Lynaelle stared after the handsome young man as he departed, both thrilled and worried. Then she turned her attention back to the dishes and sighed, staring at the dirty bowl. Typical, she grimaced, flinging it into the water and attacking it vigorously with the brush. Their idea of helping is to keep you company while you do the work. And I, of course, was swooning with delight the whole time, like some addlebrained maiden. Humans may understand the ways of love, but I sure don’t.
Ambriel finished his story, and as the gathering began to break up, Lynaelle hurriedly finished the dishes and went to escort her mentor home. It had begun to rain, as she had expected, but under the protection of the forest it was really little more than a light drizzle. Nonetheless, the two pulled the hoods of their cloaks up to protect them from the dampness. Lynaelle fetched and carried a lantern for them as they walked along the path toward Ambriel’s cottage at the edge of the hamlet, her other hand on his arm.
“I missed your story tonight,” she lamented. “You must promise to tell it to me tomorrow. Mavin and Teress ordered me to do the dishes.”
“Did you get them nice and clean?” Ambriel teased.
“I did,” Lynaelle said indignantly. “Daleon came over and offered to help, but he just ended up talking my ear off.”
Ambriel chuckled. “I think he’s sweet on you, Lynnie.” Lynaelle stammered, “I…he…I…I find him interesting, I suppose.” She hoped she sounded noncommittal. “He seems like such a scoundrel, though. Don’t you ever get a sense that he’s up to no good?”
“Of course. All the time,” Ambriel replied, a chuckle in his voice. “Especially where your virtue is concerned.”
Lynaelle made a strangled noise and sputtered “Ambriel! That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”
“What’s wrong, Lynnie? Worried that you’ll no longer have my undying love?” he teased. “Don’t worry, I promise not to be too jealous.”
Lynaelle rolled her eyes. “You’re terrible!”
Ambriel laughed at her reaction and continued, “As for the dish duty, well, I suppose it’s only fair, seeing as how I keep you busy with other things most of the day. There are some who feel we don’t do our share. Mavin more strongly than most.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the work,” Lynaelle replied, grateful for a change of subject. “It’s just the way she delights in glaring at me. What did I ever do to make her hate me?”
Ambriel grew quiet for a time before answering the girl. “This world holds many wonders, for those who have the gumption to go find them. But some folk can’t seem to see past the differences between themselves and everyone else.
“I will tell you this, though, child. For every cold and unhappy person like Mavin, there is a person who cares not one wit about your heritage, only that you are warm and kind and trustworthy. Those kinds of people you can be proud to call ‘friend.’ Like Daleon, for instance.”
Lynaelle groaned, realizing Ambriel had found a way to bring the fellow up again. “He’s convinced you to help him charm me. You’re conspiring together!”
Ambriel chuckled. “Don’t disparage his kindness too quickly, child. He seems to find you interesting enough.” They had reached Ambriel’s cottage.
“Yes, I know. He’s coming over tonight to talk for a while.” The girl admitted, her tone warning Ambriel against further quips at her expense.
The pair entered into the cottage, and Lynaelle began took his book of spells over to a trunk at the foot of his bed. He uttered a few phrases, softly enough that to light the various candles and lamps while Ambriel Lynaelle could not make them out, and then lifted the lid, He deposited the book atop a folded section of royal blue canvas adorned with a silver crescent moon sheltering a single silver star.
Ambriel had once shown Lynaelle some of the various items he kept stored here, mostly old books written by some of the most powerful sages and wizards of Silvery- moon. There were a few other things there, too, pieces of memorabilia from his younger days such as the scrap of canvas. It was the flag of Silverymoon, and when pressed on its origins Ambriel claimed it had been given to him by Alustriel Silverhand herself a number of years ago. Whenever Lynaelle asked him why, he refused to say. She liked to imagine that it must have been to honor him for some great deed.
The elderly man firmly shut the lid and softly recited a few new words, then turned to face the girl. “I know I’ve told you this over and over, but-”
“‘Promise me you won’t ever try to open this yourself,’” Lynaelle said in unison with her mentor. “I know, I know. And, like always, I promise.”
