walls, the hounds bayed louder and surged ahead, sweeping past the ruins of the elven tower and crashing off to the north. In a matter of moments, they had vanished into the silver night. More than a dozen men had almost walked right through them without even glancing in their direction. Aeron breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they disappeared. "Will they be back?" he asked aloud.
"Not tonight, they won't," Fineghal replied. He returned his attention to Aeron and Eriale. "I seem to recall that humans require sleep," he said. "Rest now. In the morning we can decide what must be done." He gestured with one hand and whispered softly in the elven tongue. Despite his resistance, Aeron found his eyes growing unbearably heavy. Beside him, Eriale sank slowly to the stone, laying her head on her pack. He didn't remember reaching the ground.
Two
The warmth of a golden sunbeam against his face woke Aeron in the early hours of the morning. He opened his eyes. Cold stone lay beneath him, and above him the green branches of the forest wove a tangled skein of light and shadow. For a moment, he was completely disoriented, but then the events of the previous night returned to him. The ruins of the elf tower seemed unremarkable by daylight. The silver tracery and elfin aura were gone, and the stones were simply mossy old stones again.
He pushed himself to his feet, stretching. Eriale stirred close by, raising her head and blinking at him. "Aeron? Where are-Oh, I remember." She sat up, clasping her arms and shivering. "Was it all a dream?"
"I don't think so," Aeron said. There was no sign of the hunters, and all he could hear were the normal small sounds of the forest-birdcalls sweet and high, the gentle sighing of the upper branches in the breeze, rustling and motion all around him as the forest began to wake. The ruins faced the sunrise, sheltered against the green hillside like a jewel in the hand of a gentle giant. He felt surprisingly well rested, considering the fact that he'd slept on a hard stone floor. "Do you think Fineghal's nearby?"
"The elf prince? I don't see him, or his hound." Eriale stood and looked around. "What do we do now, Aeron? Do we wait for him, or do we move on?"
"I'm not sure where I'd go even if we left now. Raedel's men might have missed us last night, but they won't give up so quickly."
Eriale nodded. "I hope Father's all right. The constable wouldn't have been happy to find us missing."
"I'm sure he's fine," Aeron said confidently. Inwardly, he was very concerned for Kestrel, but it would do no good to share that with Eriale. With a sigh, he reached down and shouldered his pack. In the warm light of the morning sun, the astounding encounter of the night before seemed nothing more than a dream. Aeron wanted to linger by the elf tower, to see if their mysterious host might reappear. He'd never dreamed that he would meet an elf, let alone a lord of elven-kind, so close to Maerchlin. Ancient ruins, elven magic … he'd dreamed that someday he'd see these things with his own eyes. If I leave this place, he wondered, will I ever see them again?
He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. Despite his curiosity, it was best for Eriale and he to move on quickly and make the most of their lucky break while the hunters were off their trail. "Come on. Fineghal's not here, so I guess we're free to go."
Eriale frow
ned but agreed. "Where are we going?"
"South, I think. All of the Maerchwood lies ahead of us in that direction. There's a lot of forest to hide in."
They picked their way out of the tower, circling once to take in the full extent of the wreckage. Aeron decided it must have been a slender and graceful structure in its day, easily as tall as the turrets of Raedel Keep but much more elegant. It seemed sad that it stood no longer. With one last glance, he squared his shoulders to face the day's march.
"Aeron!" Eriale reached out for his arm and pointed back at the tower. There, on the fallen wall, sat the white wolfhound of the night before. It seemed much more solid and tangible by daylight, as if its ghostly form had returned to its own rightful body. The hound barked once and trotted down from the old stones, heading south. It paused to look at them, wagged its tail, and barked again. "I think she wants us to follow her," Eriale said.
Aeron glanced around. The forest he knew, the forest he'd grown up in, still surrounded him. But the old elven ruins and the white hound beckoned to him, emblems of a mystery he'd never suspected. He turned without a sound and trotted after the wolfhound, Eriale just a step behind. The hound led them deeper into the forest, choosing faint game runs that Aeron might have missed without her guidance. She stayed well in front of them, sometimes pressing so far ahead that all Aeron could make out was a glimmer of silver in the shadows beneath the trees.
After an hour's march, steep walls of moss-covered rock rose on either side of them. The sound of rushing water grew louder as the hound beckoned them on, now prancing eagerly. They finally emerged into a bowl-shaped gorge. A tall cascade plummeted down the opposite wall, pooling beneath the wet, gray rock. Cold and clear, a stream ran south out of the vale, sluicing over a flat sheet of bedrock at the base of the escarpment. Above Aeron, the forest clung to the lip of the gorge, and an ephemeral rainbow shimmered in the morning light. He gasped in delight, sensing the cool spray on his face.
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