"Another enchantment?" Aeron asked.

"The tower was a place of refuge many years ago. Those who came to it in need were not meant to be found or followed." Fineghal seemed lost in his recollections for a long moment before he returned his attention to Aeron and Eriale. "So, young Aeron, what do you intend to do now?"

"I can't go home," Aeron said. "I can't even stay close by. I'll have to go somewhere far from here. I'd thought I might live off the land until things calm down, but it might be years before I can return to Maerchlin."

"If ever," Fineghal replied. "You have no kin?"

"No, my-er, no, Fineghal. I was orphaned when I was young. My father, Stiche Morieth, led a revolt against Lord Raedel twelve years ago. He was hanged for it, and many other people with him. Including my mother."

"It seems hard to believe that the Morieths could ever come to grief in Maerchlin," Fineghal mused. "I remember a time when the Morieths were held in great honor, both by your people and by mine. In fact, there were Morieths who married elven folk a long time ago."

Aeron grimaced. "Phoros and his friends used to call me a half-breed for that."

"I can see traces of elven blood in your features. It must have been hard for you, Aeron. In my experience, Chessentans are not forgiving of such faults."

They fell silent for a time, listening to the wind in the trees and the rushing of the water.

"Fineghal, you said the tower was a place of refuge," Eriale asked. "What did you mean by that?"

The elf glanced at her. "Centuries ago, the Maerchwood was home to Calmaercor, a small elven realm akin to the great kingdoms of the Chondalwood or distant Cormanthyr," he said. "In those days, elven lands such as Calmaercor were scattered across all of Faerun. But the elven folk have many enemies-dragons and orcs, giants and goblins, and even human, with their lands that grew up around our borders. The people of Calmaercor fought the troll kings of the mountains that men call the Riders to the Sky, the fire creatures of the Smoking Mountains, and finally the power of ancient Unther. Our forest, which once stretched from the Adder Peaks to the Sky Riders, has been burned, logged, and settled a piece at a time. And we have been diminished while our old foes have grown more numerous.

"Unlike the elves of Myth Drannor or the hidden fastnesses of other lands, we didn't place our faith in cities or fortresses. Instead, we built watchtowers to hide our people in times of danger. The first were built to thwart the trolls and salamanders, but as humans migrated into what is now Chessenta and brought axe and fire against our forest, we hid from them as well. In time the towers all fell, sniffed out by human sorcery and pulled down one by one."

"What happened to Calmaercor?" Aeron asked.

"Two hundred years past, we decided to withdraw from the Maerchwood and leave these lands to the Chessentans. I am one of the few who remain."

"Why do you stay?" asked Eriale.

Fineghal straightened and swept one arm out to indicate the cascade, the glistening rock, the rich forest. "I cannot bear the thought of leaving," he said. "I miss my people, but having lived under these trees all my life, I can't imagine living anywhere else. There is magic here still."

"You must have lived here a long time," Eriale said.

Fineghal looked up at the sky overhead. It was as bright as burnished brass, promising another day of summer heat. "As humans reckon time, about a thousand years," he said quietly. "The very stars have shifted since my youth. Yet it seems like no more than a long summer's day."

Aeron stared at the elven lord. A thousand years ... if he lived to be a hundred, Fineghal would have lived his life span ten times over. "By Tchazzar," he murmured, awestruck. "A thousand years ..."

Fineghal smiled sadly. "Time doesn't touch the elves in the way it touches humans. Although you may find, Aeron, that your elven blood is stronger than your human blood. I suspect that the years will pass lightly for you." With a fluid ease of motion, Fineghal came to his feet and stood over Aeron and Eriale. "I am afraid that I must leave now. I have responsibilities elsewhere within the forest's bounds. You are welcome to remain here, both of you, as long as you like. No humans will find you here. Come and go as you please, Eriale. Aeron, you would be wise to abide here for a time to avoid those who seek you. Perhaps matters will settle themselves in a few months."

"You're leaving us here?" Eriale asked.

The elf nodded gravely. "I ask only that you do not reveal this place to anyone else and that you treat it with care. Harm nothing that lives within this dell." He paused and then added, "I may be back in a month or two, certainly before autumn. Eriale, Baillegh can show you a hidden trail back to Maerchlin." He picked up his thin pack, slung it over one shoulder, and started down the gorge, lightly stepping from stone to stone in the white-rushing stream. Baillegh wagged her tail and followed with a yip.

Aeron and Eriale exchanged puzzled glances. "Did we say something to offend him?" Eriale asked.

"I don't know," Aeron replied. Fineghal's offer was generous. The valley would make an excellent campsite, with good water, plenty of fishing and hunting nearby, and Maerchlin only ten miles away when he chose to go home. But as he watched the noble elf striding off into the emerald shadows of the Maerchwoods, he found that he longed to know more. He could remain here, but he would be a peasant squatting in a king's castle, never understanding the many fine and beautiful things that surrounded him. A strange intuition coalesced in his mind, a certainty that his meeting with Fineghal was no accident, no fortunate coincidence, but the intangible hand of fate at work. Fineghal had said that he'd been waiting for Aeron, but Aeron realized that he had been waiting for Fineghal, too, a sign to shape him into the man he was meant to be.

Without thinking, he splashed across the cold, swift stream and scrambled down the wet gray stone after Fineghal. Desperation gripped his heart. He forgot Eriale, gaping after him. "Wait, Fineghal! Wait a moment!"

The elf turned, his face impassive. "Yes, Aeron?"

He stopped ten paces short of the elf, his breeches darkened to the knee with cold water, breathless and suddenly horrified by his own temerity. What in Faerun was he thinking about? Fineghal waited patiently as Aeron wrestled with his fears. Closing his eyes, Aeron forced himself to speak what was in his heart. "I-I want to come with you. I want to know more ... about the elves, about the forest. .. ." His voice trailed off as he fumbled for the words to express what he felt. "I want to know about the old magic."

Fineghal studied him. "Aeron, the power that I wield is no magician's trick to be learned and forgotten on a young man's whim. It is a road that will chain your feet from the moment you set foot upon it. Should you take this step, there will be no turning back for you."

"You were waiting for me," Aeron said. "Why? What's special about me?"

"More than you might guess, Aeron Morieth."

"Aeron! Have you lost your mind?" Eriale stood pale as a ghost, her mouth open in shock.

Aeron ignored her, his attention fixed on Fineghal. "I can keep up. I'll do anything you ask. I need to see what you see, to learn what you know. I have nothing to lose."

The elf faced Aeron, measuring the boy with a long, serious glance. An hour ago, Aeron would have wilted beneath that searching gaze, unable to confront the scrutiny of the elf's ancient wisdom. But as he met Fineghal's face, the turmoil of emotion in his heart calmed. His destiny was bound up with the elf lord; all his life had led to this confrontation beneath the soaring spray of the cascade.

Fineghal's cool gaze softened. He recognized the unbending purity of purpose that infused Aeron at that moment. "All right, Aeron. I will let you come with me ... if you consent to a test."