“Obviously, That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Lynaelle growled in frustration.
Ambriel shook his head slowly, still stunned at the unexpected display of raw nature. “Amazing,” he answered absently, stroking his whiskers. “I don’t know exactly what you did… Some sort of wild surge, I’d warrant. I think you accidentally opened a planar portal, instead.”
“That’s it,” the girl grumbled, her amethyst eyes flashing as she scowled upward at the sky. “That’s the third time this week, and this time I nearly drowned both of us. I quit.” She sat up, impatiently dragging her long, delicate fingers through her wet, bedraggled hair, sweeping a few straw-colored strands behind her noticeably sylvan ear with a trembling hand.
“Gods,” she continued. “I’m a menace to both of us. Forget studying at the university in Silverymoon. I can imagine everyone’s faces when I accidentally drown the headmaster while auditioning for enrollment.” She huddled miserably, shivering and wet.
Ambriel laughed. “I suppose we should be glad you opened a portal to water, rather than something more dangerous,” he quipped, “such as magma.”
Lynaelle groaned. “Oh, that would be even better. ‘I’m really sorry, Your Ladyship, I didn’t mean to melt your university.” She sighed and tucked a small, simple stone amulet back into her blouse, pausing to run her fingers over its smooth surface. Ambriel had given it to her some years before, when she had first begun to study magic with him. She always wore it on a leather thong around her neck. Ambriel made a few subtle gestures and Lynaelle was instantly dry again. She was grateful for the cantrip.
“I told you it would take more effort to learn this new magic, child,” the old man said. “If it were easy, everyone would be a great wizard casting spells all over the damned place, and I wouldn’t be sitting out here freezing my old bones, trying to keep from getting killed while I teach them to you.” Lynaelle sighed again, nodding glumly, still feeling the chill of being wet, even though she was completely dry. Ambriel laughed at her dour expression. “Oh, stop it. You learn faster than anyone I ever knew, including me. Your logic is sharp and sometimes you even apply yourself. Patience, Lynnie! You’ll get it. The Bright Lady herself would be jealous of your ability.”
Ambriel got a distant look on his face, then. “I remember when I was first studying with my old teacher in Silverymoon. I was as impetuous as you, eager to learn, thinking I could master it all in an afternoon.” The elder man stared off into nowhere then, and he said nothing for a time.
Lynaelle watched him, wishing he would share this vision of his past with her. She loved it when he told her stories about his younger days, about when he had studied magic at the university at Silverymoon, and then later, when he had actually served for a time as a member of the Spellguard. She often imagined what it would be like to be a member of that elite enclave of wizards charged with protecting the Gem of the North. She often vowed to herself to make it a reality.
Seeing Ambriel’s craggy face now, and the gnarled hands that absently stroked his snowy beard, it was harder than ever to imagine him young. Yes, he’s definitely growing old, Lynaelle’s mind whispered. The elven half of her heritage made his aging pass quickly before her eyes, and in turn, to him, she had hardly changed at all in the twelve summers he had known her. Lynaelle knew Ambriel would be long dead before she fully matured into adulthood, and the age now showing in his face filled her with sudden sadness. She hated envisioning a life without her mentor to protect and guide her, and yet she knew that day would soon be upon her. His days with you may be few in number, Lynaelle Shalandriana, but you are a fool to waste them grieving before he’s gone! she scolded herself.
As if sensing her troubled thoughts, Ambriel shook his own head, returning to the present. “You must keep working on focusing the energy you feel into the loop. Only then will the magic hold.” The girl nodded, her sadness dispelled. She briefly considered trying again, but remembered that all of their components had washed away. The next lesson would have to wait for another time.
Ambriel drew the girl’s attention to the horizon with a nod of his head. Lynaelle turned and spied the darkening sky near the top of Emrund’s Peak at the head of the valley. The late afternoon showers were coming.
