"I did not mean to erase your spell."

The elf lord glanced up at him. "I know you did not. But perhaps it is time for you to have a spellbook of your own. You've borrowed mine for long enough."

"I'll mark stones, like yours?"

"That depends. There are dozens of methods for recording the shape of a spell, Aeron. We taught the bards of old to keep their dweomers as poems in ancient Tel'Quessir, and many human wizards have borrowed from this tradition." Fineghal nodded at the spellbook open on the library table. "You have some passing familiarity with this now, I see."

"What's the best method?" Aeron asked.

"It depends on the wizard. I chose to mark signs on stones because it worked . . . and so I carry a pouch of stones at my hip, and will do so for as long as I practice magic." Fineghal rose and moved to the door. He took down Aeron's bow from its place on the wall. "I've noticed that you are a fair hand at fletching."

"My father was a fletcher," Aeron replied. "And a bowmaker, too. Kestrel taught me some of my father's craft to help me honor his memory." He glanced at the weapon in Fineghal's hands, and the intent of the wizard's remark struck him. "Could I mark a spell on an arrow?" he wondered aloud.

"I'd use a length of wood a little shorter and stouter than an arrow's shaft, but the idea is sound," Fineghal replied. "The type of wood you choose, the way you shape it, the design you trace . . . you could represent a complicated enchantment with ease."

"Do other wizards mark their spells in this way?" Fineghal smiled. "My master of old did, long years ago. He called them duarran glyphwoods." With a glance outside at the pale winter daylight, he continued. "It's an hour or two until nightfall. Why don't we see if you can find a form for the water hand in a piece of driftwood?"

* * * * *

Within a week, Aeron had carved his first three glyphwoods. As winter slowly slipped away and the rains of spring returned to the Maerchwood, he struggled to master as many of Fineghal's signs as the elf lord would allow, adding to his store of knowledge. With painstaking care, he crafted a sturdy leather pouch to hold the duarran and wove simple spells of preservation and protection over the growing collection.

Despite Aeron's progress, or perhaps because of it, Fineghal began to exercise more control over the spells that Aeron chose to study. A number of the elf lord's sigils marked spells of war, enchantments that could wreak grievous harm to the wizard's enemies by fire, lightning, ice, or subtle terrors of the mind. But Fineghal discouraged Aeron from these enchantments, giving him instead spells of learning, concealment, and evasion. Aeron ached to wrestle with more difficult topics, but Fineghal simply deflected him with more reading, more research, and quiet challenges to learn more of the forest around him.

Finally Aeron openly broached the matter as they gathered their traveling gear and prepared to leave Caerhuan for the summer. "I would like to study some new spells," he told Fineghal. "The incandescent missile, or maybe the charm of blindness."

Fineghal considered in silence as he pondered which of his books to take with him. "Those are dangerous enchantments," he said at length.

"I'm ready for them. They're within my skill."

"I do not doubt that, Aeron. I suspect you have learned your lesson about tampering with magic beyond your abilities. However, I question the wisdom of teaching you spells of that sort."

"Why? I wouldn't use them wrongly."

Fineghal gave up on the bookshelf and turned his full attention to Aeron, his face taut and serious. "Some would say that any use of those spells is wrong. Wielding magic as a weapon demonstrates shortsightedness, a weakness of the will. There is always a better way."

"But many of your spells are meant for battle," Aeron said. "No one would dare raise his hand against you."

Fineghal snorted. "I learned the greater portion of those many years ago, Aeron, when I was not so old or wise as I am now. And my skill in battle, such as it is, has provoked more fights than it's deterred."

"If I do find myself in a fight, wouldn't it be common sense to know a spell or two that can end it quickly? I don't want to be able to kill people with a word. I just want to know that I can defend myself if I have to."

"Answer me this, Aeron: If you had no spell that could serve as a weapon, would you seek out a fight or avoid it?"

Aeron snorted. "Avoid it, of course."

"That's why I'm hesitant to teach you spells that might lead you into a fight you can't win. If you know you cannot prevail, you'll make sure that you don't find yourself in a dangerous situation. In my experience, if you give a boy a sword, he starts thinking that it's the answer to any problem that comes along." Fineghal glanced away, rubbing his temple. "You're young yet, Aeron. Despite your best intentions, you're impulsive and rash. I'd rather not encourage these traits if I can help it."

"You've used your magic in battle before, haven't you?" Aeron pressed. "Were you wrong when you did that?"

"I won't be baited, Aeron," Fineghal said sharply. "The matter is closed. Now, make certain that you have packed the books you wish to study over the next few weeks."

Aeron bit off his response and stomped away. Some mage he'd be if he was beaten to a bloody pulp by the first brigand to corner him, a headful of safe and useless spells in his mind!

He resolved to change Fineghal's mind one way or another. For the next few weeks, he badgered the elven lord several times a day on the topic, until even Fineghal's elven patience began to wear thin. The unfinished argument soured Aeron's taste for elven lore, and their wanderings in the Maerchwood's golden glens and green hills became a series of tedious hikes and silent, tense evenings by the campfire. Aeron knew his limits. He was capable of mastering the enchantments in question and had the common sense not to use them unless he had to. Fineghal's suspicion and reticence abraded his nerves and challenged him to show that he was more advanced than the elf lord believed.

The festival of Midsummer approached, a time of dancing and celebration in Aeron's home. For the first time in his studies, loneliness crept into his heart. Even though his mind was fully engaged each and every day with the boundless learning Fineghal offered him, Aeron still missed Kestrel and Eriale. I'd be a dead man if I returned to Maerchlin and Phoros caught me, he decided. But what if I could ensure that I wouldn't be caught? I could come and go as I pleased.

Fineghal was still in the habit of setting off by himself for a day or two, leaving Aeron in the campsite they'd last moved to. For months now, he'd allowed Aeron to keep one or two of his spellstones at a time in order to create a glyphwood of his own based on Fineghal's token. Over the spring, Aeron had recorded a dozen spells in this way, including a minor illusion that could change the appearance of an object. This was the key element in his plan.

The green, humid heat of Flamerule found wizard and student in the cascade-misted glen where Aeron and Eriale had met Fineghal. After a few days of exploring the nearby area and discussing elven history by night, Fineghal decided to cross the forest to check on the western woodlands. "I may rest under a different tree every night for my spirit's ease, but I roam the Maerchwood to watch over it as well," he said as they rested by the stream that evening. "I have a feeling that trouble's brewing near Oslin, and I'd better go look into it."

"Can I come?" Aeron asked hopefully.

Fineghal shook his head. "No. I mean to travel fast and return within a day or two. And to be honest, I want to strike a little fear into the hearts of those bandit lords who are cutting into the forest, and it's better if I don't have to watch out for you as well. You'll be fine here."