The Shadow Stone

Fifteen

Aeron returned to Caerhuan and prepared for a magical siege. He attempted several powerful defensive spells, but each enchantment he worked seemed to go awry; the Weave seemed to slip through his fingers, while the burgeoning strength of the shadow-magic, the power of death and darkness, refused to obey his command, writhing in his grasp like a venomous serpent seeking something to poison. It took all of Aeron's effort to keep the seething magic under his control and form it into the shapes he desired.

Finally, he was satisfied with his defenses, although a task that should have taken days had consumed several weeks. Despite the fact that the Maerchwood had been vulnerable during the time it took Aeron to weave the spell of watchfulness, Master Crow had not struck at Aeron, nor had any more of his former associates from the college appeared on his doorstep. Their absence only served to reinforce Aeron's fears.

The summer failed quickly, giving way to an unusually cold and damp autumn. Day after day, the forest was cloaked in dense, still mists that left the ground-carpet black and soggy, damp with a sweet, sick odor of rot. Aeron shivered in revulsion as he went abroad; the air beaded his cloak and tunic with heavy drops of cold water, and any time he brushed past a leaf or tree it left a dark, foul smear across his skin or clothes. The animals of the forest cowered in their lairs, reluctant to go abroad in the unnatural mists.

Aeron searched for some sign that the Maerchwood was under attack, but he found nothing to indicate that the weather was anything other than natural. No spell held the gloom over the forest. Every time Aeron wielded magic, he was conscious of the growing difficulty of commanding even a glimmer of the Weave. Nothing could relieve the bleak and dismal gloom.

He set out to survey the forest, hoping to find some indication of a place where the foulness originated, but from one eave of the forest to the other, everything was the same. A month into autumn, he found himself near the western edge of the forest, and with hopeless resignation he turned his steps toward Saden and home.

Kestrel greeted him warmly, but his eyes showed fatigue. "Aeron! It's been months, lad. Where have you been?"

"I've been walking the forest, Kestrel," Aeron replied. He undid his cloak and hung it by the fire, grimacing as oily water ran over his hands. "Have you any ale?"

"Of course," Kestrel said. "But you'll want last winter's brew. The stuff they made this year isn't fit for a goblin." The old forester ventured back to the tap he kept in his cellar and returned with two leather jacks. He drew up a chair by the fire and handed one to Aeron. "So what is new in the Maerchwood?"

"I wish I knew," Aeron said with a scowl. "Phoros Raedel's retained the services of a dangerous sorcerer. I believe he's responsible for some insidious blight over the forest, but I can't fathom the magic that's at work." He described the evil change in the wind that had fallen over the forest in the weeks since he'd met Sarim in his incarnation as Master Crow. Would he have fallen if I hadn't set him against Oriseus? he wondered briefly. He sighed and stared into the dark ale in his mug.

Kestrel frowned. "I've heard tales of Raedel's mage, too, but I don't think he is responsible for this weather. It's not just the Maerchwood, Aeron. It's everywhere. You don't talk to many people, but travelers pass through Saden every now and then-herdsmen from the Akanul, teamsters carrying cargo to Mordulkin, and boatmen on the Adder River. They say it's like this all across Chessenta, maybe even all of Faerun. People are frightened."

Aeron was stunned. "I have a hard time believing that Master Crow could work such a dire enchantment."

"From what I hear, Phoros's pet mage has been too busy to work this sort of mischief, anyway," Kestrel said.

"Why? What's happened?"

"They say that Phoros Raedel's not the master of his own castle anymore. Crow is the real lord of Maerchlin these days. I've spoken to merchants who have arranged audiences with Phoros, only to find that Master Crow did all the talking. They said the count stared into space, nodding whenever Crow asked him a question." Kestrel scratched his chin. "Phoros Raedel might be a bastard at times, but at least he's a bastard you can count on."