“All right,” Lynaelle acknowledged, sighing. She rose to her feet and turned to follow Ambriel. With careful, measured steps he strolled along the path, his buckskin boots making little noise. Lynaelle hiked along beside him, absently toying with the amulet around her neck as she soundlessly picked her way along the trail. The path meandered through a copse of large, arrow-straight firs, their great trunks rising like huge columns to an arched canopy of thick boughs overhead. It was cool and dim here, and with the late afternoon sun already settling behind the far ridge of mountains and the clouds gathering overhead, it was growing into twilight. Lynaelle inhaled deeply, delighting in the scents of the forest. She also detected the faint smell of a cookfire and roasting meat in the chill air, and her stomach reminded her it was almost dinner time.
The pair crested a small ridge along the path to behold Galen’s Ford. The little hamlet before them had grown up near a shallow ford in the stream. Here, the forest floor was open and spacious, uncluttered by smaller under-growth. The cottages, many nestled against the huge trunks of these great trees, were simple earth-and-timber affairs with thatched roofs. In what might pass for the center of town, a large, open-sided pavilion constructed of rough-hewn logs dominated the other structures. Beneath its sheltering roof there were several simple wooden tables with plank benches.
It was near this central structure that most of the folk of Galen’s Ford now gathered, preparing for a communal evening meal. A half dozen or so men and women, plates and bowls in hand, huddled around the large cookfire, that burned in a pit in the middle, where a hole in the roof allowed the smoke to escape. Others had already found seats at the tables. All told, some three dozen people dwelt here.
Lynaelle could distinctly smell the roasting venison even before she spied it on a large spit over the fire. She also detected the odors of steamed potatoes and carrots, fresh pan bread, and baking sourberry pie. At the table, she knew there would be hard cheese and pitchers of cold milk, both brought up from Quaervarr farther down in the valley.
Ambriel sniffed the air deeply. “Mmm,” he sighed. “Sourberry pie always gets my mouth watering. I love this time of the year.” The old man headed directly to the cookfire to inspect a pie cooling on the hearth. As he reached out to sample a bit of the crust, however, Teress Turlgoode, a plump, rosy-cheeked woman, swatted his hand away.
“Keep your paws off my pie, old man. There will be plenty for you after dinner.” Teress was trying to sound stern, but Lynaelle could see the twinkle in the woman’s eye as she scolded him. Ambriel yanked his hand back and tried to look wounded but couldn’t resist chuckling.
Lynaelle smiled, sharing in the joke, then turned to follow Ambriel to a table, nearly running headlong into a thin, bony woman carrying an armload of dishes. The girl pulled up short at the last moment and the woman, Mavin Holcott, snarled at her. “Watch where you’re going, you stupid half-breed.” The hatred in the woman’s voice was plain.
“Sorry;” Lynaelle mumbled as she ducked her head and scurried out of Mavin’s way. Lynaelle’s cheeks burned with anger as she caught up with Ambriel and she could almost feel the other woman’s eyes on her. That woman-! She’s just not happy unless she’s scowling at me, she seethed to herself.
Ambriel looked at Lynaelle intently for a moment. “What’s troubling you, child?”
Lynaelle shook her head. “Nothing,” she said dismissively “I’ll get us some food.” She started to rise again, but his hand shot across the table and fastened on her wrist with a surprisingly strong grip.
“You know better than to think I’ll buy that. What happened?”
Lynaelle sighed and sank back down onto the plank bench. “Oh, Mavin Holcott is staring daggers at me again. It’s nothing.”
“No, please don’t. That’ll only make things worse. I’ll just stay out of her way, like I always do.”
Ambriel smiled and patted Lynaelle’s arm gently. “You’re a good person, Lynnie. You deserve better than what that unhappy old woman dishes out. But I’ll stay out of it, if that’s what you wish.”
Lynaelle smiled back at the elderly man, gladdened by the kindness showing in his face. “She doesn’t matter, Ambriel, as long as I know I have your undying love,” she teased, her voice smooth as honey.
Ambriel nearly choked. “Hush, child!” he hissed under his breath. “I’m old enough to be your father, and I look old enough to be your grandfather! Don’t give these nosy people any ideas. If they got the notion I was making untoward advances, however insane that idea actually is…“
Lynaelle giggled, imagining Mavin Holcott’s face at such a thought. She’d turn purple and choke on her own waggling tongue. She giggled again, delighted at such an image.
