The Shadow Stone ta-1 Read online

They hauled him out into the courtyard and removed the leather hood. Aeron shook his head and looked around; the early morning air was cool and damp, and it felt clean on his face after wearing the hood for nearly a day. The light was dim and rose-hued, long shadows slanting across the open bailey. A small crowd had gathered to watch; in a quick glance, Aeron saw a score of faces he recognized. The guards hustled him across the yard to a wooden platform with a bowed crossbeam and a single noose. Stunned by the swiftness of events, he offered no resistance as they pulled him up the short flight of steps and positioned him beneath the noose, standing on a simple board over a square hole in the wooden decking. A black-hooded executioner stood by with a large mattock to knock the board from under his feet.

  While the guards worked on his bindings, retying them for the hanging, Aeron glanced around the courtyard. Most of the people watching were Raedel's housemen and soldiers, but a few villagers shifted nervously, watching the preparations. "No tricks now," growled one of the men beside him as he positioned the noose around Aeron's neck.

  Aeron grimaced but did not resist. The rope scraped at his neck. He glanced around the courtyard again, hoping for some miraculous reprieve, and his eyes fell on Kestrel and Eriale, watching from the back. Eriale's face was streaked with tears, and Kestrel glowered as if he could burn Aeron's guards with nothing more than the heat of his anger. Two guardsmen stood right behind them, detailed to watch over his kinfolk and make sure that they did not interfere.

  The men readying the gallows finished their work and stepped back, waiting. The brief pause stretched into a maddening wait for Aeron as he shifted and tested his bonds. A disturbance in the crowd caught his attention, and he looked up to see Phoros Raedel and his closest retainers sauntering into the courtyard. The young count stopped a few feet in front of the gallows, looking up at Aeron. "If he starts to speak a spell, silence him," he said to the guards nearby. To Aeron, he said, "Any last words?"

  Aeron considered an impassioned plea, but one look into Phoros's eyes told him all that he needed to know. Raedel would not be moved. "No," he answered.

  "Very well, then." Phoros started to gesture to the sledge man, when a piercing shriek shattered the morning stillness.

  Eriale screamed and clawed her way through the small crowd. "No, my lord! I beg you, don't kill him! He never meant to do you any harm." Two of Raedel's guards caught her five paces before she reached the count and restrained her, although she struggled with the fury of a wildcat. "No!"

  Phoros jerked his head at the guards, and they dragged her back. "Do it," he ordered.

  In the corner of his eye, Aeron saw the sledge wielder raise the heavy maul and bring it down. The impact jolted his feet, and the board beneath him flew away, spinning.

  He managed nothing more than a grunt of surprise before the rope snapped tight, cutting off his air. Something popped in his neck, and then he landed heavily on the ground, stunned and breathless. He was lying on his side on the cold ground, his arms still bound behind him, and in his sideways view of the courtyard, Raedel's guardsmen suddenly appeared, shouting at each other. "You damn fool! The rope parted!"

  "I checked it twice. It was fine!"

  "Well, get another rope and do it right this time."

  Aeron wanted to roll back and look behind him, but he seemed to have forgotten how. His eyes smarted from staring, but he could not close them, and he couldn't work the dirt out of his mouth. With a cold, sick shock, he realized that he wasn't breathing. No need to do it again, he thought. The rope must have snapped my neck clean.

  Two guards seized him by the arms and dragged him upright, but he was left staring down at the ground. The voices in the courtyard were growing fainter, and it seemed that a cloud had passed before the sun, since it was growing very dark.

  ". . think he's dead."

  ". . here, look. He's dead."

  ". . guess the fall broke his neck."

  "Here's the physician. Is he. ."

  "… no doubt. Take him away."

  A heavy white wrap of linen was laid over his face, and he was distantly aware that he was being shrouded where he lay. He wanted to protest, but he had no voice and could not move at all. He mustered every ounce of willpower remaining and tried to move, but he couldn't tell if he succeeded or not.

  ". . Assuran's eyes! His hand moved!"

  ". . seen a corpse, you idiot? They do that."

