"Of course, of course! Come in, quickly. Why, it's been a year that you've been gone now! So much has happened. The old lord, he's fallen ill, and young Phoros is pretty much in charge at the keep. Kestrel-well, Kestrel is in the castle's dungeon. But Eriale's-"
"Aeron! You're back!" Eriale rushed up and caught Aeron in a strong embrace. "Where have you been? What have you been doing?"
"I was going to say, Eriale was released a few days ago, and she's staying here with us while she cleans up Kestrel's cabin," Shiela continued. "And I was going to add that she was here right now, but I see that you've found that out for yourself." The matron ushered both Aeron and Eriale into the cluttered interior of her home, pulling up a couple of stools by the hearth.
Aeron looked from Shiela to Eriale. It was good to see human faces again. Eriale … he hadn't realized how much he had missed her. Kestrel might have been a father to him, but Eriale was both his sister and his best friend. He missed her direct honesty, her wit and dry humor, even the shape of her face. "I can't stay, Shiela. Raedel's men still have a warrant for me. You're at risk as long as I stay here."
"Oh, hush!" Shiela snapped. "Answer Eriale, young man. She's been beside herself with worry."
Aeron drew in a deep breath and replied, "I'm still staying with the friend I met last year, Eriale. I'm sure you remember him. I've learned a lot in a year. I can read and write in both common and Elvish, and my. . other studies are going well. But there's so much more for me to learn. Even if I could come home, I think I'd stay where I am." He returned his attention to Eriale. "Now tell me what's happened in Maerchlin."
Eriale glanced up at Shiela. Her face lost some of the enthusiasm she'd shown at seeing Aeron again. "Father's been imprisoned in Raedel Keep for almost three months now," she said quietly. "I was thrown in the dungeon, too, but they let me go on Midsummer."
"Why did Raedel arrest you?"
"Phoros was very angry with Father and I for helping you to escape Maerchlin, but the old lord wouldn't allow him to arrest us. After all, we didn't know you were wanted when you left. But over the winter, old Lord Raedel fell ill."
"They say he hasn't risen from his bed in two months or more," Shiela added.
"So Phoros is the lord of Maerchlin now?" Aeron asked.
Eriale nodded. "Not in name, but he's the heir, and he's serving as regent until his father gets better."
"If he ever does," Shiela observed.
"The very day his father agreed to relinquish his powers to Phoros, he drafted a warrant for Kestrel's arrest, and mine as well. Aiding a felon, obstructing the law, seditious speech, conspiracy to rebellion … I didn't know he could think of so many charges!" Eriale paled and her voice grew small. "So Father and I were thrown into the dungeons."
Aeron snorted. "Raedel's nothing but a bloodthirsty brigand! He can't use his father's laws to pursue his own vendetta against me."
Shiela frowned. "King Gereax in Oslin came down on his side thirteen years ago, Aeron. The castle's guardsmen are the only law in Maerchlin. You should know that by now."
The young mage spat a curse. "I'm sorry, Eriale. Did they. . were they rough with you?"
She shook her head. "Some of the guards would say things to me, but no one ever touched me."
"Why did they let you go?"
Eriale shook her head. "I don't know."
Aeron thought about the news. What could he do to help Kestrel? Could he spirit the forester out of the dungeons with magic? If he did, Kestrel would be no better off than Aeron was. As an escaped prisoner, he'd have to flee Maerchlin, too. What if he turned himself in? Phoros would have no reason to hold Kestrel-well, nothing save spite, he reminded himself-but Aeron's own life would almost certainly be forfeit. Aeron even considered the possibility of circumventing both Raedel and Gereax to appeal directly to Gormantor, the Overking in Akanax, but he couldn't begin to imagine how he might do that.
Outside, he heard the clattering approach of a number of horsemen. Animals nickered and snorted, stamping the hard earth of the farmyard. Aeron frowned, puzzled. Why would so many riders be coming to see Toric at one time? Unless. . soldiers. The lord's men! He leapt to his feet, seeking escape. "Phoros Raedel didn't let you out of prison to show his generosity. He let you out to see if you would lead him to me!"
Eriale groaned. "It makes sense. And I did exactly what Raedel wanted me to. Oh, Aeron!"
