". . . 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."