But on the other horn of his dilemma, Aeron could not stand by and let Phoros Raedel exact his vengeance by striking at Kestrel and Eriale. As far as he was concerned, Aeron had given Regos and Phoros exactly what they deserved when he wounded them last summer, and even Miroch's death had been nothing more than self-defense. But as long as Phoros Raedel was the lord of the land, the young tyrant was free to do anything he liked in order to secure his own brand of justice. Six dozen swordsmen in Castle Raedel ensured that Raedel could interpret the law any way he cared to. What choice did Aeron really have?
He turned and headed back to the tower, thinking of what he could do to even the odds against Raedel. Fineghal had told him to study what he would; as long as he was going to defy the wizard's will, he might as well stretch the letter of Fineghal's parting words. As night fell, Aeron let himself into the tower's library, searching for Rhymes of Magic and Wonder. The spell of shapechanging was still far beyond his abilities, even if it hadn't been erased by his carelessness, but there were plenty of other spells that might lie within his ability in the old bardic text. I'll need every edge I can get if I hope to pull this off, he thought. I might be rash by Fineghal's standards, but that doesn't mean that I can't take the time to do this right.
He found the text where he'd left it. Lighting a lamp with a simple cantrip Fineghal had taught him almost a year ago, Aeron sat down and began to page through the spellbook, looking for the enchantments he'd need.
Aeron worked at a feverish pace, refusing to allow exhaustion or emotion to distract him. Now that he'd chosen his course, he intended to follow it no matter what the consequences. Although he hated to waste the time, he forced himself to sleep on the second night, readying himself for the day to follow.
In the gray hours before dawn, ten days after his confrontation with Miroch and the Raedel armsmen, Aeron rose and found himself alone in Caerhuan still, with no sign of Fineghal. He turned to the glyphwoods he'd prepared and settled down to commit the spells to memory. Within an hour, he'd mastered six spells at once, a feat he'd never managed before. The minor victory felt cold and empty.
With his spells readied, Aeron stuffed his pack with provisions, shouldered his bow, and set off for Maerchlin. The village was a good forty miles or more from Caerhuan, and he used the elven run that Fineghal had taught him to cover half the distance by the time the sun set. Now that he was on his way, he was eager to press forward and get on with it, but again he made himself lie down and rest while the moon sank beneath the horizon and the darkest part of the night went by.
Before dawn, he woke and gathered his things, setting off for the village to the north. He ran easily for hours, stripped to the waist to stay cool in the sticky warmth of the day. Sweat streamed from his brow and glistened on his back.
Late in the afternoon, he arrived at the edges of Maerchlin. The fields were tall and ripe, corn and grain higher than his head. Aeron deliberately avoided Kestrel's homestead, deciding not to risk an encounter with guardsmen or trackers watching over the place. He settled down under the shadows of the wood, a mile around the village from his old home, and rested from his travels.
Eventually the long, hot afternoon faded into a warm dusk. By twos and threes, the townsfolk sought out their homes as the light failed. Aeron waited until the sun had been down an hour or more before he finally stirred from his hiding place. "Time to get started," he told himself. Standing in the shadows beneath the trees, he dusted himself with sand and murmured the words to the invisibility spell. As before, the dweomer seemed to immerse him in a smoky, dark glass. For a moment Aeron feared that the spell's effect might ruin his own vision, too, but slowly his eyes adjusted. Confident in his concealment, he moved into the town.
First he ventured through back lanes and empty pastures to Kestrel's house, coming up on it from the town. Lights showed through the windows, but he spotted a pair of dark-clothed guards keeping watch over the house from a short distance. Aeron frowned and slid forward silently, passing Raedel's soldiers without a sound. He crouched by the open window and peered inside.
To his surprise, Shiela Goldsheaf and her husband Toric were sharing a small crock of stew in the hearthroom. Aeron glanced around to make sure that the guards were out of earshot, then whispered, "Shiela? It's Aeron. Stay where you are and keep your voice low. The guards haven't seen me."
The stout matron looked up in amazement and returned her attention to her stew. "You shouldn't have come here, Aeron," she said. "You're to be killed on sight here."