"Crow told me that he came to Maerchlin to take power here," Aeron said. "He said that Oriseus-the leader of the college-meant for his followers to hold high places in every land." The young mage paused, thinking hard. If Crow was telling the truth, Oriseus was not just the master of the college anymore-he was the lord of all Cimbar. "Kestrel, have you heard anything of the Sceptanar?"

"The king of Cimbar?" Kestrel shrugged. "They say there's a new one, although it's hard to be sure of a story from so far away. Cimbar's broken its old truce with Akanax, and Soorenar has sided with Cimbar. Most travelers are of the opinion that it's only a matter of time until Akanax falls, and that will leave Cimbar as the only power of consequence left." The woodsman swallowed some musty ale. "I can't see the other cities standing by while the Sceptanar crowns himself Overking of Chessenta, but who's going to stop him?"

"It seems I don't hear anything in the Maerchwood."

Kestrel chuckled. "It's just gossip, Aeron."

"Have you heard any other tales from abroad?"

"Oh, the usual tales of blights and plagues, vanishings and hauntings. They say there's an evil loose in the land, a sickness in the ground. It's been a bad harvest, with all the rain lately." The forester smiled and shook his head, his gray whiskers twitching like an otter's. "People love to tell a tale of woe. There's no substance to rumors of sorcery and witch-weather."

"I'm not so sure." Aeron shivered by the fire. "Something is wrong in the Maerchwood; that much I know." He sat back, thinking. "Kestrel, I have to go. This is much worse than I thought it was."

"That's not very reassuring. What can you do?"

"I don't know," said Aeron. "But I might know someone who does know. Give Eriale my greetings. And, Kestrel… if things become any worse, get Eriale and come to the Maerchwood. I've been able to counter some of this illness, and you're welcome to stay at the Storm Tower as long as you like."

"The old ruins by the gorge of the Winding River?"

Aeron smiled. "It's not as ruined as you might think. You might be safer there than you are here."

Kestrel studied Aeron for a long moment. "It's that bad?"

Aeron simply stood and took his hand. "I'll let you know if I find any answers." He drained the last of the ale, shouldered his cloak, and set out into the weak daylight again. It was surprisingly cold and clammy. Aeron wondered if a frost was near, weeks or even months before the season turned. He didn't like the idea of the land suffering through a long winter under these conditions.

On his way back to the Storm Tower, Aeron actually became lost for a few hours as the trail he followed petered out in a muddy morass of thickets, briars, and fens. He could not remember any such place in the bounds of the Maerchwood. When he finally picked up his path again he redoubled his speed, Baillegh bounding behind him like a silver streak in the gloom.

It was late in the night when he reached the tower. He rested, ate a light meal, then set to work rummaging through Fineghal's storehouse of arcane lore and enchanted devices until he found a small orb of crystal. Aeron carried the orb to a small table before one of the tower's high windows and sat down, staring into the milky glass.

In his mind's eye, he formed a picture of Fineghal's face and called out with his will. "Fineghal! Where are you?"

To his surprise, the response was immediate. The orb swirled and cleared, and he gazed upon a forest-city of slender trees and leaping pathways high over the ground. Fineghal stood in the foreground on a wide flet of gleaming wood, glancing up into the sky. "I see you have found my seeing-glass, Aeron," he replied.

"Where are you?" Aeron asked, peering at the scene.

Fineghal gestured at his surroundings. Although Aeron heard his words plainly in his mind, the orb conveyed no sound; Fineghal spoke silently. "I have kinfolk who tarry still in the great forest of the Chondalwood," he replied. "I've passed the last few seasons among them. Tell me, do you know what is going wrong with the magic?"

"You have sensed it too?" Aeron asked.

"For the last month or so, my spells have failed for no reason I can determine. And there are other wizards here who have encountered the same result. There seems to be less magic in the world, as if the Weave is dying away." The elf lord's fear and concern were evident, even through the magical link of the crystal ball. "Never in my days have I seen something like this."

"I think I know what is happening," Aeron said. "Magic is not fading. It is. . changing its character. While the Weave you know is weakening, the shadow-magic is growing stronger."

Fineghal grimaced. "I can't perceive it. I only see the weakening of the magic that I command."

