Richard Baker: The Shadow Stone

"What? What is it?" she asked sleepily.

"The constable," Aeron said. "They've got hounds on our trail!"

Eriale sat upright, cocking her head to listen. "They can't be more than a mile away!"

Aeron turned and started stuffing his pack. "Come on! We're going to have to run for it!"

Eriale scrambled up. She knelt beside the fire and scooped great armfuls of earth over the embers, smothering it. "They'll know we were here," she said over her shoulder. "There's no way we can hide all the signs."

"I know," Aeron said. He slung his pack over one shoulder, grabbed his bedroll, and stood. "Got everything?"

Eriale crammed her blanket into her pack. "Let's move."

They set off toward the south, heading deeper into the Maerchwood. Aeron moved fast in the darkness. From his unknown elven ancestors, he'd inherited exceptionally keen night vision, and he could see quite well by starlight or moonlight. Eriale kept up with him as best she could, but she didn't have his acuity of vision or endurance, and she stumbled over thick roots and tangled undergrowth time and time again. He hadn't gone a mile before Eriale began to rasp behind him. "Aeron, slow down!"

He halted on the edge of a small clearing. The moon was rising in the east, casting a silver light through the tree-tops overhead. Very little reached the forest floor. He caught Eriale's hand in the darkness. Behind them, the hounds were baying with excitement. They'd found the campsite and picked up the new trail.

He rested one hand on Eriale's shoulder. "Let's get off the trail. They might miss us." They stood on the shoulder of a tree-covered ridge, surrounded by impenetrable shadows and scant traces of silver moonlight. Aeron caught Eriale's hand and led her uphill. They crashed through thick briars and undergrowth, scuffling through thick layers of fallen leaves. To Aeron, it sounded like the passage of an army.

At the top of the ridge, Aeron turned and looked back to the west. He could make out angry lantern light bobbing toward them through the trees. They were close enough to hear the cries of the hunters. Aeron squeezed his eyes shut and pounded his fist into his hand, trying to think. How could they lose their pursuers?

"Aeron, they're right behind us," Eriale said.

"They're still on the trail. Come on, let's get down the other side of the ridge." He turned and started sliding down the hillside, kicking up dirt and dead leaves as he snaked down the hill's reverse slope. Eriale followed, a few steps behind. The weak moonlight didn't illuminate this side of the ridge at all. Aeron's night vision was keen, but he needed some light to see. He lurched and stumbled as the slope steepened under his feet.

Aeron tried to arrest his descent, but suddenly there was empty air under him. He yelped in surprise and fell, tumbling through darkness, branches and briars stinging him like whips as he plummeted down the hillside. He fetched up hard against smooth, dressed stone. The impact knocked the wind out of him. A moment later, Eriale fell heavily nearby, gasping in pain. After the clatter and rush of the fall, the sudden silence was disorienting; it took Aeron a moment to gather his senses.

Eriale sat up, a little more fortunate in her landing. "Aeron? Are you here? Where are we?"

Aeron raised himself on one elbow, rubbing at a badly barked shinbone. "I'm here, Eriale." As to where they were … he looked around, trying to make out their surroundings. Gradually he realized it wasn't completely dark. A shimmering faerie-light hovered in the air, casting an argent gleam over the place. They were in the ruins of a stone building, overgrown with green vines. The glossy marble was veined with dark moss and strands of silver. The stones seemed unusual somehow. As he peered closer, he saw they were delicately scalloped with a fine tracery suggesting living trees and animals, a bas-relief of the forest. "I think we're in an old elf tower," he said in a hushed voice.

"I didn't think there were any so close to Maerchlin." Eriale traced the old lines in the stone. "It's beautiful."

Faint and subtle, the old stones gleamed like soft silver in the moonlight. Despite the clamor of the approaching hunters, Aeron reached out to stroke the cool and perfect stone. Foxfire danced on his fingertips; he could almost hear the faraway cry of elfin horns in the forest, inhale the scents and sounds of vanished starlight. "Who were they?" he wondered aloud. "Where are they now?"

Eriale could not reply. Her eyes wide and dark, she stood rooted to the spot. With a soft gasp, Aeron realized that he'd been holding his breath, afraid to break the faerie dream around him.

Dogs howled and bayed on the hillcrest above them. Slowly Aeron rolled to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet. "They're still on our trail. Keep moving."

Eriale nodded and drew back from the stone wall. She turned to pick up her pack, then halted. "Aeron, wait."

"What? What is it?" He glanced over, alarmed by the strange tone in her voice. In a jumbled gap in the opposite wall stood a white wolfhound, an ethereal shadow of gray and pearl with dark, intelligent eyes. It watched them without moving. Eriale slowly backed away as Aeron straightened, facing the apparition.

"What do we do?" she whispered.

Aeron started to reply, but he noticed the spectral illumination was growing brighter. The entire place was glowing with pearly light. He blinked as a tiny mote of coruscating radiance danced and darted a handspan in front of his nose. The sphere retreated in the blink of an eye, hovering beside the white hound, and then it began to grow, expanding and dimming until it had the outline of a man-shaped white radiance.

The light brightened one last time, and then flashed silently, revealing a tall, thin man with fair skin and long silver hair. He was dressed in pearl gray hose, over which he wore a soft white doublet embroidered with silver designs. His face was long and expressive, with a sad wisdom hidden in his perfect features. He reached down to stroke the white hound's head. "Cuillen de fhoiren, Baillegh," he said softly, in a voice like liquid music.

"Aeron, he's an elf lord," Eriale whispered. "We've trespassed in his house."

Aeron glanced at her, then back to the tall elf. "Who are you? What is this place?"

The elf gazed into Aeron's face with a hint of a smile. He started to speak, grimaced, and then tried again. "I am called Fineghal Caillaen, though some know me as the Storm Walker. I have been waiting for you, Aeron Morieth," he said. An odd inflection weighted his speech, as if he hadn't spoken a human language in a very long time. "Who is your companion?

"This is Eriale, daughter of Kestrel the forester," Aeron replied. A moment later, he realized the import of the elf lord's words. "Waiting for me? How do you know me?"

'The Morieths are known to us of old," the elf answered, ignoring the rest of Aeron's question. "Why do they hunt you? You seem too young to be an outlaw."

"I wounded two noblemen. I'm just a commoner. It's death to take up arms against a lord." Aeron had the uncanny feeling the elf prince could read the truth of his words, seeing the events he alluded to. The baying of the hounds grew louder, and he could hear men cursing and calling out as they came nearer. "Damn, they're almost on us," he hissed. "Come on, Eriale. We have to flee!"

The silver prince raised his hand. "None will find us here if I do not wish to be found." He looked at Eriale, and back to Aeron. "You and your friend may shelter here tonight under my protection. I will see to it that no harm befalls you."

Aeron turned to look up the hillside. Red-faced soldiers in Raedel's colors picked their way down the slope, dragged on by hounds that strained at their leashes. He quailed in fear as he realized the soldiers must be close enough to spot them, but the eerie silver radiance seemed to attract not the slightest notice. "Why don't they see us?" he asked.