whistled to Baillegh. The white wolfhound shook herself and stood, tail wagging. 'No time like the present, as humans are wont to say,' Fineghal said. 'Be careful not to stray too far from the vale, Aeron. You're near Maerchlin, and you never know when one of the lord's men might be about. I should be back in a day or two.' He touched his hand to his brow in the silent farewell of the elves and vanished into the starlit night.
Aeron waited an hour, to make certain that Fineghal was well on his way. When he was sure that he wouldn't be caught, he slipped fire hand from his sleeve. The stone seemed a hot accusation in his hand. With a scowl, he silenced his reservations and began his work. If he finished the fire spell but didn't master the spider climb, he could tell Fineghal that he'd had trouble with the translation, gaining an extra few days to finish his study of the spell sigils. 'I'll need a wood that burns clean and hot,' he murmured, considering the spellstone. 'A dry old bit of deadwood, maybe hickory. And I'll need to find a way to keep it away from the rest of my glyphwoods.' He couldn't ever let Fineghal see the duarran he'd make from the stolen stone.
Of course, there was also the question of how he would smuggle fire hand back into Fineghal's pouch without alerting the wizard. Cold apprehension gripped Aeron's heart as he realized the depth of his duplicity. It might have been a petty theft, one that would do Fineghal no harm at all, but the elven lord trusted him. Stilling the protests of his conscience, Aeron stood and began to search for a suitable length of wood.
Four
A long week passed, and Fineghal did not return to the thunder and mist of the cascade's glen. Aeron mastered both spells with ease and then devised a hidden pouch in his bundle of glyphwoods to conceal the intricate shapes and markings of the fire spell.
On the morning of the twelfth day of Fineghal's absence, Aeron awoke to another hot, hazy day typical of high summer in the Maerchwood. It was the ninth day of Eleasias, one year to the day since he'd fled Maerchlin. A full year, he wondered. It didn't seem possible, yet his breeches and sleeves were a little too short, and his shirt felt tight across the chest. He washed in the cold, clear waters of the stream, shaking his golden mane dry and relishing the cool, damp air of the glen.
Climbing out of the swift-moving stream, he searched the green, wet walls of Fineghal's dell for some sign of the mage's return. Nothing but cool mists, water-shaped boulders, and the lowering trees above met his gaze. Aeron was usually comfortable being alone, but today the silence and solitude weighed on his spirit. On a sudden impulse, he dressed, packed his bow and pouch of glyphwoods, and set out toward Maerchlin. He wanted to see with his own eyes how the town fared.
He covered the twelve-odd miles to Maerchlin in the long, still hours of morning, trotting effortlessly. As he approached the village, Aeron slowed his pace and used all of his woodcraft to circle toward Kestrel's house without setting foot on the villagers' runs and lanes. He emerged from the forest in the broad cleared lands behind Kestrel's homestead, pausing in the warm shadows of the tree line to gaze out at the cottage and farmyard. It was silent; the barn was open and dark. Abandoning caution, he broke out of the forest's cover and trotted forward, his face taut with worry.
The house was empty.
He circled it three times to make sure, searching each room. Broken crockery was scattered by the hearth, and every chest or cupboard in the place had been ripped open and its contents dumped on the floor. As far as Aeron could tell, nothing was missing except for Kestrel and Eriale. It was clear that the place had been searched, and there might have been a struggle, but there was nothing that could tell him what had happened.
Aeron swore and kicked angrily at the wreckage. He stepped out the front door, looking across the brown rooftops of the village at the walls of Castle Raedel. Could he risk approaching one of the neighbors to ask after Kestrel and Eriale? Finally he turned away and retreated to the safety of the forest. He didn't dare enter Maerchlin, not without a chance to plan and prepare. Raedel would have no mercy on him if he were caught, and whatever had happened to Kestrel's household had happened weeks or months ago.