"Have you noticed anything else unusual? Strange weather, a failure of the harvest, rumors of hauntings?"

"We've heard many tales of such things from the lands to the north and east of the Chondalwood. In the past few weeks, the tide of sickness has reached us here. The failure of magic is tied to these occurrences?"

"I believe that everything-the strange weather, the failure of crops, the plagues and the wars-is tied to this. The Weave permeates everything that exists, after all. If it becomes darker, more sinister, the world will grow dark as well."

The elf seemed to turn away for a moment, as if he were speaking to someone else whom Aeron could not see. "Your explanation makes sense, Aeron. It would account for the events we've witnessed here."

"The longer we allow this to continue, the worse it will get," Aeron said. He described his meeting with Master Crow and related the rumors he'd heard of war in Cimbar.

"Could this have something to do with the Shadow Stone, Aeron? You once told me that you thought that it acted as a conduit that enabled a mage to bypass the Weave. Master Crow's appearance on your doorstep can't be entirely coincidental."

"I think you're right," Aeron said. "But that still doesn't give me any idea of how to counter the effects."

Fineghal seemed to waver in indecision. "I'll set out at once for the Storm Tower," he finally said.

Aeron smiled, his spirits climbing. "There's room for two Storm Walkers in this forest, Fineghal. I can really use your help. When will you be here?"

The elf laughed bitterly. "Before this started, I knew three or four spells that would have whisked me to your side in the blink of an eye. But I cannot wield enough of the Weave to power any of them now. I'll have to travel by more mundane means. Six or seven days, at a minimum."

"I'll be waiting for you. Go with care-I don't like the look of this at all."

"Nor do I," Fineghal said. He raised his hand, and the contact faded, leaving the orb empty and colorless again.

Two more watchful days passed, as Aeron used every divination at his command to study the situation with little success. On the third day, he was roused from his futile efforts by the subtle warning of one of his warding spells. Someone was approaching the Storm Tower. He rose and moved over to one of the windows, peering out into the gloom. On the path leading from the wood, three figures blundered through the mist. He quickly recognized Kestrel and Eriale, both carrying light packs, but the third person wore a large hood. Aeron scrutinized the last one for a long moment, then gave up and trotted downstairs to let them in to the tower.

"Kestrel, Eriale! What happened? Why are you here so soon?" Aeron ushered them into the tower's entry hall.

Kestrel stepped inside, his face blank. "We had to talk to you, Aeron." He glanced back at the third member of their party-a large, broad-shouldered man-and waved him forward. "I've brought Phoros Raedel to see you."

Aeron started in surprise as the nobleman took off his dripping hood and fixed an angry glare on him. After a long moment, Aeron managed to say, "I never thought I'd find you on my doorstep."

"I would have avoided this if there were any other alternative, Morieth." Phoros shifted uncomfortably, his face set in an uncompromising scowl.

"Alternative to what?" Aeron demanded.

Eriale stepped forward and laid her hand on Aeron's arm. "Aeron, listen. He's come to ask your help."

The mage snorted in anger. "You're joking."

"It's true, Aeron," said Kestrel. "Hear him out."

Raedel glowered until his face shone red. He said, "That black-hearted scoundrel Crow has turned me out of my own castle. I want your help in getting rid of him."

Aeron folded his arms and turned a flat stare on the nobleman. "You sought his services to put me in my place. If you don't want Master Crow under your roof anymore, get rid of him yourself."

Raedel bridled. "I knew this was a bad idea," he rasped.

He spun on his heel and strode toward the door, fuming.

Eriale glared at Aeron. "You're better than that, Aeron," she snapped. She started after Raedel and caught him as he opened the door. "Wait, my lord. You need his help."

"I'll be damned if I'm going to beg for it!" the count roared, wheeling on her. "If he can't be bothered with driving a black-hearted necromancer out of the town he grew up in, then so be it! I'll find a way to do it myself."

