certainly before autumn. Eriale, Baillegh can show you a hidden trail back to Maerchlin.' He picked up his thin pack, slung it over one shoulder, and started down the gorge, lightly stepping from stone to stone in the white-rushing stream. Baillegh wagged her tail and followed with a yip.
Aeron and Eriale exchanged puzzled glances. 'Did we say something to offend him?' Eriale asked.
'I don't know,' Aeron replied. Fineghal's offer was generous. The valley would make an excellent campsite, with good water, plenty of fishing and hunting nearby, and Maerchlin only ten miles away when he chose to go home. But as he watched the noble elf striding off into the emerald shadows of the Maerchwoods, he found that he longed to know more. He could remain here, but he would be a peasant squatting in a king's castle, never understanding the many fine and beautiful things that surrounded him. A strange intuition coalesced in his mind, a certainty that his meeting with Fineghal was no accident, no fortunate coincidence, but the intangible hand of fate at work. Fineghal had said that he'd been waiting for Aeron, but Aeron realized that he had been waiting for Fineghal, too, a sign to shape him into the man he was meant to be.
Without thinking, he splashed across the cold, swift stream and scrambled down the wet gray stone after Fineghal. Desperation gripped his heart. He forgot Eriale, gaping after him. 'Wait, Fineghal! Wait a moment!'
The elf turned, his face impassive. 'Yes, Aeron?'
He stopped ten paces short of the elf, his breeches darkened to the knee with cold water, breathless and suddenly horrified by his own temerity. What in Faerun was he thinking about? Fineghal waited patiently as Aeron wrestled with his fears. Closing his eyes, Aeron forced himself to speak what was in his heart. 'I–I want to come with you. I want to know more … about the elves, about the forest.. ' His voice trailed off as he fumbled for the words to express what he felt. 'I want to know about the old magic.'
Fineghal studied him. 'Aeron, the power that I wield is no magician's trick to be learned and forgotten on a young man's whim. It is a road that will chain your feet from the moment you set foot upon it. Should you take this step, there will be no turning back for you.'
'You were waiting for me,' Aeron said. 'Why? What's special about me?'
'More than you might guess, Aeron Morieth.'
'Aeron! Have you lost your mind?' Eriale stood pale as a ghost, her mouth open in shock.
Aeron ignored her, his attention fixed on Fineghal. 'I can keep up. I'll do anything you ask. I need to see what you see, to learn what you know. I have nothing to lose.'
The elf faced Aeron, measuring the boy with a long, serious glance. An hour ago, Aeron would have wilted beneath that searching gaze, unable to confront the scrutiny of the elf's ancient wisdom. But as he met Fineghal's face, the turmoil of emotion in his heart calmed. His destiny was bound up with the elf lord; all his life had led to this confrontation beneath the soaring spray of the cascade.
Fineghal's cool gaze softened. He recognized the unbending purity of purpose that infused Aeron at that moment. 'All right, Aeron. I will let you come with me … if you consent to a test.'
'A test?'
'Yes. Before I try to teach you, I must know whether or not you can be taught.'
'Anything!' Aeron replied.
'You should think before you answer so quickly. There may be a time when you discover that your heart's desire is not what it seems.' Fineghal shook his head. 'I can see it would be useless to ask you to reconsider. Very well, then. Come with me.' With a rueful glance at the misted dell, the elf turned and started down along the stream again, moving slower this time. Aeron and Eriale hurried after him. Baillegh skipped and bounded from rock to rock behind them, bringing up the rear.
Fineghal chose a nearly invisible path that wound southeast, crossing the rocky ridge and snaking through the rugged country beyond. By midday, they were deep into the spine of the forest, the great range of tree-mantled hills that ran through the heart of the Maerchwood. Fineghal led them on a steep trail that eventually climbed clear of the trees altogether, bringing them to a windswept spire of weathered stone. 'This will do,' he announced as Aeron and Eriale collapsed on the ground.
'What is this place?' Eriale gasped.
'The cumarha midhe,' Fineghal said over his shoulder. 'In Common, Forest's Stonemantle. It's a place of strength and purpose, a place of magic.'