In the darkness, he smiled. "I'll take pains not to be seen. Kestrel's still in the castle dungeons?"
"Yes." Despite herself, Shiela glanced toward the window. "Eriale, too. There was talk of burning her as a witch, but the guards swore they'd seen you kill Miroch with sorcery, so Raedel's holding her for conspiracy."
Aeron nodded. "I thought that would be the case. You're welcome to the house, Shiela. I don't suppose that we'll be needing it anymore."
"Aeron, wait! What are you going to do?"
"Farewell. Don't ever tell anyone you spoke with me here." He glided off into the night, slipping past the guards easily, and made his way by open fields and farm lanes toward the castle itself.
The fortress was an old shell keep ringed by a newer curtain wall. The lower bailey was a small, muddy courtyard surrounded by crowded stables and barracks. A second wall guarded the upper bailey, the reserve of the lords of the castle. An old ditch circled the castle, spanned by a wooden trestle at the main gate. Four soldiers stood watch by the yawning doorway, their mail gleaming in the bright lantern light by the gate. Aeron paused at the far end of the footbridge and crouched by the woodwork, despite the dark mantle that cloaked him.
They cannot see me, he told himself. I have nothing to fear as long as I move slowly and silently and don't walk into anyone. Steeling himself, Aeron stole quietly across the bridge and slipped past the guardsmen, edging within an arm's reach of the two who stood beside the door. For one perverse moment, he was struck by the insane desire to shout in the guard-sergeant's ear simply to watch him jump, but he clamped his mouth shut and moved on.
Once inside the wall, Aeron darted across the bailey. The courtyard was exactly as he remembered it from the magical test Fineghal had administered more than a year ago, and his neck itched at the memory of the hangman's noose. He almost lost his nerve, standing still and silent in the middle of the courtyard while he wrestled with his fears. After a long moment, Aeron forced himself to move on, passing the inner gatehouse that protected the keep from the outer bailey. Only one sentry stood guard here, and the fellow was leaning against a wall, dozing.
Inside the keep, Aeron turned right and slid along the wall. He knew that the keep's eastern tower served as a dungeon. He met no one within the echoing stone corridor that led from the entry hall to the tower. Shortly, Aeron came to the heavy, iron-bound door to Raedel's prisons. Lantern light and low conversation spilled out from the guardroom inside.
He set his hand to the door but stopped. What would the guards inside think if they saw the door open by itself? And even if he managed to slip past them and into the dungeons, how could he bring Kestrel by them again? Aeron scowled and scratched at his chin. He had a spell to deal with the guardsmen, but he couldn't risk alarming them by just walking straight in. He thought about it for a long moment and struck upon a plan.
Facing the door, he balled his fist and hammered on the sturdy wood with all his might, rattling the door on its hinges. "For the love of Assuran, come in already!" cried an exasperated voice from within. Aeron didn't relent; he pounded the door again, until he heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back. He stopped and stepped to one side.
An angry guard with a bristling mustache threw open the room's heavy door, glaring into the hall. "Hey, knock it off!" Seeing no one outside, the guard swore viciously and stomped into the hall, looking left and right. Aeron quickly stepped inside and out of the way.
The guardroom was small, w
ith just two jailers on watch. The guard who had come to the door returned a moment later, shaking his head and swearing. "Someone's playing a prank on us," he muttered.
"Probably that rascal Darod," the second guard said. "I guess you didn't see anything?"
"No, the weasel must've run off. He'll be back, though. He's not bright enough to pull a trick just once."
While the men talked, Aeron circled the room, taking stock of the situation. The guardroom made up the lower floor of the tower, and a staircase spiraled down into the tower's dungeons. On one wall, a heavy ring of keys hung by a hook. The first guard eventually returned to the table, where he and the second man were engaged in a game of hop-stone with ivory tokens. No other guards, the prisoners below. Good. Aeron moved into position.