Kestrel stepped in front of Aeron and pointed out the open door. "Aeron, this is foul sorcery. The land suffers under a curse of some kind. You're the only person we know with knowledge of these things. You might not care a whit about Phoros Raedel's troubles, but the count's woes are the woes of all Maerchlin. The villagers and forest-folk don't deserve this." He fixed his keen eyes on Aeron's face, refusing to allow the mage to look away. Eriale and Phoros paused by the door.

Aeron glanced at Phoros and back to Kestrel. He sighed and waved his hand to indicate the midday gloom and the filthy, clinging damp. "This isn't Crow's doing. They're both symptoms of the same disease. I don't have any idea of how to break the spell that's poisoning the land."

Phoros weighed Aeron for a long moment. "You say that Crow's just a part of this. Fine. But if you don't have any other place to start, it can't hurt to treat a symptom. He's using sorcery to eat the minds of my people, Morieth. My people, the people who look to me to defend them! I've never sought to rule by holding a man's will in my fingers. If you let Crow stay in Maerchlin, he's going to turn this entire province into a charnel house."

Aeron grimaced. "All right. Master Crow is the least of our worries, but there's no sense in allowing him a free hand to ruin Maerchlin. We'll see what we can do." And it might be that I can get some answers from him, he thought to himself. He looked at Kestrel and Eriale. "Do you want to rest here tonight and set out tomorrow morning?"

Phoros shook his head. "I don't want to give him any more time to consolidate his position."

Kestrel nodded in agreement. "We've still got a few hours of daylight. Let's make use of them."

Aeron acquiesced. He took his cloak and satchel from the pegs by the door, and summoned his gleaming staff to his hand from its place in the library. "Baillegh!" he called. The silver hound appeared in the door, tail wagging. Aeron shrugged. "I'm ready," he said.

They set out through the mist-shrouded forest. Aeron guided them along a series of hidden tracks that he used whenever he was in a hurry; the paths were enchanted with an old elf spell, ancient when Chessenta was young, arrowing straight through the Maerchwood but ghosting through another realm, winding and twisting in and out of a world of silver mists and dark, silent trees. They camped a few miles south of Maerchlin, enduring a cold meal and the damp chill of the night without the comfort of a fire-no suitable wood could be found. As they ate, Raedel bitterly described how Crow had worked his wiles against the knights and officers of his court, slowly turning them against their rightful lord until every command Raedel issued was referred to Crow before it was carried out.

"Did you try to make him leave?" Aeron asked.

Phoros nodded with a savage jerk of his head. "The bastard laughed at me. He laughed! I went after him, of course. I had my hands around his scrawny neck before he could even mutter the first word of a spell. But my own guardsmen pulled me away from him and locked me in my chambers."

Aeron watched the count for a long moment. He had little liking for Phoros Raedel, but he still felt a fleeting sympathy for the noble. For a man born and bred to lordship, it must have been humiliating in the extreme. He chewed his lip, thinking. "To break Crow's influence over your captains and officers, we'll have to force him to release his spell. Or slay him."

Phoros grinned ruthlessly. "I don't think I'll bother to ask him if he wants to cooperate."

The next morning, they rose early and returned to the trail. The clinging mists lifted somewhat, revealing a motionless gray overcast that brooded with the threat of rain, and the temperature plummeted. At first Aeron thought that the change in the weather might be a sign of improvement, but as the day grew colder and grayer each hour, he realized that they were seeing nothing more than a change in the face of the ubiquitous gloom that had fallen over the land. The seasons were out of order, and he could only perceive the dimmest threads of the Weave flickering dully in the sodden landscape.

"Where is everyone?" Eriale asked, studying the village and the outlying farms. "At this time of day, there should be people out and about."

Phoros Raedel spat and knelt down to seize a handful of water-logged earth. Fat white worms squirmed through his fingers as he straightened up and showed it to the girl. "What's the point in reaping these fields?" he snarled in disgust. "It's all like this. Come on."

"How are we going to do this?" asked Aeron. "If we're careful, we can get right up to the castle without being seen, but how are we going to get in? The postern gate?"