'This is where you'll test me?' guessed Aeron.
Fineghal turned his ancient eyes on Aeron. Despite himself, the young forester quailed. 'Aeron, you will imagine that you are in another place, facing a dire threat. The test varies for every person who attempts it; the place and the peril are locked within your heart. But anything you can imagine, you can attempt.'
'Is it dangerous?' Eriale asked.
'Magic is dangerous,' Fineghal replied. 'If Aeron succeeds, he won't be harmed. If he fails. . many have sustained injury in tests of this kind.'
The girl frowned. 'Aeron, maybe you should-'
Aeron cut her off with a curt slash of his hand. 'I'm ready,' he told Fineghal.
'As you wish,' Fineghal said. He raised his hand, pointing at Aeron, and hummed a soft melody under his breath. A strange prickling sensation danced across Aeron's entire body, and the hollow of his chest reverberated with a chordlike resonance that drew his breath away. For the second time in the span of a day, Aeron felt magic at work nearby. He gasped in astonishment, closing his eyes.
The world tumbled away in darkness, vanishing like a bird taking wing at dusk. His heart fluttered in his chest in sudden panic, and his hands scrabbled at the nothingness that embraced him. Before his panic could master him entirely, light silently flared around him. He gaped in amazement at what he saw.
He was standing in the great hall of Raedel Keep.
Every detail was perfect, down to the tiny crack in the flagstone by the door, the stale sunbeams that slanted in through the leaded-glass windows, the dancing of dust motes in the yellow light. Aeron had only been in the great hall half a dozen times, and never alone, but here he stood. A ghostlike flicker caught the corner of his eye, and he saw a pale lord hovering behind him.
I am here, Aeron, Fineghal said silently inside his mind. This is the test you have created for yourself. Be strong.
Aeron turned slowly. He could sense the dreamlike quality of the vision, the inordinately still air, the rhythmic beating of his heart in his ears, the impression that things wavered and vanished when he wasn't looking directly at them. Why Raedel Hall? he wondered.
Ghostly shapes began to fill the chamber, becoming darker and more substantial. Phantom guards in black mail lined the walls, holding gleaming halberds. In the empty wooden seat before him, an image of Lord Raedel materialized, a stout man with a blunt, unforgiving face. He scowled past Aeron. Turning his head, Aeron saw the tall figure of a proud, golden-haired man in chains. A cold lance of pain seared his heart. 'Father?' he whispered. Behind Stiche Morieth, a young and beautiful woman stood holding the hand of a small, thin boy with a bright mass of yellow curls atop his head. Aeron realized that he was looking at himself as he appeared that day.
The wraiths ignored him. In an eerie absence of sound, Raedel stood and spoke, his eyes cold flecks of granite in his stone face. The beautiful woman sagged to her knees, her open mouth wailing in perfect silence. The boy hid his face in her skirts. The guards seized Stiche by his chains and dragged him away.
The scene faded suddenly, the ghostly figures vanishing. Aeron reeled and shifted his weight. The rough scrape of iron on iron startled him. He looked down and saw that he was chained at his wrists and ankles. The silence was gone, broken by a murmur of voices and clattering weapons and armor. His eyes leapt to the wooden seat, where Phoros Raedel, no phantom but a real and living enemy, leaned back, sneering at him. 'Are you prepared to follow your father to the gallows, Morieth?' he hissed. 'We should've let you swing the same day he danced on the rope.'
Aeron tried to retreat, but the shackles held him fast. Rusty iron abraded his wrists. 'Damn you, Phoros!'
'Silence!' Phoros gestured at the guards on either side and rose from his seat. 'Take him to the gallows.'
Two heavyset guardsmen in black armor caught his arms and dragged him backward, through the hall's great doors and into the bright sunlight of the castle courtyard. Phoros sauntered after him, one hand cocked on the hilt of his sword. Aeron tried to struggle, but it was no use. The guardsmen merely tightened their grip. Their boots clomped on the wooden steps of the gibbet. The weathered planks barked his shins as he tried to get his feet under him. 'Let me go!' he roared in desperate fury.