Ambriel was peering around, obviously nervous at the thought someone had overheard the girl’s joke. When he had assured himself that no one had, he relaxed once again and glared at Lynaelle. “You really like making me old before my time, don’t you?” he muttered, but Lynaelle could see the twinkle in his eye.
She smiled at him and stood up. “I’ll get us some food. Just stay here and rest your weary bones, grandfather.” Ambriel sputtered unintelligently at her insolent comment and took a half-hearted swat at her, but she easily dodged it and traipsed toward the cook fire.
As Lynaelle stood in line, hands suddenly covered her eyes and a male voice behind her said, “Guess who?”
It was Daleon, one of the woodcutters. Lynaelle ducked and twisted out of his grasp and turned to face him. Daleon was handsome enough, Lynaelle often thought, but something about him made her uneasy. Despite the fact that he was quite friendly, she often sensed that he was up to something. Nonetheless, he was handsome, and his interest in her seemed genuine.
“I knew it was you. It’s hardly a surprise when you are the only one who ever does that,” the girl said, smiling and poking him playfully in the chest.
Daleon snorted. “That’s because you spend all your time with the old man. If you weren’t so set on becoming a great sorcerer”-he said this last bit with mock awe- “more people might pay some attention.”
“Hey!” Lynaelle said indignantly, punching Daleon on the arm. “I like studying magic with Ambriel. Besides,” she continued, frowning when she noticed Mavin Holcott scowling at the two of them, “I can do without some of their attention. Mavin Holcott would just as soon put a bolt through me as look at me. She doesn’t think too highly of you talking to me, you know.”
Daleon shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the woman’s disapproval. “Hey,” he said, changing the subject, “do you want to go for a walk after dinner tonight?”
Lynaelle had reached the front of the line and turned away from Daleon. Gorlin, a retired tracker who now did the hunting for Galen’s Ford, handed her two bowls of steaming food. He was a quiet man who treated Lynaelle with indifference, but then, he treated everyone in the hamlet with indifference, so she had taken that as a good sign.
“Maybe,” the girl replied to Daleon’s question. “It might rain. Ambriel and I noticed a storm moving in before.”
“Then maybe I could come over for a while. We could talk. I’ll bring some firewood; I noticed you’re getting low. I’ll even build you a fire tonight.”
Lynaelle arched one eyebrow at this suggestion, looking askance at Daleon. Well, it’s pretty obvious what mischief he wants to get into tonight, she thought. Mavin Holcott would choke on her own wagging tongue for certain. “I imagine you would even stay long enough to make sure I was warm, wouldn’t you?” Daleon merely grinned, and Lynaelle suddenly got that uneasy feeling again. “We’ll see,” she replied. “I have to take Ambriel his dinner.” She then turned and walked briskly away before the young man could press her on the issue.
Once back at the table with Ambriel, Lynaelle attacked her meal with relish. The afternoon’s mishap by the river had left her famished. As they ate, a light and friendly banter sprang up around them, people enjoying a good meal among extended family.
“Ambriel, how harsh will the winter be this year?” asked Hurlonn Davenwiss, a carpenter and blacksmith of sorts. Ambriel paused to finish a bite, then patted his mouth with a napkin.
“I performed an augury only yesterday, Hurlonn,” Ambriel answered, “and the winter won’t be too cold, but there’ll be a lot of snow this year.”
There was a general murmur among the gathering at this news. Heavy snows made it difficult to harvest timber, for the wagons frequently got stuck in the high drifts. It also meant that Gorlin would need to step up his hunting so that the community would have plenty of smoked meats to see them through until next spring. There would be a lot of work to get done this fall.
Ambriel cleared his throat as he pushed his now-empty bowl away. The folk grew quiet, for this generally meant the elderly man had more to say. “Of course, the deep snows are going to be good for growing harperroot and basilisk’s tongue, and the heavy melt-off next spring means there should be lots of hammerfish.”