"Surround the house! The boy's inside!" Through the oilskin windows, Aeron could see the dark shapes of guardsmen racing for the door, six or seven at least. He thought desperately. There was no place to hide, and Raedel's men already covered both doors.
"Eriale, Shiela, cooperate. Tell them anything they want to know," he hissed. Then, raising his hand and dusting himself with a pinch of pure white sand, he brought the mystic symbol of the charm of invisibility to his mind. The Weave streamed through him, electrifying his senses. With a word, the world around him seemed to become gray and mist-wreathed, as if he viewed it through a dark glass.
"Aeron! Where did you go?" Eriale cried. At that instant, mailed swordsmen kicked in both the front and back doors of Shiela's cottage, storming into the room with their blades ready. More streamed in behind them, ransacking the place, overturning furniture, tearing down every hanging or curtain that could possibly conceal a slender young man.
Aeron whirled, avoiding contact with the enraged soldiers and barely escaping a fatal collision. At the sergeant's command, two guardsmen dragged Shiela and Eriale out into the farmyard, blades at their throats. Aeron used the opportunity to slip outside just behind them, while the rest of the soldiers continued to wreck Shiela's home. Just outside, the young Lord Miroch sat atop his horse, eyes glittering with anticipation. "I thought it a waste of my time to watch the lass, but it looks like Phoros's plan has worked," he remarked. "Where's Aeron?"
"Here are the women, m'lord. There's no sign of the boy," growled the sergeant.
"What? There must be!" Miroch roared. "Search again!" The sergeant nodded and ducked back inside to supervise the efforts of his men. Aeron moved slowly to one side, holding his breath. There were soldiers all around, but none even glanced in his direction; he was safe for the moment, but Eriale and Shiela were held securely by Raedel's men.
After a long moment, the sergeant stomped back outside. "There's no sign of him, m'lord. I'm certain of it." The sergeant spread his hands. "We saw him enter and watched the house closely. I don't know how he got out."
Miroch scowled and turned his gaze to Eriale. "Where's Aeron? We know he was here!"
Eriale cried out in pain as the soldier holding her knotted one hand in her hair and twisted savagely. "I don't know!" she gasped. "He used magic to disappear!"
"What kind of nonsense is that?" Miroch roared. "Phoros will have my head if I let Aeron escape!" He glared at his prisoners and narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Burn the house!"
"No!" shrieked Shiela. "It's my home!"
With two quick steps, the leader of the guardsmen reached Shiela. He smashed her to the ground with his mailed fist. Shiela collapsed, bleeding in the dry brown earth. Aeron stood transfixed by horror, watching as the guards abandoned their search and set torches to the cottage's roof. Black smoke streamed into the sky.
"Miroch, you can't do this!" Eriale wailed. "You have no right! Shiela hasn't harmed anyone!"
The stocky lord tore his gaze from the billowing flames and locked his eyes on Eriale's face. "Where is Aeron?"
"By Assuran, I don't know! Far from here by now, I hope!" Eriale struggled against the guard who pinned her.
"How did he escape?"
"I told you, he used magic!"
Miroch sneered. "That wretched lout has mastered sorcery? Think of a better lie than that!" The burly nobleman sneered at Eriale. "Perhaps you need more encouragement," he said, licking his lips. "Strip her."
The guard holding her shot a disapproving look at the lord, but set his jaw and seized the homespun dress, tearing it from Eriale's shoulders. Miro
ch swung down from his horse and swaggered forward.
Aeron understood what kind of encouragement Miroch had in mind. With a loud cry, he sprinted forward, knife in hand. Guards whirled, searching for the source of the shout. Aeron reached the man holding Eriale and slashed his face. The guard screamed and reeled away, holding his hands to his lacerated jaw.
And the strange, dim haze that cloaked Aeron's vision began to brighten as full daylight returned. His assault on the guard had broken the spell. He was becoming visible again!
"There he is!" shouted Miroch. He drew his slender sword from its sheath and charged forward. The other men of the detail drew their own blades and advanced.
Toric's house was a mass of flames now, and the heat smothered Aeron. He glanced wildly about, faced with steel on all sides, and suddenly he knew with absolute certainty what to do. He pressed his hands together and summoned the image of fire hand to his mind, reaching out through the Weave to grasp the turbulent flames that danced and leapt in the burning house behind him.