  He was lifted and dumped against creaking wood, his limbs straightened and arranged, and then another blanket was thrown over him. In his mind, he ripped the cloth away from his face, hammered his way free of the cart, shouted for help. Despite his panic, his body refused to move. A new voice nearby caught his attention-Eriale.

  He could hear the grief in her words. "Can we take him home now?"

  "We'll bury him in the castle's graveyard if you want."

  Kestrel now: "No. We'll lay him beside his parents."

  "Get him out of here, then. It's your business now."

  The cart moved and creaked, trundling along a rutted road. Aeron gave up on trying to escape his condition and waited in blank hopelessness. Was this death, then? Consciousness trapped in an inert shell? How long would thought remain, how long would it take before whatever dim spark that still burned inside was mad beyond all reason? He prayed for oblivion before that happened.

  ". . far enough yet?"

  "Keep going. They may follow just to be certain."

  He was moved again, strapped to a narrow board, and then dragged for quite some distance. He wasn't sure, but he thought he was in the forest, for he felt roots and twigs catching at the sledge, and it seemed cooler and darker here. Careful hands stretched him on a cold stone surface, and he felt the shrouds and wraps being removed from his body. Finally the band of cloth over his eyes was peeled away.

  He was looking up at the forest canopy. It was still early morning, for the treetops were gold and orange with the light. Eriale and Kestrel knelt over him, rubbing his limbs, their faces tight with concern. A silver wolfhound began to lick his face, whining softly. A voice of inhuman perfection laughed, and the hound drew away. Fineghal knelt over Aeron, smiled, and spoke a brief word that Aeron once knew. "Rise, my friend. The paralysis should be fading from your body."

  With all his effort, Aeron managed to blink and shiver. He tried to speak but only groaned instead.

  "Will he be all right?" Eriale asked anxiously.

  "Give him a moment," Fineghal replied. "The spell that feigns death wears off slowly, but he should be with us soon." He leaned forward and set his hand on Aeron's brow. "Come back, Aeron. You are not as dead as you think."

  This time, Aeron managed a word. "How. .?"

  The elf lord grinned. "I made certain that the rope would not support your weight, but of course they would have found another and hanged you a second time. So, while you lay stunned on the ground, I worked a spell for which I'd never had a use before today-the death glamour."

  Aeron licked his lips and found that he had strength enough to prop himself up on his elbows. "They. . they thought I was dead?"

  Kestrel snorted. "Aeron, I knew what to expect, and I thought you were dead. Raedel and his henchmen are celebrating even as we speak, certain that they've rid the world of the last of the Morieths."

  Aeron heaved a sigh of relief and fell back against the ground. He recognized the place now; it was the same elven tower where he and Eriale had first encountered Fineghal. "I take it you managed to reach Fineghal, then?"

  Eriale smiled. "We found him here, in fact. Or I should say he found us. It seems he was expecting your return." She reached out for his hands and dragged him to his feet.

  Aeron embraced her, and then Kestrel as well. Finally he turned and took Fineghal's hand in the elven welcome. "Thank you. I'd be dead if you hadn't helped."

  "We may have parted in anger, Aeron, but I have no desire to see harm befall you." The elven mage nodded to Kestrel and Eriale. "Thank your kinfolk, too. If they hadn't sought me out,
I might not have arrived in time to help."

  Aeron stretched and rubbed his shoulders. "I wish you could have let me know what to expect. I was certain that I was dead."

  "There wasn't much time, Aeron, and I could not risk revealing my presence. They'd have cut you down in your cell if they'd suspected that I might show up."

  "Where did you hide?" Kestrel asked the elf. "I saw no sign of you, none at all."

  Fineghal smiled. "I stood right beside you the whole time. I was the miller."

  Kestrel gaped. "That fat old miser?"

  The elf shrugged. "Any stranger in the courtyard would have been watched closely."

  Aeron was silent a long time, registering the tide of events in his mind, coming to grips with where he stood and what had happened. "Listen," he said slowly, "I've made some grave mistakes, some very bad decisions. I was caught up in dangerous intrigues in the college. And when I left, I was stranded in dark and strange planes for a long time. I was nearly killed, several times. I … I don't know whether or not I've really escaped from what waited for me there."

