The hound growled softly, showing her teeth.
"I know. They've been here too long. We need to make them shift their camp and reduce their take. Now, how can I do that?" Aeron thought for a time. As he thought about it, he realized that he wanted the people nearby to know that the forest was watched, that someone would hold them accountable for their actions. The myth of the Storm Walker needed reinforcement from time to time, and today was as good a day as any.
A little before sunset, the noble hunting party returned. Phoros Raedel led the way, beaming with pride, Regos following behind. Six or seven high lords whom Aeron did not recognize laughed and jested coarsely as they rode back into camp, guests of the Count of Maerchlin. Nearly two dozen drivers, trackers, and porters followed, burdened with the day's game. Aeron waited for more than an hour, judging his moment; when the nobles were deep into their cups, he wove the charm of invisibility around himself and crossed the camp, slipping unseen into their pavilion.
Phoros Raedel sat at the head of a stout table, a flagon of wine in his hand as he recounted the day's hunting to a pretty blonde-haired girl. Aeron quietly sealed the door to ensure that he would not be disturbed, leaving a single servant inside with the nobles and their ladies. He briefly considered using a minor glamour to change his appearance into something truly impressive, but decided against it. He hoped to reason with these people, and if they were frightened, they might react violently. The Storm Walker deserves a name and a face, Aeron thought. And I've spent enough of my life running from Phoros Raedel.
When he was ready, he allowed the spell of invisibility to fade and appeared at the foot of the table. "Good evening, my lords," he stated in a clear voice. "I am Aeron Morieth, the Storm Walker. I wish to have a word with you."
The nobles blinked in astonishment. They'd seen Aeron materialize out of nowhere. Others who hadn't been looking in his direction simply spluttered in outrage or scowled in annoyance at the intrusion. Phoros Raedel paled in astonishment, dropping his flagon from nerveless fingers. "I hanged you four years ago!" he gasped. "Guards! Guards!"
Aeron held up his hand. "They will not hear you," he said. "We will not be interrupted."
Regos was sitting with his back to Aeron. He rose suddenly, spinning as he reached for his sword. Three other noblemen near him followed suit. Aeron spoke a brief word and plucked at the bright threads within each man. Before Regos even cleared his seat, he collapsed back into the chair, dropping into a sorcerous sleep. The other swordsmen sank down and clattered to the floor, unconscious. Raedel's eyes flashed in anger. "You half-breed bastard!" he grated. "What have you done?"
"They only sleep," Aeron said. "Phoros, I have no desire to resume our feud by killing your guests."
"Raedel! Who is this man?" barked one of the other nobles, a short, stocky man wearing the emblem of a golden stag on his tunic. It took Aeron a moment to place the heraldry. The man was the lord of Villon, the southwestern county of Chessenta. Phoros Raedel was entertaining some high-ranking nobles indeed. Aeron glanced to Phoros to see how his old enemy would answer.
"This is Aeron Morieth, the last of a long line of rebels who have plagued this land for years," Phoros snarled. "I thought I'd seen the last of him on my gallows, but it seems he's used his sorcerer's tricks to cheat death."
"A sorcerer?" Villon flicked his gaze at Aeron and back to Raedel. "The spell he just spoke was nothing more than an apprentice's trick, one of the simplest of enchantments."
"That does not mean that I am not capable of more powerful spells, Lord Villon," Aeron said. "It simply means that I do not kill lightly."
"I see," said the nobleman. He straightened up and fixed his eyes on Aeron. A mocking smile settled over his face. "Well, you seem to have us in your power for the moment. Perhaps you should speak your piece."
"You have hunted in this place long enough," Aeron said. "Move your camp at least ten miles tomorrow, and reduce your take to no more than one bear, two boars, or five stags in a day. Your slaughter's done harm enough, and I will intervene if I must." He paused and then added, "You should see the sense in moderation. If you kill everything in the forest this season, what will you hunt next year?"
Phoros spluttered in rage. "By what right do you tell me how I may hunt in my own forest?"
"The Maerchwood belongs to no man, commoner or king," Aeron answered. "I am the Storm Walker. It is my task to preserve this forest against any who would do it harm-brigands, settlers, loggers, or hunters. You would raise your hand to defend the lives and the homes of the people of Maerchlin. I will do the same for the Maerchwood."
"Are you calling yourself the lord of the forest?" Raedel demanded. "King Aeron, whom we shall all fear and obey?"
Aeron took a half step forward, angered by the lord's mocking manner. Why did I even bother trying to reason with Raedel? he thought. He's still the same boorish robber lord he always was, nothing but a thug whose father seized these lands at the head of a war band. He started to consider the spells at his disposal, seeking an enchantment that might erase Raedel's confident swagger and, perhaps, finally teach the count to respect him.
Or to fear him.
While the nobles watched scornfully, waiting for his answer, Aeron frowned and lowered his staff. I won't make myself any better a man by proving to these wolves what I already know, he thought. I'll do what I have to do in order to make them understand my point, and no more. I don't care if he hates me, fears me, or thinks I'm Assuran descended from the higher planes. I only want him to stay his hand against the Maerchwood. Choosing his words carefully, Aeron forced himself to ignore Raedel's provocation and continued. "I require no man's fealty. I won't bar anyone from entering the wood or tell him what to do while he's here. But I will be watching, and when someone harms the Maerchwood, I will act."
"And what is your definition of harm?" asked Villon. "It hardly seems fair to hold us to your standard without telling us what it is."
"I ask you not take more game than you can eat. You may cut one acre in twenty within five miles of the forest's edge, and you can take dead or dying trees anywhere you find them. If someone wishes to settle more of the forest, don't clear more than one mile in ten of woodland."
"I refuse to listen to this rubbish!" Phoros said. He advanced on Aeron, drawing his blade. "You cheated me once, Morieth, but this time I'll make sure you are dead."
Aeron stared him in the eye, raising one hand. "Is this what you want, Raedel?"
Phoros halted in midstride, caution momentarily gaining the upper hand over anger. He'd seen what Aeron was capable of and remembered the last time Aeron had put a spell on him. "Strike me down with your sorcery and you won't live a week," he said.
"Then agree to abide by my conditions. Honor my requests within the bounds of the Maerchwood. In turn, I will render you the honor that you deserve as the lord of Maerchlin when I pass through your lands."