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!"
Phoros jerked his head at the guards, and they dragged her back. "Do it," he ordered.
In the corner of his eye, Aeron saw the sledge wielder raise the heavy maul and bring it down. The impact jolted his feet, and the board beneath him flew away, spinning.
He managed nothing more than a grunt of surprise before the rope snapped tight, cutting off his air. Something popped in his neck, and then he landed heavily on the ground, stunned and breathless. He was lying on his side on the cold ground, his arms still bound behind him, and in his sideways view of the courtyard, Raedel's guardsmen suddenly appeared, shouting at each other. "You damn fool! The rope parted!"
"I checked it twice. It was fine!"
"Well, get another rope and do it right this time."
Aeron wanted to roll back and look behind him, but he seemed to have forgotten how. His eyes smarted from staring, but he could not close them, and he couldn't work the dirt out of his mouth. With a cold, sick shock, he realized that he wasn't breathing. No need to do it again, he thought. The rope must have snapped my neck clean.
Two guards seized him by the arms and dragged him upright, but he was left staring down at the ground. The voices in the courtyard were growing fainter, and it seemed that a cloud had passed before the sun, since it was growing very dark.
". . . think he's dead."
". . . here, look. He's dead."
". . . guess the fall broke his neck."
"Here's the physician. Is he . . ."
"... no doubt. Take him away."
A heavy white wrap of linen was laid over his face, and he was distantly aware that he was being shrouded where he lay. He wanted to protest, but he had no voice and could not move at all. He mustered every ounce of willpower remaining and tried to move, but he couldn't tell if he succeeded or not.
". . . Assuran's eyes! His hand moved!"
". . . seen a corpse, you idiot? They do that."
He was lifted and dumped against creaking wood, his limbs straightened and arranged, and then another blanket was thrown over him. In his mind, he ripped the cloth away from his face, hammered his way free of the cart, shouted for help. Despite his panic, his body refused to move. A new voice nearby caught his attention-Eriale.
He could hear the grief in her words. "Can we take him home now?"
"We'll bury him in the castle's graveyard if you want."
Kestrel now: "No. We'll lay him beside his parents."
"Get him out of here, then. It's your business now."
The cart moved and creaked, trundling along a rutted road. Aeron gave up on trying to escape his condition and waited in blank hopelessness. Was this death, then? Consciousness trapped in an inert shell? How long would thought remain, how long would it take before whatever dim spark that still burned inside was mad beyond all reason? He prayed for oblivion before that happened.
". . . far enough yet?"
"Keep going. They may follow just to be certain."
He was moved again, strapped to a narrow board, and then dragged for quite some distance. He wasn't sure, but he thought he was in the forest, for he felt roots and twigs catching at the sledge, and it seemed cooler and darker here. Careful hands stretched him on a cold stone surface, and he felt the shrouds and wraps being removed from his body. Finally the band of cloth over his eyes was peeled away.
He was looking up at the forest canopy. It was still early morning, for the treetops were gold and orange with the light. Eriale and Kestrel knelt over him, rubbing his limbs, their faces tight with concern. A silver wolfhound began to lick his face, whining softly. A voice of inhuman perfection laughed, and the hound drew away. Fineghal knelt over Aeron, smiled, and spoke a brief word that Aeron once knew. "Rise, my friend. The paralysis should be fading from your body."
With all his effort, Aeron managed to blink and shiver. He tried to speak but only groaned instead.
"Will he be all right?" Eriale asked anxiously.
"Give him a moment," Fineghal replied. "The spell that feigns death wears off slowly, but he should be with us soon." He leaned forward and set his hand on Aeron's brow. "Come back, Aeron. You are not as dead as you think."
This time, Aeron managed a word. "How . . . ?"
The elf lord grinned. "I made certain that the rope would not support your weight, but of course they would have found another and hanged you a second time. So, while you lay stunned on the ground, I worked a spell for which I'd never had a use before today-the death glamour."
Aeron licked his lips and found that he had strength enough to prop himself up on his elbows. "They . . . they thought I was dead?"
Kestrel snorted. "Aeron, I knew what to expect, and I thought you were dead. Raedel and his henchmen are celebrating even as we speak, certain that they've rid the world of the last of the Morieths."
Aeron heaved a sigh of relief and fell back against the ground. He recognized the place now; it was the same elven tower where he and Eriale had first encountered Fineghal. "I take it you managed to reach Fineghal, then?"
Eriale smiled. "We found him here, in fact. Or I should say he found us. It seems he was expecting your return." She reached out for his hands and dragged him to his feet.
Aeron embraced her, and then Kestrel as well. Finally he turned and took Fineghal's hand in the elven welcome. "Thank you. I'd be dead if you hadn't helped."
"We may have parted in anger, Aeron, but I have no desire to see harm befall you." The elven mage nodded to Kestrel and Eriale. "Thank your kinfolk, too. If they hadn't sought me out, I might not have arrived in time to help."
Aeron stretched and rubbed his shoulders. "I wish you could have let me know what to expect. I was certain that I was dead."
"There wasn't much time, Aeron, and I could not risk revealing my presence. They'd have cut you down in your cell if they'd suspected that I might show up."
"Where did you hide?" Kestrel asked the elf. "I saw no sign of you, none at all."
Fineghal smiled. "I stood right beside you the whole time. I was the miller."
Kestrel gaped. "That fat old miser?"
The elf shrugged. "Any stranger in the courtyard would have been watched closely."
Aeron was silent a long time, registering the tide of events in his mind, coming to grips with where he stood and what had happened. "Listen," he said slowly, "I've made some grave mistakes, some very bad decisions. I was caught up in dangerous intrigues in the college. And when I left, I was stranded in dark and strange planes for a long time. I was nearly killed, several times. I ... I don't know whether or not I've really escaped from what waited for me there."