The woodcutter paced away, rubbing his face. He didn't say anything. Aeron glanced at Eriale. She was watching him, her face pale. "Aeron .. ." She struggled to find something to say, and bowed her head. "They might hang you. It's death to take up arms against a noble."
Kestrel turned and nodded. "People might think you had a good reason to defend yourself, Aeron, but I can't imagine that Phoros and his friends are going to tell the same story you just told. That will mean three accounts against one ... and your knife as proof of whatever they say."
"I was defending myself!" Anger boiled up to replace the fear that had galvanized Aeron into flight. "Regos scarred me and laughed about it! He'd have done worse if I hadn't gotten away from them. What do I have to answer for?"
"I know I always told you to be honest, boy, but use your head. Who's going to decide your fate? Lord Raedel, of course. These are his lands, and you're his subject. He's never denied anything to that son of his. He might not have you executed, but I can't see you going free."
Aeron whirled and stormed away, pacing in an anxious circle as he tried to think with his mind instead of his anger. He imagined himself standing in the cold stone hall of Raedel Keep, heavy iron shackles on his wrists and ankles. The old lord would be sitting above him, on the wooden dais he used when he held court. Aeron Morieth, I sentence you to swing by the neck until dead. Carry out the sentence, constable. . . . Aeron's knees buckled and he leaned against the farmhouse, his head spinning. They'd kill him for what he'd done. Or, if he was lucky, maybe they'd just bury him in a lightless hole of a dungeon and throw away the key.
"Come on, lad." Kestrel knelt beside him and threw an arm over his shoulders. "I don't think you can stay here."
"What? What do you mean?"
The forester grimaced. "This is the first place Raedel's men will look, Aeron. You've got to get away from here."
Aeron's head reeled. "You mean run away?"
Kestrel nodded soberly. "Aeron, I've tried to do right by your father. Before he died, he asked me to look after you, to raise you like you were my own boy. Lord Raedel sent him to the gallows twelve years ago. I'll be damned if I see you hanged, too."
"I don't want to hang, Kestrel."
"I know the way the castle lads treat you, Aeron, and I know you. Whatever happened, you did what you had to do, and it's wrong to die for that. But now you'd best get moving. I figure we've got a quarter of an hour, maybe a little more, before the constable rides up here to arrest you." Kestrel rocked back on his heels, surged to his feet, and raised Aeron by the arm. He looked over at Eriale. "Fix up a sack of food, a waterskin, and a bedroll of some kind. And get a knife, too. He'll need a new one."
"Right." Eriale nodded and ducked into the house.
"And get a second sack ready!"
"You're coming with me?" Aeron asked.
Kestrel shook his head. "If I do that, they'll think I put you up to it. That'll smell like a revolt to Raedel; he remembers who your father was. No, I'm going to send Eriale with you so she can tell me where you're hiding. I can always tell the count she's gone off to visit her mother's kinfolk in Saden."
"What are you going to do?"
Kestrel sighed heavily and looked toward the stone towers of Raedel Keep, across the river. "I'm going to go down to the castle and try to set this straight. If it turns out right, I can always tell them you panicked and ran off when I left you. If I can't smooth things over ... well, you'll be glad you're not here."
* * * * *
Three hours later, the long afternoon was coming to an end. The sky had taken on the color of beaten copper, with red streaks marking a storm front pushing in from the south. Aeron and Eriale rested by an old trapper's lean-to, about six miles southwest of Maerchlin. They hadn't spoken much during the march. Aeron couldn't bring himself to talk about what had happened, and Eriale's gibes and barbs fell flat when he was so preoccupied.
"It'll be dark soon," Eriale said, standing to gaze up at the sky. The lodge stood by a long field that stretched away to the west, and the red and gold of the sunset blazed in the soft tasseled grasses. Eriale had changed into breeches and a rough shirt not dissimilar from what Aeron wore. It was much more practical for hiking than her skirts. "Should we build a fire?"
Aeron glanced around at the watchful woods. "I've seen wolf tracks in this part of the Maerchwood. And troll signs, too. It might be a good idea to have a fire."
They scoured the forest floor for suitable firewood, gathering dry pine needles for kindling. As darkness fell, Aeron managed to get a good fire going. They broke into their supplies and roasted a hen over the campfire, singeing their fingers and faces as they ate.
"Do you think the constable's looking for you, Aeron?" Eriale asked after they finished. She busied herself with banking the fire to burn all night.
"Raedel would never let me go," he said bitterly. "I stand up to him, and I'm going to lose everything for it. It doesn't seem fair, does it?"
"You're safe as long as you don't go home," she said quietly. She looked up at him, her mouth tight. Aeron and Eriale had grown up together, family in fact if not in blood. He could read her moods with some accuracy. Eriale was a level-headed girl with a strong stubborn streak, confident in herself and those close to her. She didn't worry without good cause, and Aeron could tell she was working to keep her concern from showing. She tried to put on an optimistic face. "Perhaps Father can get Lord Raedel to hear your side of the story."
He shrugged. "I doubt it, Eriale."
"What will you do?"
"I can live off the land as long as I need to." He reached behind him for his quiver and emptied it into his lap. Fifteen good arrows, two only fair, and the makings for a dozen more. He selected a rough shaft that was almost done and began to pare it carefully with a sharp fletching knife.
Eriale watched him. "All by yourself? No one to talk to, no friends?"
"You and Kestrel could come visit me from time to time. As for friends . . ." He met her eyes. "I don't have many anyway. No one in Maerchlin has much use for the last of the Morieths, not after my father pushed Lord Raedel into setting Oslin's soldiers on us. You'd have a lot more friends yourself, Eriale, if your father hadn't taken me in."
The forester's daughter smiled sadly. "People misjudge you, Aeron. They don't know you like I do." She spread out her bedroll by the fire and drew a thin blanket over her shoulders. "We'll probably need to move again in the morning. Better get some sleep."
"As soon as I finish this arrow." Aeron turned his attention to the fletching. He lost himself in his task for half an hour or more. Eriale rolled over and started snoring softly. When he finished, he stood and walked away from the fire to gaze at the stars. By night, the forest was alive with the sounds of movement. Animals rustled as they moved through the brush; frogs croaked and called to one another; nocturnal insects chirped and buzzed quietly. In the distance, a hound bayed mournfully. Aeron smiled, closing his eyes to catch every song of the night. The hound bayed again, several others joining in a rough chorus.
Hounds?
Aeron's eyes flew open, and he wheeled to stare into the forest. It was hard to be certain, but he heard them to the west and slightly north, back toward Maerchlin. The dogs barked and snuffled, the sounds of their approach gradually growing into a continuous gabble of grunts and howls. He smacked one hand against his forehead and bounded up to shake Eriale awake.