  Eriale paled in horror, and Kestrel grunted and shifted nervously. Fineghal simply gazed at Aeron, his face inscrutable.

  Aeron continued. "I touched a stone of darkness, something strong and evil beyond belief. It left its mark in the part of me that once wielded magic. In order to escape, I had to expunge what power I had. I… I can't wield magic anymore." As he spoke the words, his voice broke.

  "If that was the price you paid for your life, count yourself lucky," Kestrel said at length. "You're here and alive. That's something to be thankful for."

  "What will you do now, Aeron?" Eriale asked. "Will you go back to the college?"

  Aeron shuddered. "No. I don't know if I can learn to wield magic again, and even if I was certain that I could, I don't want to go back there." He thought of Oriseus and his followers, standing in the black glare of the Shadow Stone. The city of Cimbar was too close to the shard. "No, I don't want to go back. What's done is done." He looked over to Kestrel. "Can you use another set of hands in Saden?"

  "You're welcome to come with us, Aeron," Kestrel said. "There's always a place under my roof for Stiche Morieth's son. We've land to clear and trapping to look to."

  "Kestrel's suggestion bears merit, Aeron," Fineghal said. Aeron had almost forgotten that the elven lord stood watching until he spoke. "However, I must remind you of the deception we enacted for Phoros Raedel's benefit. Saden is not so far from Maerchlin that he wouldn't hear of your return sooner or later. And I doubt that he would be glad to learn how he was fooled."

  Aeron's heart fell. "So I can't go home."

  Fineghal shook his head. "Not yet, I think. Give it a few months, perhaps a year or two. That's enough time for those who knew you in Saden to forget about you. Your appearance has changed since you left Maerchlin, and if I remember anything about growing up, it seems to me that a couple of years more should help you to vanish altogether."

  "What do you suggest? That he sets out on his own again for years?" Eriale asked, an edge in her voice. "Where would he go? What would he do?"

  "He could come with me." The elven mage shrugged and looked at Aeron. "I walk the Maerchwood still, and few humans mark my path. You are welcome to remain here, Aeron. You know the forest well, and I would enjoy your company."

  "But my magic's gone," Aeron protested.

  "The time of your apprenticeship's long past, I think. I ask you as a friend, not as your master." Fineghal swept his arm out to indicate the green and golden wood, alive with the early spring. "And if your heart is heavy, I know no better cure than the Maerchwood in spring."

  Aeron glanced from Kestrel and Eriale to Fineghal, and back again. "If you'll stand my company, I'll come with you," he said. "I'll be able to visit my family?"

  "Of course. Just take pains to avoid being seen in Kestrel's house for a while."

  He weighed the elf's words for a short time and then agreed with a nod. "Thank you, Fineghal."

  The elf lord rose and summoned Baillegh with a gesture. "Then let us be on our way. We're still too close to Maerchlin for my taste, and we have an empty grave to dig before we leave."

  Thirteen

  For the rest of the summer, Fineghal and Aeron returned to their old life of walking the forest from one end to the other, sleeping under the stars in a different place every night. At first Aeron had a hard time keeping up; his long months at Cimbar's university hadn't involved daily marches with the fleet-footed elf, and his ordeal in the plane of shadow had not improved his constitution. But as the weeks passed, he regained and then surpassed his old conditioning; he was now in his twentieth year, a wiry and athletic man, not a rail-thin boy.

  Aeron did not speak of what had passed at the college or during the months of his trek through the western lands and the shadow realm, and Fineghal did not press him. Nor did Aeron attempt to wield magic. He was unwilling to face the consequences of attempting to shape the Weave into the form of a spell; the Shadow Stone's influence might still be present, and he did not want to risk allowing its malign power into his heart and mind again. He had survived it once, just barely, but he did not believe he would be so lucky again.

  If Fineghal was puzzled by Aeron's new reluctance to pursue the magical power he had craved before they parted, he did not speak of it. Aeron was content to let matters stand. Sensing Aeron's reluctance to discuss his experiences in the college, Fineghal turned to an exhaustive study of the beautiful woodlands and glades of the Maerchwood, filling Aeron's mind with the elven knowledge of the forest and all that lived and grew within it. Aeron sated his insatiable hunger for knowledge with the mundane lore of the woodlands, avoiding his old studies and interests.

