"No matter." Fineghal settled himself on a boulder, a smile flickering across his face. He almost seemed to shine with the starlight, radiant under the night sky. The night was warm, with a steady breeze out of the east that carried the sounds and scents of the woods up to the rocky heights. The elf lord's gaze settled on Aeron. "Tell me, Aeron, are you content in this existence?"

"Content?" Aeron blinked. "Magic challenges me in a way that I never could have imagined. It's a dark and silent path we walk, but I had no choice but to follow it."

"What would you have done differently?" Fineghal asked. "Would you have stayed in Maerchlin to face Count Raedel's justice for wounding his son? Would you have allowed Kestrel to die in Raedel's dungeons, or remained in Saden instead of going to the college?"

Aeron weighed Fineghal's words. "No," he said. "I don't think I would have made any of those decisions differently."

"Then what does it matter if you had any choices or not? You would not have availed yourself of them. You would not be the man you are today if your life had followed a different road, so why waste time on regrets?"

With a rueful smile, Aeron shook his head and sat down by the edge of the precipice. "I guess that in a thousand years you learn to accept the decisions you made in the past. If you had to bear the weight of every mistake you'd made over such a long time, you'd be useless."

Fineghal laughed in the dusk. "If anyone ever asks you, Aeron, that's the secret to happiness. Forgive yourself and learn from your mistakes." He turned his head into the breeze, inhaling deeply. It occurred to Aeron that he'd never seen Fineghal so lighthearted. The elf's mantle of dignity was softened by a childlike delight in his surroundings, despite the gravity of their conversation. After a time, he returned his attention to Aeron. "You said that you wondered if you'd ever made any choices in your life. I have another decision to offer you."

A faint apprehension narrowed Aeron's eyes. "You called me here. What is it?"

"I have lived in this land for a thousand years. For the past three centuries, I have lived here mostly alone, the keeper of this land of golden glens and emerald groves. I have guarded its borders against dragon and man. But I weary of this burden, Aeron. The time has come to set it down."

Aeron was speechless. He started to protest but fell silent. Instead, he waited for Fineghal to continue.

The elf lord fixed his bright gaze on Aeron's face. "I want you to take up my watch, Aeron. You know this land nearly as well as I, and you have a wisdom far beyond your years. The Maerchwood needs a guardian."

"I don't know what to say," Aeron stammered. "What are you going to do?"

"I want to rejoin my kinfolk. To wander, free of care. To know that, should I be slain tomorrow, someone else stands over this land and guards it."

"Fineghal, I don't know how I can replace you." Aeron stood and paced away, dusting off his pants. "You taught me the elven magic when I first began my studies, but my sorcery is something different now. It's . . . darker, tainted by the forces you've fought against all your life."

"That is the human conflict, Aeron. To be Tel'Quessir is to be immortal and unchanging, one with the land, one with yourself. Humans must struggle every day to lead the life we live of our own accord." Fineghal closed his eyes, picking his words. "I sometimes believe the elves cannot know virtue, since we do not have to fight for it. Perhaps this is why it is so easy for the elves to misjudge men.

"Aeron, the world has grown old since my youth. The Tel'Quessir are long gone from Calmaercor. The time has come for a human heart to love and guard it."

"Fineghal, I don't know what to say," Aeron replied.

"You need a purpose, Aeron. And the forest needs a guardian. Think on it." Fineghal watched him for a moment, and then retreated from the cliff top, leaving Aeron to consider the question in solitude.

Aeron stared out over the dark blanket of trees that lay spread out below, broken here and there by gleaming streams of water or the gray, shaggy stone hilltops. On the Forest's Stonemantle, he could feel the living forest all around him, from the bright stands of cedar facing east toward Unther to the low, mist-cloaked marshes in the southern reaches of the woodland. It was his anchor, the one place in which he had no pretensions, no delusions, no fears.

He thought for more than an hour, until he heard Fineghal returning to the hilltop. The elf trotted up and sat across from him, waiting for his answer.

"I'll do it," Aeron said. "When do we begin?"

Fineghal grinned. "Begin? Six years ago, when you came to me and begged me to show you how to work magic."

"Wait, that's not fair. What do I do? Where do I go? How do I protect the Maerchwood?"

"Do what you think is right," Fineghal replied. "Your heart will not lead you astray." He suddenly laughed in delight. "There is one more thing I must do." Fineghal spoke a string of liquid syllables, an elven tongue so ancient that Aeron could barely understand it, and passed his hand over his chest. As he extended his arm toward Aeron and unfurled his palm, a tiny dancing flame appeared, a jewel-like point of light that stole Aeron's breath. Fineghal pressed the flickering light to Aeron's shoulder. "May you hold this honor with courage, compassion, and wisdom."

Aeron shivered as an electric sensation ran through his body. He sat back, blinking at his chest, but there was no light to be seen. His skin tingled beneath his shirt, and he pushed his shirt aside to see what was there. A strange mark in the shape of a lightning stroke marked his right shoulder, just under his collarbone. "What is this, Fineghal?"

"It's the mark of the Storm Walker, Aeron. I've carried it for centuries. Now I pass it to you." The elf's features seemed youthful, illuminated by some light from within. The elf released him and rose, seeming to shimmer before him. "Turn your sight inward for a moment, Aeron. You'll understand what I have just given you."

Aeron looked down, his face taut with concentration as he tried to describe to himself the strange sensations that electrified him. He had to grasp the earth with both hands to keep from falling. He felt the land as if it were an extension of his own body. The weathered gray hills were his bones, the rich earth and magnificent groves his flesh, and the running waters his blood. All the countless animals and birds and fish that lived within the forest's borders burned like brilliant myriad points of light and life, bathing him in a boundless sea. He rose to his feet, feeling the faint stirrings of warmth and dawn in the east, sensing the rustling motion of the animals of the night seeking their lairs, the restless sleep of other creatures anticipating the new day.

A slight motion by his side disturbed him, and he opened his eyes as Fineghal stood. "One more thing, Aeron. I leave Baillegh in your care as well. You'll find that a hound can be a wizard's best friend." The silver wolfhound gazed up at Fineghal with her dark, intelligent eyes, and then trotted across the clearing to Aeron's side.

"You're not going right now!" Aeron exclaimed. "There's so much you have to teach me about this. And what about all your belongings in the Storm Tower?"

Fineghal tapped his chest. "Everything I need I have here. As for the gift, it's best that you learn for yourself." He drew a deep breath and clasped Aeron's hand. "It's a fine morning for a parting. Good-bye, Aeron. You will do well." He turned quickly and bounded down the path, vanishing into the woods.

Fourteen

For the rest of the summer, Aeron tried to convince himself that Fineghal was not really gone, that the elf had simply entrusted him with the guardianship of the wood for a short time. But his preternatural perception of the forest and its countless webs of living and elemental energy did not fade, and in fact grew stronger as the weeks passed. By closing his eyes and conjuring the image of a place he knew within the forest, Aeron could see what transpired there, hear the sounds, smell the air, taste the waters.