Setting his jaw, he began to work a spell of slumber he had mastered not three days ago in Fineghal's library. As he reached for the Weave to shape the enchantment, his cloak of invisibility faded, but both guardsmen were asleep before they could even draw sword against the wispy apparition that faced them. Aeron quickly locked the outer door, bound and gagged the guards securely, and retrieved the ring of keys from the wall. Then he descended into the dungeon.
At the bottom of the stairs, he found a rusty iron grate. This opened easily to the second key he tried, and he pressed on down a long, dim corridor lined by small doors on either side. "Kestrel?" he called softly. "Are you here?"
"Who's that?" A weak voice replied from a cell at the end of the corridor. Aeron hurried to the door and peered in the barred window. It was dark inside, but his elven eyesight aided him. Kestrel pushed himself to his feet, brushing matted straw from his clothes. "Aeron? Is that you?"
"It's me, Kestrel." Aeron grinned. Although he looked as if he hadn't bathed in a year, Kestrel seemed in good health. "I've got the keys. I'll have you out in a moment."
The old forester rubbed his hands together and came up to the door. "Phoros is after your blood, Aeron. You'd have been better off to stay away from Maerchlin altogether."
"I tried, Kestrel. But when I heard that Phoros had imprisoned you and Eriale, I decided I had to do something. It's not right for you to be jailed for something I did."
"Nonsense, lad. In the first place, I did do something. I went straight to old Lord Raedel after you left and tried to set things square. Phoros wasn't at all happy with the idea of someone telling his father your side of the story. He remembered that when his father fell ill and he took over the ruling of the land. Besides, you're like a son to me. I'd give up my freedom to know that you were safe." Kestrel's eyes gleamed in the dim light.
"Here, I've found the right key." With a scrape and click, the lock opened, and Aeron reached in to help Kestrel out.
The woodsman stretched and smiled. "Tchazzar's sword, it's good to be out of that cell." Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a moment. Aeron, how'd you get in here?"
"I used magic."
"Magic! But. . That's right. Eriale said you'd taken up with the Storm Walker. She's here, too. About three cells up, on this side."
The two quickly found Eriale's cell and quietly set her free. Aeron didn't like the way she looked at all; she was pale and shivered constantly, ill from her stay in the prison cell. She'd been so deeply asleep that she hadn't heard him enter the cell row. As the two men helped her up the stairs to the guardroom, Aeron quickly recounted his visits to Maerchlin and something of the past twelve months.
"Astounding," Kestrel muttered. "I'd never have imagined that you could wield magic, Aeron. That's for the mages and lords of the great cities, not the kind of folk who live around here."
"I've only scratched the surface of what Fineghal knows." Aeron smiled ruefully. "I don't expect he'll take me in again after this. He didn't want to defy the rightful lord of the land, even a black-hearted snake like Phoros Raedel. He wanted no part of this."
"I'm sorry, Aeron." Kestrel put his hand on his shoulder. "I wish this had turned out differently."
Aeron nodded. In the guardroom, they paused for a moment to plan their next move. Kestrel was in good shape, considering his incarceration, but Eriale was so exhausted that she could barely support herself against the wall. "Well, Aeron?" she said weakly. "You managed to get in here. What's next?"
"First, get out of the castle without getting caught. Then … I don't know. We'll have to leave Maerchlin. After this, Phoros will be looking for all three of us."
"I had figured that much already," Kestrel said. He scowled. "We'll have to go far and fast. Probably safest to seek refuge in the lands of some city such as Soorenar or Mordulkin. I don't care to have Oslin's constables on my trail." He glanced around the room. Both guardsmen still slept, although Aeron had tied them up to make sure they wouldn't be going anywhere. "Here, Aeron. You and I can borrow these mail coats and helmets. Eriale. . well, she's obviously not looking too good. It's not unreasonable that a couple of guards might be taking her to the village to have old Meara look at her, right?"
Aeron agreed and knelt by the smaller of the two men, removing his mail hauberk. The fellow woke up, but tied and gagged as he was, he couldn't do anything more than glare at Aeron. Kestrel helped himself to the other guard's gear, and within a few minutes the two foresters could pass for Raedel's swordsmen at a distance.