"Don't you have some magic to whisk us into my hall from right here?" Raedel asked over his shoulder.

"I'd rather save my magic until I'm certain we need it," Aeron replied. "The last time I was here, Crow had a warding set around the castle to counter spells of that sort."

Raedel snorted. "Wonderful. Well, I've got another idea."

Aeron nodded, understanding. "You must have had a secret way out. You said Crow had had you locked in your chambers, but you never told us how you got away."

The count scowled at Aeron. After a long moment he said, "The tunnel emerges in the underbrush by the mill pond. He'll know that's how I got out, though." Raedel led them through the back streets of the town, staying out of sight of the castle's gate, until they'd circled around to the pond a hundred yards or so behind the angular keep. A stout wooden hatch was tucked away out of sight, covered with years of dirt and undergrowth that had recently been brushed aside.

A large rune was drawn over the door with fresh red paint. "What in Tchazzar's hells is this?" Phoros demanded. He stepped forward to jerk the door out of the way.

Aeron darted forward and caught his arm. "No! It's a sign of sealing. You'd better let me deal with it."

Raedel pulled his arm away resentfully, but fell back a few steps. Aeron knelt over the hatch, examining the rune carefully. When he'd studied at the college, he'd learned a little of the marking of runes and seals, but as he examined Master Crow's handiwork Aeron realized that the sorcerer had derived an entirely new system of magical markings, one designed specifically to channel and contain shadow-magic. The rune matched the ancient cipher he'd found in the Chants of Arcainasyr, the twisted Imaskari invocations Aeron had found hidden in the library years ago.

"Is it trouble, Aeron?" Eriale asked, watching him study the rune. She'd used their brief pause to string her bow and move her quiver to ride low on her hip.

Aeron rocked back on his heels. "Crow's more knowledgeable than I expected," he said. "I think I can neutralize this rune, though. Stand back." He carefully wove an enchantment of erasure, deftly drawing the mark from the wood and dissipating the magical energy stored within until nothing remained but a faded outline on the weathered wood. "There, that should do it."

Phoros Raedel nodded at the trap door. "You first."

Aeron set his hand on the iron ring, waited a moment to catch any signs that the rune was still present while his companions shifted nervously, and then pulled the door open. Stale, musty air gusted out from a narrow earthen tunnel. He reached into his pouch and produced a slim wand of ashwood that shone with a bright yellow radiance, a simple spell that gave strong light without heat or fuel. The tunnel stretched into the darkness as far as they could see. "I'll lead if you like, Raedel, but you know the way," he said.

"Fine," the nobleman snapped. He drew his heavy longsword and pushed past Aeron, turning his shoulders to fit into the narrow passage. Aeron dropped in behind him, Baillegh at his heel, and Eriale and Kestrel brought up the rear, pulling the trapdoor closed behind them. Old timbers framed the passageway at intervals of six or seven feet, and the air was surprisingly warm and dry. Raedel wasted no time waiting for them, but set off at once for the castle, trailing one hand on the wall.

"Where will this emerge?" Aeron asked quietly.

"In the back of a linen closet adjacent to my chambers."

"Do you expect anyone there?"

Phoros shrugged. "Unless Master Crow's decided to commandeer my quarters, no one should be there. But you'll have to douse that light before we open the door."

The tunnel ran a little farther and took a sharp right turn into an arch of dressed fieldstone. From that point on, a steep, narrow stairwell of dressed stone spiraled up into blackness. Aeron counted almost a hundred steps before the passage ended in a small landing. Raedel turned back and motioned to him; the wizard returned his light-wand to the pouch, leaving them in total darkness. Ahead, he heard a small click, and a narrow wedge of brightness appeared. Phoros moved in front, peered out, and opened the door enough to slip into the chamber beyond. Aeron quickly followed, Kestrel and Eriale a step behind.

They stood in a spartan chamber of dressed stone, illuminated by a double-arched window. A few pieces of utilitarian furniture, a sword-and-shield display, and a cold hearth were the sum of its decoration. Raedel looked around, a fierce grin on his face. "Good. Nothing's been disturbed."