Ambriel smiled, but it was sort of a sad smile. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Lynnie.”
Lynaelle went to Ambriel then and gave him a hug. “Don’t worry I will never open your chest. Besides, I don’t really want any of your smelly old books, anyway.”
Ambriel laughed at this and turned to hang up his cloak. “Get out of here, you insolent child. Go have fun with Daleon.”
Lynaelle hesitated, wanting to make certain Ambriel was settled in for the night. “Are you sure? Do you want me to brew you some tea?”
“No, no. I’m fine. Go and let an old man rest. I’m going to read for a bit. You can make up for it tomorrow.”
Lynaelle nodded then, and turned to go. “See you in the pulled the hood up on her cloak and headed out the door. She saw Ambriel wave absently to her, already flipping morning,” she called over her shoulder as she once again open a musty tome that had been resting on the table by his bed.
Lynaelle ducked out into the evening, taking a moment to let her keen night vision adjust to the darkness, then trotted home along the path that led through the hamlet. Warm amber light seeped from the windows of the various dwellings, and she could hear soft voices from within as everyone settled in for the evening. She made her way through the center of the hamlet and on to her own small cottage. It was really little more than a hut, one small room nestled at the base of one of the great pines, but it was off by itself, as Ambriel’s had been, and it was more than enough to suit her needs.
When she arrived, Lynaelle could see Daleon perched on her doorstep, a lit lantern by his side. She waved to him before she realized he probably could not see her in the evening gloom. She made a point of snapping a few twigs as she approached so as not to startle him.
“Hi,” he said uncertainly, peering in her direction.
“Hi, yourself. I tried to hurry,” she lied, looking the young man up and down from the darkness for a moment before stepping fully into the light of his lantern. She realized that she truly liked what she saw. She opened the door and moved inside as he jumped up and stepped to one side. “I thought you were going to bring me some wood for a fire tonight,” she flirted.
“Oh,” he said a bit sheepishly. “I added an armload to your woodpile, but it was too dark to drive my wagon over tonight. I’ll bring more tomorrow.”
“Uh huh,” Lynaelle replied doubtfully. She suspected Daleon would use that same excuse to come visit every night if she allowed him to. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, she mused for a moment, blushing slightly.
“So, you get the old man tucked in?” He asked, a chuckle in his voice.
She turned and noticed that he still stood outside. “Oh, hush. He was happily reading a book when I left him.” She turned away again and pretended to busy herself getting a fire started, trembling a little at the implications of what she was about to ask. “So, would you like to come in?” she inquired, her voice softer and a little breathless.
Daleon paused a long moment before answering, and Lynaelle’s heart began to pound as her words hung in the air. Finally he spoke, his voice slightly husky. “I wondered if you would ever extend that invitation.” Lynaelle turned to look at him, a nervous smile on her lips. He continued. “As much as I would enjoy your company this evening, I should go. It’s late, and I have to be up early tomorrow. Tomas said we’re going to put in extra time for the next few weeks to try
to get more timber in before the snows come.”
Lynaelle blinked in surprise, both at his words and at the level of her own disappointment. She shrugged her shoulders, feigning indifference. “Suit yourself.” She turned back to her fledgling fire, her lips pursed in a frown. What’s he up to? she puzzled.
“So, anyway, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Daleon said uncertainly.
“I guess.” Lynaelle didn’t want to look at him. “Good-night.”
“Goodnight.” Daleon pulled shut Lynaelle’s front door and was gone.
Lynaelle stared at the door. One minute he won’t leave me alone, the next, he’s all proper and decent; quite the gentle lord. And me playing the shameless wench! He must think I offer my bed to anyone who knocks on my door. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she blew onto her fire, trying to get the first log to catch.
Lynaelle stripped to her shift, climbed into bed, and lay there in the dark for a bit, running her fingers over the amulet around her neck and listening to the distant roar of the stream and the hooting of an owl. When sleep finally came, it remained untroubled until Hurlonn woke her with a crossbow in her face.
“I am innocent,” Lynaelle said. Her voice cracked, but she forced the words anyway. “I would never…could never kill him.” Tears threatened to flow again, but she cleared her mind of everything but the words. “I am innocent, and I want the chance to prove it.”