A great jet of scorching red flames exploded from his hands, engulfing Miroch from the waist up. Aeron held the jet on the lord for only a moment, then slewed it around to drive back the guardsmen. Miroch shrieked and staggered away, his puffed coat burning like oil-soaked tinder. The guards in their mail fared better, but the blast of heat singed faces and hands. Most were incapacitated for a moment. As the jet of flame played out, Aeron reached down to seize Eriale's hand and bolted for the safety of the forest. The girl stumbled in shock, trying to cover herself with her torn dress, but she found the wits to stretch out her legs and match Aeron's pace. Behind them, Lord Miroch toppled and fell in a blazing heap.
"Aeron! Where are you going?" Eriale panted.
"I've got to get you away from here!" he answered. "You can stay with me in the forest. Come on!"
Instead, Eriale slowed and stopped, wrenching her hand back. "No, Aeron. I can't come with you."
Aeron halted, panting. The guards were mounting their horses, shouting and cursing, but they had a two-hundred-yard lead. "Come on! They'll be upon us in a moment!"
Eriale wrapped her arms around her torso and backed away from Aeron. "What have you become, Aeron? You-you killed Miroch. You've murdered a lord."
"Eriale, I did it to save you!"
The girl shuddered in horror. "Don't say that!"
Aeron threw up his arms in exasperation. "We don't have time for this, Eriale. Phoros will just throw you in prison again!"
She turned her back on him. "You'd better go."
"Eriale, I did what I had to do!" Aeron looked past her, at the horsemen coming after him. He reached forward to catch her sleeve, but she twisted away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Aeron cursed and retreated, watching the soldiers gallop toward them. "I'll set this right somehow, Eriale." He bolted, hurdling a stone fence and sprinting for the cover of the trees. Behind him, Eriale turned and started walking toward the count's men.
Aeron crashed into the underbrush by the forest's edge, his heart hammering in his chest. He almost ran right past Fineghal, but at the last moment, the tall elf caught him by the arm and spun him around. The look on the elven mage's face was merciless. "What have you done, Aeron?" he barked. "When did you learn that spell?"
Aeron stumbled to one knee. "Miroch was going to hurt Eriale. I had to do something!"
"So you shaped the Weave into a torrent of flame and burned him alive. Where was the justice in that?"
A spark of defiance guttered up in Aeron's heart. He glared into the elf's inscrutable face. "You were right here! If you didn't want me to defend myself, to defend the people I love, you should have acted yourself!" He surged to his feet, his anger building. "You weren't waiting for me, Fineghal. You were hiding!"
The elven mage fell silent. His eyes flicked past Aeron to the soldiers rushing into the forest, beating the brush with their sword blades. "This discussion is not over yet. Now, come! We must get away from this place." He wheeled and sprinted into the dark verdancy of the forest, vanishing almost faster than Aeron could see.
Fineghal did not speak to Aeron for days after they fled into the forest. They avoided the torch-lit manhunt with a few simple tricks of woodcraft and magic, but the wizard's features blazed with fury when Aeron tried to break the silence. Cold judgment mantled the ageless elven lord, an impenetrable barrier that Aeron dared not breach. Bitterly Fineghal moved deep into the Maerchwood, seeking the shelter of Caerhuan. Aeron trailed helplessly in his wake.
The cold white walls of the elven tower brought no relief. Fineghal spent long hours each day in the forest, speaking no word to Aeron when he came or went. Two days passed as Aeron waited for the wizard to berate or punish him. He tried to distract himself with his studies, but he had no desire to grapple with unknown magics or press the foreign shapes of spells into his mind. He was dreadfully worried for Eriale, although he hoped that his flight had won her some measure of safety. But the fearsome image that banned rest from his heart was the memory of roaring flame and the screams of Miroch as he withered and died like a moth caught in a candle.
After days of staring out over the endless torrent and the chaotic waters of the Winding River, Aeron came to a decision. He rose, returned to the tower, and carried his pouch of glyphwoods to the rocky bluff. He pulled the carving for the fire spell from his collection and weighed it in his hand, looking out over the gorge. With an anguished cry, he hurled the slender rod of wood end over end into the foaming waters.
He felt Fineghal's presence behind him as the elven lord watched the spell wood vanish in the foam. "Does that ease your heart?" he asked quietly.
