"I've little fight left in me," Aeron replied.
The young count held his gaze for a long time before looking away to the guards. "Take him away," he said. "He's guilty of raising his hand against a lord, sedition, sorcery, and a dozen other charges. He'll hang tomorrow morning."
"One favor, Raedel?" Aeron said.
Phoros wheeled on him, astonished. "You want to ask a favor of me? Are you insane?"
"Pardon Kestrel and Eriale. You only arrested them to catch me."
"Pardon them? Why? They're rebels and traitors, fugitives from my dungeons!"
"Now that you have me, let them go," Aeron said.
Phoros scowled. "What does it matter if I pardon them or not? They fled Maerchlin two years ago."
"They never did anything wrong, Phoros. It's not right for them to be outlaws on my account."
The count weighed Aeron's words and abruptly agreed. "Very well. Kestrel and Eriale are pardoned, for what it's worth." He waved his hand at Aeron's guards, dismissing them. "Be careful with Morieth. He is a skillful sorcerer. Keep his hands bound, and keep a hood over his head. And I want him guarded around the clock by two swordsmen in his cell. He will not walk out of my dungeons again."
The guards dragged him away to the castle's cells. They grudgingly spared him some food, so before the hood went over his head, Aeron gnawed at a piece of tough black bread and washed it down with cold water. He felt much better for it, and by the time he finished, he felt simply tired instead of exhausted beyond his limits.
Aeron didn't even consider escape. With all of his magic expended, he did not stand a chance against the guards whom Raedel had posted over him. And even if he still had some magic left, he wasn't sure that he would have been able to wield the Weave without drawing on the power of the Shadow Stone; even to save his own life, he was unwilling to do that. So Aeron closed his eyes and slept dreamlessly, still trying to rest from his ordeal.
He was awakened late in the day by a guard poking his foot into his ribs. "You've got visitors," he said.
Aeron shook his head, wondering why he couldn't see, and then he remembered the hood. "Who is it?" he asked.
"Aeron? Is it really you?" Eriale knelt down beside him and held him tight, her voice cracking with emotion. "We feared we'd never see you again!"
"Aye, lad. Where have you been? We've sent a dozen letters to the college, but they knew nothing of your whereabouts." Kestrel's strong hands clasped his shoulders.
"Step away from the prisoner," said one of the guards. "The count ordered no contact." Steel rasped on leather as the fellow drew his blade to emphasize his point.
Reluctantly Eriale released him, and Kestrel's hands fell away. Aeron sensed them shuffling back a few steps. He shook his head again, trying to clear the cobwebs. "What time of day is it? I've been asleep."
"It's about an hour before midnight. We came as quickly as we could," Kestrel said.
Aeron thought for a moment. "It's a half-day's ride from your new home. How did you know I was here?"
"You remember Toric and Shiela Goldsheaf," Eriale said. "When Toric heard of your return, and the count's pardon for Father and me, he borrowed the fastest horse in the village and set out for my homestead. I've never ridden so fast in my life."
"I didn't think you'd risk setting foot in Maerchlin again," Aeron said quietly. "The count might revoke his pardon." He heard a soft, choked sob. "Eriale? Are you all right?"
There was a long pause before she answered, and her voice was taut. "Yes, I'm fine. It just doesn't seem fair that we've finally seen you again, but you're to hang tomorrow."
For the first time, the weight of Phoros's sentence crashed down on Aeron. It might have been a mundane death compared to what would have happened to him in the shadow, but it was still death, now only a few hours away. Aeron had forgotten what it was like to be powerless and blind. With his magic, he could have escaped from his bonds in a dozen different ways. "It's better than what might have happened to me," he said softly.
"What do you mean, Aeron?" asked Kestrel.
Aeron sighed. "It doesn't matter now, I guess." He wanted to tell them something about his experiences in the college, to explain how he'd come to be in Raedel's dungeons, but he couldn't bring himself to speak of it. "I learned a lot at the college, and I threw myself into my studies. But patience was never my strong suit, and I became involved in dangerous lore. One of my spells went wrong, and here I am. I'm lucky to have survived the experience, I think."
"Lucky enough to land in the dungeons of your worst enemy," Kestrel remarked wryly. "Aeron, what do-"
"All right, that's enough," barked the guard. "Ten minutes was all I was supposed to allow you, and you've had a fair piece more. Now, let's go. You might be allowed to say your farewells tomorrow morning."
Aeron heard scuffling footsteps as the guard escorted Kestrel and Eriale to the door. Suddenly he felt very small and alone.
"Aeron, is there anything we can do?" Eriale called from the door of the cell. "Someone we can talk to, a way to delay the execution?" She sobbed. "We've got to do something!"