“You’ll get that chance soon enough, half-breed,” Hurlonn said. “Shastin, ride for Quaervarr. Get the cleric.” Teress’s husband hurried off to fetch a horse as Hurlonn spun back around to face Lynaelle. “You can tell the cleric your lies, if you want, but the gods will seal your fate.” With that, the enraged man stomped out of Lynaelle’s house.
Gorlin began to steer Lynaelle toward the door, but Teress Turigoode stopped him. “You are not taking that child out in the cold dressed like that. She’ll freeze to death before her trial even starts.”
The woman took a blanket from Lynaelle’s bed and held it up as though to wrap it around the girl’s shoulders. Gorlin merely shrugged and made room for the woman.
“Thank you,” Lynaelle said quietly.
Gorlin took hold of her once again and directed her out the door. Lynaelle’s breath was visible, and the tears on her cheeks were cold. A crowd had gathered, almost every- one in the hamlet, Lynaelle suspected. She looked for Daleon, hoping perhaps he would step forward and stop this madness, but he was not there. He and Tomas must have left before sunrise, she realized.
Lynaelle turned to Gorlin as they stepped forth. “Why do you think I did it?” she asked. She shifted her arms under the blanket as they progressed, for the ropes were tight and cutting into her skin. Gorlin continued to guide Lynaelle up the path, toward the center of the hamlet. “I saw you head up there last night,” he said.
Lynaelle gaped at the hunter. “But I go up there every night with him! You know that! Last night, I left him reading a book and came home. I met Daleon here.”
“No, this was later. Several people saw you walk him home after dinner, but that was when it had barely started raining. I saw you again, after it had begun to rain pretty hard. Your footprints are even in the mud leading up to his cottage.”
Lynaelle was stunned. “How do you know they were my footprints? What if someone was dressed to look like me?”
Gorlin looked at her levelly. “Girl, I think I would recognize your footprints when I saw them.”
Lynaelle knew he was right, of course. He had spent his whole life tracking. Think! “It must have been magic, then,” she stated firmly. “Someone impersonated me using magic.”
Gorlin looked doubtful. “I don’t think that’s going to cut it, girl. It seems a whole lot more reasonable that you went up there.”
Lynaelle felt panic rising. “I know, but give me a chance to prove otherwise. Let me go see for myself.” She wasn’t sure if she could bear the sight of Ambriel’s dead body, but she had to try.
Gorlin had led her to the smokehouse. Lynaelle knew he intended to lock her inside until the cleric came to sort out matters. They stopped at the door, and Gorlin began to slide the heavy timber aside.
“Please, Gorlin. Give me a chance.” Lynaelle pleaded. “Let me go up there and see for myself.”
“I can’t do that. The cleric is coming, and if you really are innocent, she’ll find out from you soon enough.”
“But that might be a day or two from now. Don’t you want to know the truth? What if I’m not the one, and the real murderer is escaping?” Lynaelle was trying desperately to stay clear and focused, but she felt the panic rising again.
Gorlin considered for a moment. “All right. If you can prove your own innocence, I suppose we should give you the chance to do so. No use letting the real murderer get a big head start, if you’re telling the truth.” He led Lynaelle to Ambriel’s cottage. When they got there, Gorlin showed her what looked like several of her own foot-prints leading to the door, plainly visible in the mud next to the path.
Lynaelle frowned at this. Why walk in the mud to the side, if the path itself has plenty of pine needles? She bit her lip, thinking. Suddenly, she had an idea. “Gorlin, I know someone was trying to impersonate me. You got a very clear look at me last night, didn’t you?”
“Yes, your face was plain in the light of your lantern.”
“Gorlin, I don’t carry a lantern at night. I can see in the dark, remember?”
Realization began to dawn on Gorlin’s face.
“If I had wanted to get away with this crime, don’t you think I would have gone out of my way not to be seen? And why would I walk through the mud if the path is over here?” Lynaelle asked, nodding her head at the path. “Have you checked my boots for mud?”