Lynaelle smiled to herself. Ambriel was always one to point out the good side of any problem that might arise, and his counsel to the people of Galen’s Ford was no exception. Although the logging might be slim this winter, if they planned ahead, there would be plenty of other goods available to send down river to Quaervarr and Silverymoon next spring. Another bout of murmuring rose up from the small crowd, only this time it carried a tone of positive excitement.
“You know,” Ambriel interrupted, glancing around, “this reminds me of a story that took place one winter we had back when I was with the Spellguard.” A hush fell over the crowd. “But-” he paused dramatically, “I think it will go over much better after a nice hot slice of sourberry pie.” Laughter sprang up all around and many heads nodded in agreement.
Very quickly, people sprang up to collect the dishes, cut the pie, or stoke the fire. Everyone loved it when, Ambriel told a story, always a long, drawn out, embellished affair, and finishing the chores was a must before settling down for an evening of his tales. Lynaelle smiled as she gathered both of their bowls and hurried toward the cookfire, where a large kettle of water had been put on for washing. She did not want to lose her seat next to her elderly friend, who was now quite entrenched as the center of attention. She set the bowls down on the hearth near the fire and turned to head back to her seat when a hand grabbed her wrist.
“Since you got to spend the afternoon daydreaming by the river instead of helping with the chores, you can wash the dishes.” It was Mavin Holcott, her words mocking, a scrub brush in her other hand. Lynaelle started to protest, but Teress Turlgoode was there too, nodding her head in agreement, although the look on her face was much kinder than Mavin’s. Lynaelle knew they expected to be obeyed. The girl’s mouth snapped shut and she reluctantly accepted the scrub brush from the hateful woman. With a smug look of satisfaction on her face, Mavin turned and stalked off to join the crowd gathering around Ambriel, Teress close behind her. Lynaelle sighed and tested the water in the kettle. It wasn’t quite hot enough, yet, so she sat down to wait. She looked forlornly toward the gathering crowd, knowing full well that she would not be able to hear Ambriel’s story
Ambriel had finished his pie and was now in the process of lighting a pipe, his feet stretched out before him. She watched the elderly man as he savored the taste of his pipe for a moment longer, then began to blow the smoke into dancing shapes, a trick that delighted the small children in the group and made them squeal and clap their hands. Lynaelle smiled, familiar with this particular cantrip; it was one of the first bits of magic Ambriel had taught her. As he began his tale, Lynaelle reluctantly turned away, pushed t
he sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows, and tested the water once more. Satisfied with the temperature, she took up a bowl and the scrub brush and went to work.
Lynaelle felt movement at her back suddenly, but before she could turn around Daleon was seated next to her, that familiar mischievous smile on his face.
“Need some help?” he asked, reaching for a bowl.
“Sure,” she whispered back, “but you don’t have to. This is my penance for ‘daydreaming’ all day, according to Mavin Holcott.”
Daleon snorted in derision. “That cranky old dame isn’t happy unless she’s making everyone else miserable,” he said out loud, drawing a few irritated stares from people sitting at the back, closest to the two of them.
“Shh!” Lynaelle urged, not wanting to rile the woman any more than necessary. “It’s all right. I can manage the dishes. Go enjoy yourself with the rest of them.” She turned back to scrubbing.
Daleon, however, made no move to depart. “So?” he asked, still holding the bowl.
“So, what?” the girl replied, getting a tingle in her stomach. She sensed what he was about to ask her. She found herself imagining what it would feel like to kiss him, and wished she hadn’t, for that made the knots in her stomach even worse.
“So, do you want me to bring some firewood over to your cottage tonight?”
Lynaelle swallowed nervously, thankful it had grown dark enough by this time that the young man couldn’t see. “Uh, urn, yes, okay.” Stop acting like a thimblehead, you foolish girl! She took a deep breath. “Yes, I would like that. After I get Ambriel home.”
Daleon arose, setting the still unwashed bowl down next to the rest of the pile. “All right, then. I’m going to have another slice of pie and go listen to the story.” He smiled that smile once more, and Lynaelle felt goose bumps and shivered. “Don’t make me wait too long, though.” He spun on his heel, a pie plate in his hand with a full quarter of a pie still in it, and went to join the rest of the crowd.
Realms of Mystery a-6 Page 29