"I said that's enough!" the guard snarled.
Aeron thought quickly. There was only one hope that came to his mind. "Tell Fineghal!" he called.
"Where can we find him?" Kestrel asked.
"Eriale can show you. Try the ruined tower, or the vale with the waterfall-" Something heavy crashed into the side of his head and spun him to the floor. Even with his eyes covered, he saw twisting shapes of colored light, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He realized that the guard had hit him.
"That's all from you!" the guard snapped. "Keep running your mouth and we'll hold your friends here just to make sure they don't cause any mischief. So go ahead, keep talking if you want to. Got anything more to say?"
Aeron held his tongue. He could hear clanging doors, Eriale's voice as she argued with the guardsmen escorting her away, harsh replies from the other jailers. He hoped that the soldiers would let them leave. Of course, they could walk the Maerchwood for weeks and see no sign of Fineghal, he thought. The elf lord might be anywhere. Or he might not want to be found. And even if they did find him, he might not be willing to help, not if it meant interfering in human affairs. Aeron tried to stifle the rising ache of despair in his heart and failed. He let himself fall back against the ground, bowing his head in silence.
"Good. I thought you might hold your tongue, wizard." The guardsman laughed, and he fell to trading colorful tales with the other fellow on watch.
* * * * *
"Get up, you piece of filth. You're not going to be late to your hanging on my watch." Two or three men dragged Aeron to his feet, shaking him awake with a start. He coughed and groaned. "By Assuran, I fell asleep again!" he muttered. He'd worked furiously against his bonds for an hour or more after Kestrel and Eriale left, only to find his hands too well secured. He remembered giving up in frustration, thinking of what to try next. . . and then nothing. He'd missed his chance.
"Wait," he said, trying to dig his feet into the ground. "Don't I get a last meal? An appeal? A chance to speak to my friends?"
"Count's orders. You're to swing at sunrise, no visitors, no discussion. Now stop wriggling. The count will have my hide if you're not swinging by the neck at first light." The guard snorted. "Your day's not looking too good, but there's no reason that my day should be miserable, too."
Aeron kicked and stomped, wrenching himself from side to side, but the guards only laughed and tightened their grip. He managed to get one arm free, but someone behind him struck him in the back of the skull with a weighted truncheon. He found himself lying on the ground, his foot tapping the wall, with hot agony burning in his head. He didn't struggle anymore when the guards dragged him to his feet and through the castle's halls.
They hauled him out into the courtyard and removed the leather hood. Aeron shook his head and looked around; the early morning air was cool and damp, and it felt clean on his face after wearing the hood for nearly a day. The light was dim and rose-hued, long shadows slanting across the open bailey. A small crowd had gathered to watch; in a quick glance, Aeron saw a score of faces he recognized. The guards hustled him across the yard to a wooden platform with a bowed crossbeam and a single noose. Stunned by the swiftness of events, he offered no resistance as they pulled him up the short flight of steps and positioned him beneath the noose, standing on a simple board over a square hole in the wooden decking. A black-hooded executioner stood by with a large mattock to knock the board from under his feet.
While the guards worked on his bindings, retying them for the hanging, Aeron glanced around the courtyard. Most of the people watching were Raedel's housemen and soldiers, but a few villagers shifted nervously, watching the preparations. "No tricks now," growled one of the men beside him as he positioned the noose around Aeron's neck.
Aeron grimaced but did not resist. The rope scraped at his neck. He glanced around the courtyard again, hoping for some miraculous reprieve, and his eyes fell on Kestrel and Eriale, watching from the back. Eriale's face was streaked with tears, and Kestrel glowered as if he could burn Aeron's guards with nothing more than the heat of his anger. Two guardsmen stood right behind them, detailed to watch over his kinfolk and make sure that they did not interfere.
The men readying the gallows finished their work and stepped back, waiting. The brief pause stretched into a maddening wait for Aeron as he shifted and tested his bonds. A disturbance in the crowd caught his attention, and he looked up to see Phoros Raedel and his closest retainers sauntering into the courtyard. The young count stopped a few feet in front of the gallows, looking up at Aeron. "If he starts to speak a spell, silence him," he said to the guards nearby. To Aeron, he said, "Any last words?"
Aeron considered an impassioned plea, but one look into Phoros's eyes told him all that he needed to know. Raedel would not be moved. "No," he answered.
"Very well, then." Phoros started to gesture to the sledge man, when a piercing shriek shattered the morning stillness.
Eriale screamed and clawed her way through the small crowd. "No, my lord! I beg you, don't kill him! He never meant to do you any harm." Two of Raedel's guards caught her five paces before she reached the count and restrained her, although she struggled with the fury of a wildcat. "No!"