"No," said Aeron. "I didn't want to kill him, Fineghal. But when I think about it, I would do it again, to keep him from hurting Eriale. Or me. What does that make me?"
"Killing is a hard thing. When you kill, you murder a small part of your own spirit. Fear the day when it does not trouble you to take a life," Fineghal said. "Taking that which you have not earned is an offense to the spirit, too."
"If I hadn't known how to cast fire hand, Miroch might have raped or killed her," Aeron rasped.
"Better that you hadn't set foot in Maerchlin. Miroch would have had no cause to trouble Eriale, no reason to fire your neighbor's house. And you would have had no reason to kill him, Aeron."
"That's easy for you to say. You don't have kinfolk in Phoros Raedel's dungeons."
Fineghal looked away, a flicker of unreadable emotion crossing his face. Emboldened, Aeron pursued him and spoke to his back. "I'm human, Fineghal. I have a heart! You may find it noble to stand watch, never interfering, but I can't do that. Not when people I care for are in danger. If that means that you've failed to teach me patience, then so be it. I wasn't meant to learn it."
"You can't deny your heritage, Aeron. You are of the Tel'Quessir." The elven lord wrapped his cloak around his shoulders against the wind and spray, his face white with anger. He measured Aeron for a long moment, and imperceptibly his gaze softened. "And yet you are human, too. Maybe you are right, Aeron. I might have found a better course for you if I had intervened. Your failure is my failure." Stretching out one arm, he breathed a few soft words and beckoned. From the white, booming rapids, a small length of wood flew, tumbling into his hand. "Take your glyphwood. The spell has been cast, and the fault does not lie here."
"I'm never casting that spell again."
"You may have need of it someday, Aeron. It is foolish to forget what you have learned." Fineghal passed one hand over the duarran and dried it with a simple magic. Then he handed it to Aeron.
Aeron looked at the glyphwood for a long time before returning it to his pouch. "I'm going to go back. I can't let Phoros Raedel terrorize Eriale and Kestrel any longer."
"Aeron, you can't defeat Raedel."
"You could, Fineghal," Aeron said bitterly.
"Whether or not that is true, I will not attempt it. It would be reckless and irresponsible of me."
"So you'd un
seat a bandit lord in Villon, but the one in Maerchlin is beneath your notice?"
Fineghal's eyes flashed. "I live to serve Calmaercor, Aeron. Baerskos of Villon pillaged the old places of my people, and so I acted. But I refuse to endanger the land I guard by setting my hand against Phoros Raedel, his master in Oslin, and behind him, the Overking of Akanax."
"Then I'm on my own," Aeron snorted.
"I beg you: Do not throw away your life in an attempt to end Phoros Raedel's."
The young forester shook his head. "Whatever it takes, I mean to get Kestrel out of Raedel's dungeons. If Kestrel escapes, Eriale and he can leave Maerchlin. They've no other kin there. Would you be willing to find a place for them, maybe in Saden or Rodanar? Or is that interfering?"
Fineghal's voice was frigid. "Yes. I would help them, Aeron. But be warned that I will no longer teach you if you wield your magic against Raedel. I did not share my knowledge with you so that you could spite your enemies. You have it within your grasp to do much more than that." He wheeled and strode away, raising his hand for Baillegh. The hound shot one mournful look at Aeron and then trotted after her master.
Aeron watched Fineghal leave, shaking with suppressed emotion from the confrontation. To his surprise, the elven lord halted and glanced at him one more time. "I must tend to the eastern meadows for a few days," he called. "Stay here and study what you will. I am not accustomed to being castigated by half-human striplings, but I will overlook the words you spoke in anger if you, too, put it in the past. Or, if that does not suit you, then go to Maerchlin and do what you think you must. But if I return and find that you are not here, Aeron, you will not be welcome in Caerhuan again."
Five
Aeron remained on the bluff, deep in thought, until the sun sank into the west, staining the cold waters below with a thousand brilliant colors. Fineghal's parting words troubled him greatly. The elf lord was not given to exaggeration. Never to study magic again. . Aeron couldn't bear the thought. He'd been changed by the year he'd spent under Fineghal's tutelage. He was not the simple woodcutter's lad he'd once been. Magic engaged his mind, his heart, on a level so intimate and demanding that it had become part of him. And he'd come to understand that he was only scratching the surface of what he might someday learn.
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