"He must know you're gone," Eriale said. "It's been more than three days now."

"Indeed, the count's absence did not escape my attention," drawled a voice from the chamber's doorway. Aeron and his companions whirled to face the entrance to the room. Master Crow stepped out into the open as if emerging from a solid shadow. His sallow features seemed as dead and malleable as wax in the dim light of the empty royal quarters. "I had hoped you would rejoin us, my lord Raedel. But I must admit I did not think that you would actually bring Aeron as well. Fortune smiles on me."

Phoros snarled and started forward, but Aeron quickly caught his arm. "Wait," he said. "He's not stupid. He wouldn't confront you without being certain that you were no threat."

"Listen to Aeron, Raedel. He possesses no small amount of wisdom," Crow said with a feral grin. He made a casual gesture with his left hand. Beside Aeron, Baillegh bared her teeth and growled, crouching for a spring. In each corner of the room, a dark pillar seemed to coalesce from the air, gradually condensing into tattered shapes of skeletal soldiers in mail. Their faces were blank and awful, with cold yellow light glimmering in their unseeing eyes, and they stank of death. On each warrior's stained surcoat the emblem of House Raedel was embroidered. "I've taken the liberty of improving on your guardsmen, my lord," Crow said.

Phoros shook off Aeron's hand and took another half-step forward, but the two skeletal warriors standing nearest to Master Crow straightened and advanced to bar his path, cold gleaming swords in their yellowed hands. The count ground his teeth in frustration, but his common sense won out over his anger. He halted just out of reach of the skeletons' weapons. "Damn you, Crow! Assuran curse the day I let you into my keep."

Master Crow waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "My lord count, I am truly sorry to hear you say that. After all, you brought me here to defend you against Aeron, and have I not done that? The Storm Walker has not troubled you once since I've become your advisor." He looked past Raedel to take in Aeron, Kestrel, and Eriale. "Now, I'll ask you to lay down your arms. Aeron, you are to keep your hands in plain sight. I'll order my warriors to attack at the first sign you're casting a spell."

No one moved. Aeron glanced around the room, weighing the enchantments that bound spirit to the armor-clad corpses that surrounded them. These were not mindless husks called back to a semblance of animation through Crow's sorcery. These creatures were far more formidable, each driven by a malicious spirit bound to Crow's will.

"Aeron, what do we do?" hissed Eriale.

Aeron hesitated, unwilling to take the first move. He was afraid of what Crow might be capable of, given Sarim's knowledge and strength. He stalled for time. "What do you want with us, Crow?"

The sorcerer shrugged. "Your friends I could care less about, Aeron. Raedel I'll keep at my side to rule this land. . although I'm inclined to work a spell or two to render him more amenable to my advice, you might say. As for those two-" he nodded at Kestrel and Eriale, who waited with their weapons ready-"they may prove valuable in ensuring your cooperation."

"Why am I so important to you?" Aeron demanded.

Crow stepped closer, ignoring the others to direct his fevered gaze directly at the mage. "You started something five years ago that you never finished. I came here to conclude your pact with the Shadow Stone. I know you've sensed the changes in magic we've wrought over the last month or so, Aeron. This is only the first step. If you join us, if you finish the road you started down, you will become more powerful than you can ever imagine. You will be a king among wizards, a lord whose least wish can be fulfilled with the power at your command."

Aeron narrowed his eyes. "And you'll destroy me if I refuse?"

Crow laughed loudly, a brash and abrasive sound. "No, of course not. You are a mage of power, Aeron. You are far too valuable to destroy. If we cannot rally you to our cause, then there is another purpose you can serve. We can use your magic to fuel our spells." He stopped laughing and his voice grew cold. "But I'll offer you this advice, Aeron. You would be much better off as a lord among wizards than you would as our slave."

"Your only purpose here is to bring Aeron into your circle again? Maerchlin itself is nothing to you?" Eriale demanded from behind Aeron.

