Eventually the long, hot afternoon faded into a warm dusk. By twos and threes, the townsfolk sought out their homes as the light failed. Aeron waited until the sun had been down an hour or more before he finally stirred from his hiding place. "Time to get started," he told himself. Standing in the shadows beneath the trees, he dusted himself with sand and murmured the words to the invisibility spell. As before, the dweomer seemed to immerse him in a smoky, dark glass. For a moment Aeron feared that the spell's effect might ruin his own vision, too, but slowly his eyes adjusted. Confident in his concealment, he moved into the town.

First he ventured through back lanes and empty pastures to Kestrel's house, coming up on it from the town. Lights showed through the windows, but he spotted a pair of dark-clothed guards keeping watch over the house from a short distance. Aeron frowned and slid forward silently, passing Raedel's soldiers without a sound. He crouched by the open window and peered inside.

To his surprise, Shiela Goldsheaf and her husband Toric were sharing a small crock of stew in the hearthroom. Aeron glanced around to make sure that the guards were out of earshot, then whispered, "Shiela? It's Aeron. Stay where you are and keep your voice low. The guards haven't seen me."

The stout matron looked up in amazement and returned her attention to her stew. "You shouldn't have come here, Aeron," she said. "You're to be killed on sight here."

In the darkness, he smiled. "I'll take pains not to be seen. Kestrel's still in the castle dungeons?"

"Yes." Despite herself, Shiela glanced toward the window. "Eriale, too. There was talk of burning her as a witch, but the guards swore they'd seen you kill Miroch with sorcery, so Raedel's holding her for conspiracy."

Aeron nodded. "I thought that would be the case. You're welcome to the house, Shiela. I don't suppose that we'll be needing it anymore."

"Aeron, wait! What are you going to do?"

"Farewell. Don't ever tell anyone you spoke with me here." He glided off into the night, slipping past the guards easily, and made his way by open fields and farm lanes toward the castle itself.

The fortress was an old shell keep ringed by a newer curtain wall. The lower bailey was a small, muddy courtyard surrounded by crowded stables and barracks. A second wall guarded the upper bailey, the reserve of the lords of the castle. An old ditch circled the castle, spanned by a wooden trestle at the main gate. Four soldiers stood watch by the yawning doorway, their mail gleaming in the bright lantern light by the gate. Aeron paused at the far end of the footbridge and crouched by the woodwork, despite the dark mantle that cloaked him.

They cannot see me, he told himself. I have nothing to fear as long as I move slowly and silently and don't walk into anyone. Steeling himself, Aeron stole quietly across the bridge and slipped past the guardsmen, edging within an arm's reach of the two who stood beside the door. For one perverse moment, he was struck by the insane desire to shout in the guard-sergeant's ear simply to watch him jump, but he clamped his mouth shut and moved on.

Once inside the wall, Aeron darted across the bailey. The courtyard was exactly as he remembered it from the magical test Fineghal had administered more than a year ago, and his neck itched at the memory of the hangman's noose. He almost lost his nerve, standing still and silent in the middle of the courtyard while he wrestled with his fears. After a long moment, Aeron forced himself to move on, passing the inner gatehouse that protected the keep from the outer bailey. Only one sentry stood guard here, and the fellow was leaning against a wall, dozing.

Inside the keep, Aeron turned right and slid along the wall. He knew that the keep's eastern tower served as a dungeon. He met no one within the echoing stone corridor that led from the entry hall to the tower. Shortly, Aeron came to the heavy, iron-bound door to Raedel's prisons. Lantern light and low conversation spilled out from the guardroom inside.

He set his hand to the door but stopped. What would the guards inside think if they saw the door open by itself? And even if he managed to slip past them and into the dungeons, how could he bring Kestrel by them again? Aeron scowled and scratched at his chin. He had a spell to deal with the guardsmen, but he couldn't risk alarming them by just walking straight in. He thought about it for a long moment and struck upon a plan.

Facing the door, he balled his fist and hammered on the sturdy wood with all his might, rattling the door on its hinges. "For the love of Assuran, come in already!" cried an exasperated voice from within. Aeron didn't relent; he pounded the door again, until he heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back. He stopped and stepped to one side.

An angry guard with a bristling mustache threw open the room's heavy door, glaring into the hall. "Hey, knock it off!" Seeing no one outside, the guard swore viciously and stomped into the hall, looking left and right. Aeron quickly stepped inside and out of the way.

The guardroom was small, with just two jailers on watch. The guard who had come to the door returned a moment later, shaking his head and swearing. "Someone's playing a prank on us," he muttered.

"Probably that rascal Darod," the second guard said. "I guess you didn't see anything?"

"No, the weasel must've run off. He'll be back, though. He's not bright enough to pull a trick just once."

While the men talked, Aeron circled the room, taking stock of the situation. The guardroom made up the lower floor of the tower, and a staircase spiraled down into the tower's dungeons. On one wall, a heavy ring of keys hung by a hook. The first guard eventually returned to the table, where he and the second man were engaged in a game of hop-stone with ivory tokens. No other guards, the prisoners below. Good. Aeron moved into position.

Setting his jaw, he began to work a spell of slumber he had mastered not three days ago in Fineghal's library. As he reached for the Weave to shape the enchantment, his cloak of invisibility faded, but both guardsmen were asleep before they could even draw sword against the wispy apparition that faced them. Aeron quickly locked the outer door, bound and gagged the guards securely, and retrieved the ring of keys from the wall. Then he descended into the dungeon.

At the bottom of the stairs, he found a rusty iron grate. This opened easily to the second key he tried, and he pressed on down a long, dim corridor lined by small doors on either side. "Kestrel?" he called softly. "Are you here?"

"Who's that?" A weak voice replied from a cell at the end of the corridor. Aeron hurried to the door and peered in the barred window. It was dark inside, but his elven eyesight aided him. Kestrel pushed himself to his feet, brushing matted straw from his clothes. "Aeron? Is that you?"

"It's me, Kestrel." Aeron grinned. Although he looked as if he hadn't bathed in a year, Kestrel seemed in good health. "I've got the keys. I'll have you out in a moment."

The old forester rubbed his hands together and came up to the door. "Phoros is after your blood, Aeron. You'd have been better off to stay away from Maerchlin altogether."

"I tried, Kestrel. But when I heard that Phoros had imprisoned you and Eriale, I decided I had to do something. It's not right for you to be jailed for something I did."

"Nonsense, lad. In the first place, I did do something. I went straight to old Lord Raedel after you left and tried to set things square. Phoros wasn't at all happy with the idea of someone telling his father your side of the story. He remembered that when his father fell ill and he took over the ruling of the land. Besides, you're like a son to me. I'd give up my freedom to know that you were safe." Kestrel's eyes gleamed in the dim light.