The Shadow Stone

by Richard Baker

  “If you even set foot in Maerchlin, you’re likely to be clapped in irons,” Fineghal pointed out.

  “I don’t care.” Aeron had had a glimpse of his old life when he visited Kestrel’s house. Now that he thought about what might have happened in his absence, he felt as if he’d left them to face his enemies by fleeing into the forest. “If Phoros has hurt Kestrel and Eriale, I’ll make him answer for it. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Raedel’s father may not hold Kestrel and Eriale.”

  “Well, I have to find out, don’t I?” Aeron stood and kneaded his hands together, gazing up at the narrow band of stars shining overhead. “I’ll go back tomorrow, late in the day. Someone will know what’s happened.”

  Fineghal sighed and stood. “I agree that you must find out whether your kin are in danger, but you won’t help them at all if you fall into Raedel’s hands. I know a spell or two that may be useful for slipping into Maerchlin without revealing yourself. You told me that Kestrel’s house looked as if it had been empty for some time, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Several weeks, at least.”

  “Then another day won’t hurt. I’ll teach you the spells you need to know, and you’ll be much safer.”

  “Would you come with me, Fineghal?”

  The elf shook his head. “Aeron, I’ll travel to the edge of the forest and watch for you, but I don’t think I should set foot in Maerchlin. In the first place, I am still recuperating from my fight in Villon. Secondly, if it becomes necessary for me to confront and defy Lord Raedel, he’ll hold all elves to blame, if not the Maerchwood itself. I might be able to topple one spoiled noble, or maybe two, but if all the lords of Chessenta were to come to Raedel’s aid against the elves who remain in these lands, we wouldn’t stand a chance. If my actions gave Raedel or any other Chessentan lord the excuse he needed to invade the Maerchwood, I could bring ruin to this place.”

  “Then this is something I must do myself,” Aeron said.

  “The night is still young. I will begin by showing you the charm of invisibility. If you are careful, this may be all the magic you need to enter Maerchlin and leave again unharmed.” Fineghal reached into his pouch and produced a cloudy, translucent piece of quartz, marked with a complicated symbol. “Here. Examine the stone, Aeron.”

  By the time dawn grayed out the stars, Aeron was able to cast the spell of invisibility competently, if not comfortably. Despite his fierce desire to strike out for Maerchlin immediately, the need for sleep overwhelmed him, and he was forced to rest a few hours in the early morning. When he woke, he found Fineghal sitting cross-legged on a boulder overlooking the icy pool at the foot of the small cascade. The elf stared absently into space, lost in the endless halls of his ancient memory. He stirred slowly as Aeron approached. “Fineghal? Are you well?”

  “Merely tired, Aeron. Let’s use this afternoon to transcribe the charm of invisibility to a glyphwood, so that you will have a permanent record of your own. Then, tomorrow or the next day, you can study a new spell.”

  “Fineghal, I don’t have time for that.”

  The elf looked away, watching the play of the water upon the rocks. “Another spell may be the difference between success and failure in your endeavor, Aeron. If it turns out that you needed the extra preparation, you’ll regret your haste now.”

  Aeron forced a shrug. “We’ll see.”

  Fineghal rose smoothly. “Your human side is too strong, Aeron. Haste will be your undoing someday. Very well, let us go. Baillegh!” With an anxious yelp, the white wolfhound appeared, prancing with eagerness. The old elf ran his fingers over her head with a sad smile, shouldered his slim satchel, and followed Aeron out of the dell.

  By now, Aeron could travel nearly as swiftly and silently as Fineghal himself. Ignoring Fineghal’s reservations, he loped north and west along hidden trails, approaching Maerchlin by a circuitous route. They reached the edge of the village by midafternoon. The day was hot and overcast, and the gray skies threatened a violent storm before long. Beneath the eaves of the forest, Fineghal caught Aeron’s arm. “Remember, if you cast the charm of invisibility, you will be invisible to the eye only. You can still be detected by sound, smell, or touch. If you attempt to harm someone, or if you cast another spell, the charm will fail. Good luck. I will wait here for you.”

  “Don’t worry, Fineghal. I’ll be careful.” Aeron gave the wizard a reassuring smile. He hopped the fence that surrounded Kestrel’s homestead and gave the place a cursory search. At first he thought that nothing had changed from his last visit; the barn was still empty, and there were no chickens or goats in the farmyard. But by the house, a deerskin was strung on a frame, scraped and drying, and the small smoking shed was acrid with recent use.

  With some trepidation, Aeron entered the house but found it empty. No one was home at the moment. Could Kestrel and Eriale have returned? Many of their small belongings were missing, but others remained and showed signs of use. He thought it over and decided to question the neighbors. Old Toric, down the lane, had always been a friend and had little love for Lord Raedel.

  Aeron turned west and trotted across the open fields to the farmer’s house. Toric’s fields seemed in good shape; it had been a good summer for the crops so far, with sunshine and rain in the right proportions. He glanced around furtively, but no one was near, so he rapped on the farmer’s door. “Toric? Shiela? Anybody home?”

  Shiela Goldsheaf, wife to old Toric Goldsheaf, opened the door and peered out. She was a stout apron-clad woman of middle years, blessed with the ability to talk incessantly about even the most trivial matters. “Aeron? I never thought to see you again! Where in Faerûn have you been?”

  “Hello, Shiela. I hoped you could tell me where Kestrel and Eriale have gone.” Aeron glanced up and down the lane. “May I come inside? I’d rather not be seen here.”

  “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. Miroch 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. “Y
ou 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!”