Crow shrugged. "All of Chessenta will be my prize someday, young lady. Maerchlin is important to us because that's where Aeron resides." He raised his hands, and Aeron felt shadow-magic swirl and gather around his fingertips. "Time enough for talk later. Lay down your weapons."

Phoros Raedel snarled, "Rot in Tchazzar's hells!" He launched himself forward in a blinding rush that carried him past the two skeletons, somehow dodging the deadly cuts they leveled at him as he rushed by. Master Crow barked out a spell against the burly young lord that blasted stabbing fingers of black fire at him. Raedel roared in pain and pressed ahead through the agonizing flame, swinging blindly until Crow was forced to dance backward a few steps to stay out of his reach.

Aeron immediately raised his staff and began an old abjuration to discorporate the evil spirits from the bodies of Raedel's soldiers, hoping to even the odds. It was a long and complex spell, and his high, clear voice echoed in the chamber as he recited the incantation while weaving threads of magic to each of the skeletal warriors. But the undead soldiers surged forward, weapons raised to strike. Baillegh leaped forward in a silver streak, knocking down the first warrior that charged Aeron while he was engaged in working the spell.

Behind him, Eriale whirled and sank an arrow into the breastbone of one skeleton, staggering it in its tracks. The creature seemed to shake it off and surged at her again, but she laid another arrow across her bow and fired again with uncanny speed and precision, burying the second arrow in the skeleton's left eye socket. The impact shattered the back of its skull, and it collapsed to the ground in a clatter of bone and steel.

Beside her, Kestrel ducked under the first swing of another skeleton and knocked its legs from under it, spilling it to the ground. He yelled a wordless challenge and leaped across the body to defend Eriale from another skeleton rushing her from the flank, driving it back with a flurry of blows. But the first creature he'd felled clawed at him, pinning his legs in place, while another moved forward, a heavy axe in its talons. It flew at Kestrel with a fierce bloodthirst, pounding at the slight woodsman's guard until Kestrel buckled beneath the attack. The axe fell one more time and came up dripping red.

Eriale turned back from the skeleton she'd just shot and cried out, "Father!" She dropped Kestrel's attacker with a single arrow in its eye, but Kestrel lay crumpled on the ground, a spreading pool of blood growing under his motionless body.

Aeron nearly lost the spell as he saw Kestrel fall, but with iron discipline he forced himself to finish it. The chamber rocked with the power of the last word he spoke, stone cracking and wood splintering with the weight of the magic. The remaining skeletal warriors dropped as if their strings had been cut, the animating force behind them suddenly barred from the room. By the door, Phoros Raedel pushed his way to his feet as his assailants collapsed, but Eriale fell to her knees by her father, cradling his head. Aeron whirled to face Master Crow. "Damn you, Crow!" he howled.

The dark sorcerer snapped out a quick spell that conjured bolts of magical energy and hurled them at Aeron and Raedel. The count grunted and staggered as the bursts hammered his torso, leaving the stink of charred flesh in the air, but Aeron managed to raise a short-lived shield to block the assault. He sought a spell in response, but the uncertainty of his hybrid sorcery halted him. Do I dare retaliate? he thought, frozen in one long agonizing moment of indecision. What if I end up like him?

"Morieth, do something!" Phoros screeched from the floor, writhing under Crow's magical attack.

"I can't!" Aeron responded. He took several steps back, trying to think. The shadow-magic boiled in his heart, surging through his limbs and flickering like black witch-fire about his fingertips. Before his eyes he saw the horrible scene in the crypt of the Shadow Stone, Oriseus gloating as he invited Aeron to seize the power he craved. You want to be the one people fear, the saturnine conjuror whispered in his ears.

Beside him, Eriale turned an anguished gaze up to Aeron. "Please, Aeron. Help us!"

Crow laughed out loud as he scorched Phoros with his sorcerous powers. "Considering my offer, Aeron? I'd hoped you would come around, sooner or later. Let's put an end to this, shall we?" His hands flashed and sparked as he tortured the nobleman with snapping arcs of black fire.