“I can’t argue with that, girl, but that’s not enough. I’m going to let you go inside and see if we can’t build you a better case,” he said honestly. “But if you try anything, I will not think twice. Do you understand me?” Lynaelle nodded solemnly. “Good. Now, are you sure you want to do this?” She nodded again. “Then let’s go.”
The hunter pushed the door to Ambriel’s cottage open and stepped inside. Lynaelle steeled herself to face her mentor’s body and followed. The place was a mess. More muddy footprints led inside, still appearing to be made by Lynaelle’s own boots. The table had been overturned, the bed clothes were flung about, and books and papers were strewn everywhere. Ambriel’s trunk was open, the spell- book still where he had left it the previous evening. The elderly man himself was sprawled on his back, his feet pointing toward the trunk.
Lynaelle swallowed back the tears and bent down to get a closer look. Ambriel’s chest was blackened, as though he had been hit by a searing flame. His lifeless eyes were still open, staring darkly at the ceiling. She stood again, unnerved by the elderly man’s cold stare. She could not help crying softly then, her grief gripping her. She had no notion of what the future held, and he would no longer be a part of it. Stop it! There will be time to grieve later!
Lynaelle moved to the other side of the bed to inspect some more and spotted blood stains on the floor. She frowned, bending down for a closer look. Half hidden under the bed, she found a sheet of parchment, bloody stains on it as well. Lynaelle turned to the hunter, who was examining the muddy prints in the doorway. “Gorlin, come see this. I can’t pick it up.” Gorlin walked over to where the girl was standing. She pointed with one bare foot to the scrap of parchment. Gorlin very carefully pushed it out with the toe of his boot. It was blank, but one edge was rough and jagged, as though a part had been torn away.
Lynaelle recognized it instantly. “He was trying to escape. He tore a piece off that sheet of parchment in order to cast a spell he’s been teaching me, but it seems he didn’t have time to finish.”
The girl walked back over to Ambriel’s body and inspected it again. She frowned, not finding what she was looking for at first, then her heart began to pound. Is it possible? she thought, not daring to hope. “G
orlin! Why isn’t there any blood on his body?” She was nearly frantic with excitement. “If he was bleeding over there, then there should be a wound somewhere. And blood on his hands that got on the piece of parchment!”
Gorlin walked over to the body once more. “Maybe it’s not his blood,” he offered.
Lynaelle immediately shrugged off the blanket, letting it drop to the floor, and stood before the hunter in her thin shift. “Then it would have to be his attacker’s.” Slowly, she turned completely around. “No wounds, Gorlin. Still think I did it?”
The hunter looked at her thoughtfully and shook his head.
“I think that’s enough to prove my…”, Lynaelle’s words drifted off as she peered closely into Ambriel’s face once more and saw at last what had troubled her before. The dark eyes, staring upward. The dark eyes!
“It’s not him! Gorlin, this is not Ambriel!” She nearly laughed out loud. “Look at his eyes! Ambriel’s are blue, the same color as his cloak!” Lynaelle wanted to jump for joy.
“If this is not Ambriel, then where is he?” Gorlin asked, looking around again.
Lynaelle had to force herself not to shout. “He did it! He cast the spell! He’s somewhere right in this room!” She began to look around frantically. He can’t have much time left, she thought. Where would it be? “Gorlin, his spell will run out very soon. We have to be ready when it does. Please, untie my hands.” The hunter looked at her, unsure. “Please, Gorlin, he might be bleeding to death right now. I won’t run away. Look at the proof’. That body is not him! Someone used magic to fool us all. I can find where Ambriel is. Please!”
Finally, Gorlin nodded and took out his knife. He spun Lynaelle around and sliced through the ropes binding her hands. She gasped as blood began to flow again and rubbed her chaffed wrists. Then she began searching the floor of the room. She stopped when she found a fine white grit on the floorboards in one corner. Cornstarch!
“Gorlin, we need to move his bed over here. He’s going to appear out of thin air and fall, and we want him to land on the bed. Okay? The hunter nodded and sheathed the dagger. Together, they pushed the featherbed toward the corner, positioning it so that it was directly over the residue of the cornstarch. They didn’t have long to wait.
Realms of Mystery a-6 Page 30