  As Fineghal had promised, they visited Saden frequently, guesting with Kestrel and Eriale for the night before slipping away under the cover of the predawn mists. Kestrel had done well for himself in the freehold, and Eriale was the belle of the village. She was now eighteen, tall enough to look Aeron level in the eye and blessed with the wide, brown eyes of her mother and long, flowing chestnut hair she wore in a braid. At first Aeron was a little amused to watch the young men of Saden competing for Eriale's affections, since she was thoroughly independent and had no real desire to find a husband. She was the best archer in Saden, with the possible exception of her father. Aeron realized his foster sister could marry any time she wanted to, and it made him very conscious of his own solitude. Other than Fineghal and his family, he had no one to speak to and no friends of his own.

  One day, when he and Fineghal hiked along a steep trail that looked toward the Smoking Mountains east of the woods, Aeron found himself thinking of Melisanda again. He tried to imagine where she was and what she was doing, and he couldn't seem to get her face out of his mind. After a time, he asked, "Fineghal, do you ever become lonely?"

  The elf halted and turned to face him. "I've become quite comfortable with my own company." He shrugged. "I have friends. You, Baillegh, even Kestrel and Eriale, though I do not know them as well."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  The elf looked out over the distant peaks. It was a warm day, and the faint sounds of the forest rose lazily over the sunny hillsides. "I miss my people," he said slowly. "Once the Maerchwood was filled with the Tel'Quessir. The wood itself was much greater then, of course, reaching to the Chondalwood in the west and the Methwood in the east. The great court moved every day to a new place, and the fair ladies and gallant princes were countless as the stars in the summer sky. Everywhere I turn, I see their ghosts and I hear the echoes of their laughter. But they are gone."

  Aeron looked down, a little embarrassed. Besides Fineghal's loss, his own loneliness seemed trivial. "You've told me before that many still live today, in other lands."

  Fineghal nodded. "I visited with my kinfolk in the distant forest of Evereska for a time while you were away at the college. It reminded me of times long gone." He paused, thinking. "I believe I will join them som
eday."

  Aeron glanced up at him. "And leave the Maerchwood?"

  "Perhaps, although that day is not yet here." He turned Aeron's question back on him. "I take it that you wish for more company?"

  "I had several good friends at the college. One was a beautiful girl called Melisanda. She came from Arrabar, in Chondath. I fell in love with her, although she didn't feel the same way about me." Aeron smiled ruefully. "She's back in Arrabar, I guess." He went on to relate the story of his infatuation with Melisanda, and after a long time, he realized that his tale was growing to encompass the sum of his experiences in the college. Fineghal was a patient listener, and from time to time he prompted Aeron into explaining things that Aeron would rather have omitted. Before he knew it, the sun was low on the horizon, and he had finished by telling how he returned to Castle Raedel. He felt better than he had in a long time, at peace with himself. Telling his story had lifted a heavy weight from his spirit.

  "Your loneliness is very understandable," Fineghal said after a time. "You walk between two worlds, Aeron. I've taught you the Tel'Quessir ways, but I am the only elf you have ever spoken with. And in Chessenta, the blood of your elven ancestors marks you as different, unusual."

  "I don't know if this is what I truly wanted."

  The elf lord reached out to grasp Aeron's shoulder. "Home, hearth, family, and friends are not to be your lot in life, Aeron. Your human side will never be satisfied with the lonely road you will follow. And if you denied the elven magic in your blood, you would be just as unhappy."

  "So I must accept the fact that I will be alone for the rest of my life? That I won't fit in anywhere?"

  "That is the price of wisdom, Aeron. And you are quickly becoming wise beyond your years." Fineghal stood, gazing up into the night sky. The first stars were beginning to flicker into view. "The stars, the waters, and the wind will be your friends in years to come. And the wood is your home. There is comfort in that, if not the comfort you yearned for."

  Aeron considered the wizard's words for a long time. "You think I should resume the study of magic?"