By the time he returned to the cascade's glen, it was late in the afternoon, and the small dell was shadowed by the sheer tree-crowned bluffs on all sides. Aeron was tired and hot; a tight knot of concern was clenched under his breastbone, and it dragged at his steps like a physical burden. He collapsed on his bedroll unceremoniously, staring out over the darkening forest.
'Greetings, Aeron. If I'd been a goblin, I could have run you through.' Fineghal stood from the shadows, a glimmer of moonlight rising from a dark, still pond. The elven lord seemed nearly ethereal in substance, as if he lacked the strength to tether himself to the world around him. Fineghal rarely showed fatigue, but Aeron could see at a glance that he was exhausted.
'Fineghal! I–I was worried about you!' Aeron scrambled to his feet. 'What happened?'
The wizard sighed and moved closer, taking his customary place across from Aeron. With a brief word and a gesture, he caused a small dancing flame to appear in the stone circle they used for their campfire, when they needed one. Aeron noticed that the glen was unnaturally cool, despite the warmth and stillness of the air in the forest. Fineghal shivered visibly, chilled in some way that Aeron could not perceive. 'As I feared, trouble was indeed on my doorstep,' he began. 'All of southern Chessenta is in chaos these days. For years now, the land's been ruled by brigands, rebel noblemen, and mercenary kings who spend their time bickering over their meager holdings like starving dogs fighting for a scrap of food. More than a few have decided to win a fortune from the Maerchwood by pillaging the ruins of Calmaercor, so every now and then I must. . discourage them. It is usually not too difficult to do so.'
'What was different this time?'
'I discovered that Baerskos of Villon had hired a wizard of his own, fearing the reputation of the Storm Walker. He set a trap for me.'
'You fought Baerskos? Are you hurt?'
Fineghal shook his head. 'I survived. I was forced to employ many powerful spells. Baerskos and his armsmen are no more, although I don't doubt that some other ruthless outlaw will take his place in a decade or two, with the same dream of carving out a kingdom for himself.'
'What of the wizard?'
Fineghal warmed his hands by the flame, staring into the flickering light. 'I was forced to deal with him as well. A dangerous conjurer, skilled in the raising of fiends and horrors from the darkest depths of the netherworld. I couldn't allow such a creature to set evils of that sort loose on the world. He was nearly a match for me.'
Aeron was stunned. 'I thought you were the greatest mage of them all! You know spells that I could never dream of mastering.'
'I am far from the greatest of mages, Aeron. And even if I claimed that title, I should be far from the wisest. My strength is in knowledge and skill. But there are those who take an easier road to power-like the conjurer I faced in Villon-and if power is all a wizard cares to master, he can be a dangerous enemy indeed.' Fineghal rubbed his hands together and sighed again. 'It was a dreadful contest, one that I nearly lost. He drew me into the planes of darkness and shadow that lie alongside our own, where he was strong and I was weak. There was something wrong with his sorcery, a taint or corruption that fed on the darkness.'
Otherworlds and fiends. . Aeron shuddered at the references. He'd heard the tales, and a few of Fineghal's tomes attempted to explain the mysterious spheres and planes that lay beyond Faerun, but he'd never thought that he might speak to someone who had been there. It unnerved him to think that a world of invisible peril surrounded him, a world that might reach out to claim him should he misspeak a spell or set foot in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Fineghal unclasped his pouch of spellstones, dropping it to the ground. 'How did matters stand in Maerchlin?'
'Maerchlin?' Aeron glanced up in guilty surprise.
'You went back there while I was in Villon, did you not? I thought that was where you'd gone when I returned here and found you missing.' Fineghal's eyes fastened on Aeron. 'It was not a wise thing to do, Aeron. You know that Raedel's men consider you a criminal.'
'If I'd known that I was going to be driven from my home, I might've done something to earn it,' Aeron growled. 'I could have shot Phoros dead instead of stabbing him in the shoulder.' He sighed and looked up at