It doesn't matter what it costs me, Aeron realized. That's not Sarim anymore, and I can't let him win. He shouted out the words for the storm's stroke, pushing to the back of his mind the black tide from which he drew his power. A great bolt of lightning leaped forward from his fingertips, blasting Crow off his feet and smashing the door behind him into flying flinders. Aeron narrowed his eyes, surprised that Crow had not countered the spell.

In the scorched wreckage of the entrance to the room, Crow suddenly sat up. His robe was burned and shredded, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. "You'll have to do better than that, Aeron," he called.

Crow snapped out a word that sent Aeron and Phoros hurling toward the ceiling. Aeron flailed in the air for a moment before crashing into the hard stone with bone-jarring force. Bright light spun over his eyes, and suddenly he fell to the floor again, landing heavily on his left arm and side. Something crunched in Aeron's forearm and an electric jolt of pain raced up his arm. Raedel grunted as he landed flat on his back.

"What? No counterspell to that one?" Crow gloated. He gestured and sent both men slamming into the ceiling and then dropped them to the ground again.

Aeron's vision reeled, and he could hardly tell which way was up, but Baillegh bounded into his field of vision, worrying at Crow's arm. The sorcerer managed to gasp out a quick spell that repelled the silver hound, sending her skittering into a corner. In the momentary respite that Baillegh's attack earned him, Aeron raised himself to his knees and unleashed a spell of transformation, striking Crow full in the chest with a flickering green ray. "Let's see how you look as a mouse," Aeron muttered, concentrating on the transformation from human to rodent. Crow seemed startled for a moment as the shimmering emerald aura washed over his body, but again the spell did not affect him, vanishing like water draining into a sinkhole.

"A noble effort, Aeron," the sorcerer smirked. "But your spells are useless against me. Any enchantment you work, I will absorb and add to my own strength."

"Absorb this," said Eriale from somewhere behind Aeron. Her bow thrummed, and a white-feathered arrow suddenly appeared low in Master Crow's throat, just above the notch where his collarbones met. The sorcerer's eyes bulged in astonishment and he flailed his arms, trying to keep his balance. Crow opened his mouth as if to say something, but a dark rush of blood streamed over his chin. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed in a heap.

The chamber fell eerily silent. Aeron could hear the blood pounding in his ears, and he slowly pushed himself to his feet, watching Crow for some sign of movement. The sorcerer's body lay still. He turned slowly, and saw Eriale kneeling by Kestrel, her bow in her hands. "Thanks," he said. He moved over and dropped down beside her, hoping to help Kestrel.

The woodsman lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The rough homespun shirt was soaked with blood where the skeletal warrior's axe had split Kestrel's breastbone. "Kestrel," Aeron whispered, bowing his head.

Eriale's voice trembled. "Aeron, can your magic-"

"No," he answered. "He's far beyond my skill." He reached down and closed Kestrel's eyes, a hot ache growing in his chest. "Eriale, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Why didn't you act, Aeron? What hold did he have on you?" Tears streamed down Eriale's face. "What were you waiting for?"

Aeron sagged back, unable to answer her. "I didn't want to face him," he said quietly. "I should have known that it would come to this."

"My father's dead, Aeron. Raedel and I would have been next. Wasn't that reason enough for you?" She looked over at the doorway to the chamber, where Crow lay with the white-feathered arrow protruding from his throat. Close by the sorcerer's body, Phoros Raedel wheezed heavily, one arm clamped over his wounds. "You'd better check on Raedel. We'll need him to explain why we're here."

Aeron reached out and caught Eriale's arm, turning her to face him. "You're right, Eriale. I wasn't ready for this. I didn't want to confront Crow, and my hesitation might have cost Kestrel his life. But I won't make that mistake again-I swear it."

He held her eyes for a tense moment, until she relented and looked away. Then he stood, picked up his staff, and faced the door. "Look after the count. I have work to do if we're going to put this castle back in his hands."