Richard Baker: The Shadow Stone

"An enchantment on this place," Fineghal replied. "I'd better help the hounds along, though. They're not so easy to fool as men." He lifted his hand and muttered a liquid phrase under his breath. Silver motes danced around his hand. Aeron was acutely conscious of a thrumming in his heart, a prickling sensation that tickled the center of his chest. He realized he had sensed Fineghal's magic at work. When the feeling faded, he had a sudden and fierce wish to bring it back.

Outside the moss-grown walls, the hounds bayed louder and surged ahead, sweeping past the ruins of the elven tower and crashing off to the north. In a matter of moments, they had vanished into the silver night. More than a dozen men had almost walked right through them without even glancing in their direction. Aeron breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they disappeared. "Will they be back?" he asked aloud.

"Not tonight, they won't," Fineghal replied. He returned his attention to Aeron and Eriale. "I seem to recall that humans require sleep," he said. "Rest now. In the morning we can decide what must be done." He gestured with one hand and whispered softly in the elven tongue. Despite his resistance, Aeron found his eyes growing unbearably heavy. Beside him, Eriale sank slowly to the stone, laying her head on her pack. He didn't remember reaching the ground.

The warmth of a golden sunbeam against his face woke Aeron in the early hours of the morning. He opened his eyes. Cold stone lay beneath him, and above him the green branches of the forest wove a tangled skein of light and shadow. For a moment, he was completely disoriented, but then the events of the previous night returned to him. The ruins of the elf tower seemed unremarkable by daylight. The silver tracery and elfin aura were gone, and the stones were simply mossy old stones again.

He pushed himself to his feet, stretching. Eriale stirred close by, raising her head and blinking at him. "Aeron? Where are-Oh, I remember." She sat up, clasping her arms and shivering. "Was it all a dream?"

"I don't think so," Aeron said. There was no sign of the hunters, and all he could hear were the normal small sounds of the forest-birdcalls sweet and high, the gentle sighing of the upper branches in the breeze, rustling and motion all around him as the forest began to wake. The ruins faced the sunrise, sheltered against the green hillside like a jewel in the hand of a gentle giant. He felt surprisingly well rested, considering the fact that he'd slept on a hard stone floor. "Do you think Fineghal's nearby?"

"The elf prince? I don't see him, or his hound." Eriale stood and looked around. "What do we do now, Aeron? Do we wait for him, or do we move on?"

"I'm not sure where I'd go even if we left now. Raedel's men might have missed us last night, but they won't give up so quickly."

Eriale nodded. "I hope Father's all right. The constable wouldn't have been happy to find us missing."

"I'm sure he's fine," Aeron said confidently. Inwardly, he was very concerned for Kestrel, but it would do no good to share that with Eriale. With a sigh, he reached down and shouldered his pack. In the warm light of the morning sun, the astounding encounter of the night before seemed nothing more than a dream. Aeron wanted to linger by the elf tower, to see if their mysterious host might reappear. He'd never dreamed that he would meet an elf, let alone a lord of elven-kind, so close to Maerchlin. Ancient ruins, elven magic … he'd dreamed that someday he'd see these things with his own eyes. If I leave this place, he wondered, will I ever see them again?

He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. Despite his curiosity, it was best for Eriale and he to move on quickly and make the most of their lucky break while the hunters were off their trail. "Come on. Fineghal's not here, so I guess we're free to go."

Eriale frowned but agreed. "Where are we going?"

"South, I think. All of the Maerchwood lies ahead of us in that direction. There's a lot of forest to hide in."

They picked their way out of the tower, circling once to take in the full extent of the wreckage. Aeron decided it must have been a slender and graceful structure in its day, easily as tall as the turrets of Raedel Keep but much more elegant. It seemed sad that it stood no longer. With one last glance, he squared his shoulders to face the day's march.

"Aeron!" Eriale reached out for his arm and pointed back at the tower. There, on the fallen wall, sat the white wolfhound of the night before. It seemed much more solid and tangible by daylight, as if its ghostly form had returned to its own rightful body. The hound barked once and trotted down from the old stones, heading south. It paused to look at them, wagged its tail, and barked again. "I think she wants us to follow her," Eriale said.

Aeron glanced around. The forest he knew, the forest he'd grown up in, still surrounded him. But the old elven ruins and the white hound beckoned to him, emblems of a mystery he'd never suspected. He turned without a sound and trotted after the wolfhound, Eriale just a step behind. The hound led them deeper into the forest, choosing faint game runs that Aeron might have missed without her guidance. She stayed well in front of them, sometimes pressing so far ahead that all Aeron could make out was a glimmer of silver in the shadows beneath the trees.

After an hour's march, steep walls of moss-covered rock rose on either side of them. The sound of rushing water grew louder as the hound beckoned them on, now prancing eagerly. They finally emerged into a bowl-shaped gorge. A tall cascade plummeted down the opposite wall, pooling beneath the wet, gray rock. Cold and clear, a stream ran south out of the vale, sluicing over a flat sheet of bedrock at the base of the escarpment. Above Aeron, the forest clung to the lip of the gorge, and an ephemeral rainbow shimmered in the morning light. He gasped in delight, sensing the cool spray on his face.

Sitting cross-legged before the misty plume, eyes closed and hands folded, Fineghal waited. He glanced up and rose to greet his hound as she barked and played in the water that ran past his feet. "My thanks, Baillegh," he said quietly. Then he turned to Aeron and Eriale, springing lightly from boulder to boulder as he came down to meet them. His garb had changed in the daylight to a deep green and russet brown. Aeron could still sense the otherworldly aura mantling the elf lord, but it struck him now as a sense of health, vigor, or rightness-Fineghal belonged here. "Welcome, Aeron Morieth and Eriale of Maerchlin. You honor me by accepting my invitation."

Aeron couldn't think of any gracious response. Instead, he asked, "Where are we?"

"This is my home. Or one of them, anyway. All of the Maerchwood is my home, but I require some place to abide. I took the liberty of coming ahead, but I see that Baillegh showed you the way." The elf's expression was difficult to read, wry and self-deprecating, yet not bitter. He gestured behind him to a small satchel that lay beside where he'd been waiting. "If you have not yet eaten, I've some breakfast to share."

"Thank you, Lord Fineghal," Aeron said. "I'm hungry."

Fineghal held up a hand. "Please. I am simply Fineghal, and I'll have no one at my table call me lord." He sat down on a low shelf of stone, and Aeron and Eriale joined him. From the satchel, he produced a number of small cakes, apples and pears, honey, cheese, and a flagon of fruited wine. While they ate, Aeron related the story of his encounter with Phoros and subsequent flight. Fineghal listened, his eyes never leaving Aeron's face.

When Aeron finished, Fineghal looked toward the north and Maerchlin. "They hunt for you still, Aeron. Fortunately they can't find your trail from the tower to this place."

"Another enchantment?" Aeron asked.