Supporting Eriale between them, Aeron and Kestrel cautiously left the guardroom and turned back to the keep's gate. At this hour, the hallways were deserted, and they did not encounter anyone until they reached the sentry post. The drowsy watchman was now awake and alert, pacing back and forth across the stone doorway. His attention was on the courtyard, not the hall behind him. "What do we do?" Eriale whispered.
Aeron grimaced. "I'd hoped that he would still be sleeping. I can work a spell."
"No need," Kestrel interrupted. "I remember a trick or two from my younger days." He eased his borrowed dagger from his belt and crept up behind the sentry. Reversing his grip on the weapon, he quickly knocked the sentry's helmet off his head with his left hand and brought the heavy pommel down on the crown of the fellow's head. With a groan, the sentry went limp. Aeron caught his helmet before it clattered on the stone steps, while Kestrel lowered the unconscious guard to the floor. They waited, listening for a moment, but they didn't hear anything to indicate that they had been noticed.
"The lower gatehouse is guarded by four men," Aeron whispered. "I may be able to deceive them."
"What about the postern?" Kestrel asked.
"This castle has a postern gate?"
"Most do, Aeron. It's right over there, on the other side of the courtyard. Didn't you scout it out?"
Aeron shook his head. "I didn't even think of it."
Kestrel grinned in the starlight. "A year of learning, and it never even crossed your mind? If I were Fineghal, I'd be wondering whether you had rocks in your head."
"Won't the postern be locked?" Eriale asked.
"I can do something about that," Aeron answered.
"Then it sounds better than trying to talk our way out of here," Eriale muttered weakly.
The three of them started down the keep's wide steps and veered left. Yellow light burned in the barrack rooms that ringed the lower bailey, and Aeron could hear soldiers laughing and thumping tables in the castle's taproom. Kestrel led them straight toward the lantern light, but they went past the building to a small, shadowed alcove in the curtain wall. Aeron's eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. A small, heavy door sheathed in iron plate was embedded in the wall. "The postern?" he asked.
"That's it," Kestrel said. "Thirteen years ago, I-"
"Thirteen years ago you should have been strung up as a rebel, old man," a harsh voice grated behind them. Whirling to face the threat, Aeron gasped in shock. Phoros Raedel himself stood behind them, sword bared, with a stocky soldier in the uniform of a guard sergeant a pace behind them. "My thanks for leaving the sentry with a knot on his head, Morieth. If I hadn't noticed that he wasn't at his post, I never would have caught you here."
; "Phoros," Aeron spat. He was terrified, but at the same time, an incandescent rage boiled in his heart. For years the mercenary lord's son and his friends had bullied him, finally driving him to strike back. And when he had dared to raise his hand in his own defense, Phoros had seen to it that everyone Aeron loved suffered for his defiance. "Let us go, and we'll never trouble you again. You win. I'll leave Maerchlin with Kestrel and Eriale, and you'll never have to see any of us again."
"I can make certain that you never trouble me again by having you drawn and quartered." Phoros grinned ruthlessly. "Or perhaps burned at the stake. That would only be fitting, considering what you did to Miroch."
"Aeron," Kestrel said, "can you open the gate?"
"Don't bother. It's locked." Phoros sneered. "Kestrel, if you lay down your sword this very instant, you and Eriale will live. Otherwise I'll burn you along with Aeron."
Aeron licked his lips and risked a quick glance at the postern behind them before turning to keep Raedel in his vision. They were within the postern's alcove, with Raedel and the sergeant blocking their escape to the courtyard, and stone surrounding them on all sides. There were dozens of guards only a few feet away in the taproom, but Phoros hadn't called for reinforcements yet. Carefully he said, "Yes, I can open it."
"Good." With a lightning-fast motion, Kestrel's hand dipped to his belt. Steel glinted in the darkness as his dagger, thrown underhand, sank into the throat of the guard sergeant. Raedel blinked in astonishment but recovered quickly. With an angry roar, he leapt forward and stabbed at Kestrel. The wily old forester barely freed his sword from the scabbard in time to parry the nobleman's attack. "Get started!" Kestrel grunted.
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