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. “Gorlin! 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.
A shimmering black opening appeared for an instant in the air itself and through it dropped Ambriel. He landed on the bed with a soft thump, not quite square to the feather mattress, and nearly rolled off before Gorlin, gawking in amazement, caught him and settled him properly onto the pillows. The old man lay still, unconscious but breathing. He had a nasty gash in his shoulder, and his arm was soaked with blood.
Lynaelle sobbed tears of joy. “He’s bleeding.”
Lynaelle immediately began tending his wound. Gorlin went to fetch Teress Turlgoode, whose stitchery was just as useful on wounds as cloth. When the hunter returned, Ambriel was awake and smiling weakly.
“You found me, Lynnie. I knew you would.” Ambriel breathed as Teress began to sew him up. Lynaelle merely hugged her mentor until he grunted in pain. She pulled back, then looked at the body on the floor.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
Ambriel reached his good hand out toward Lynaelle. “I think he was looking for this-” he said and pulled the stone amulet from under her shift, holding it up for her to see.
Lynaelle looked at her mentor, confused. “I don’t understand. Why in Faerun would he-?”
Ambriel released the amulet and settled back into his pillow. “It’s my ward token from Silverymoon, child. From my days in the Spellguard. He…” Ambriel motioned weakly to the dead figure on the floor. “…apparently wanted it.”
“A ward token? Why would he want that?” Lynaelle asked. “And who is he?”
“Let me start at the beginning,” Ambriel began, content to settle into a good story. “Not long after you left last night-I assume it wasn’t long, it certainly didn’t seem like very long, even though I always lose track of time when I read-you showed up again. Well, of course, it wasn’t you, but I didn’t know that at the time. I thought you were acting strangely, but I didn’t really think much of it until you attacked me with a knife and demanded that I give you my ward token.” Ambriel chuckled. “Of course, I knew that the real you would never demand it, since you wouldn’t know what one is, and even if you did somehow know, you would have realized you already had it, anyway.”
“Why didn’t you just blast him with a spell?” Lynaelle prompted. “The gods know you have enough of them.”
“Ha!” Ambriel snorted. “Lynnie, I was lucky to be able to cast the rope trick as it was. Since you and I have been practicing that one so much, I just happened to have the components close at hand. Now, are you going to let me tell my story?” he demanded, pretending to be indignant.
Lynaelle giggled. “I wouldn’t want to ruin one of your best tales. Go on.”
“Well, I managed to cast the spell, as you so cleverly figured out, and from there I watched ‘you’ transform into ‘me.’ This other me began looking around the place. I figure he must have wanted to throw off suspicion in case anyone else came to visit. The blast from the fire trap spell on my trunk killed him instantly, I guess.”
“So who is this, then?” Gorlin asked, beginning to search the body.
Ambriel tried to sit up. “No spell I know of holds an illusion like that after death,” he said. “But I once met a man who had a magical hat that allowed him to change forms at will. He always had to wear the hat, but he could incorporate it into the disguise. Lynnie, see if there is something magical on the body, especially around the head.”
Lynaelle nodded and stood up. She cast a familiar spell and began to scan the body. The glow of magic surrounded a tiny clasp woven into the hair of the fake Ambriel. When she retrieved it the body transformed and she gasped. It was Daleon.
“Well, that tells us who,” Gorlin remarked dryly. “And perhaps these will answer why,” He said, producing some sheets of parchment from a hidden pocket on Daleon’s belt.
Lynaelle looked at Daleon’s corpse, barely hearing Gorlin’s words. Why, indeed? she asked herself bitterly, hating the hurt she felt. “I told you he was up to no good, Ambriel,” she said quietly, but there was no satisfaction in her voice.
“Aye, that you did. I’m sorry, child.”
Lynaelle nodded solemnly. “So what is a ward token, Ambriel?”
Ambriel shrugged. “A ward token allows the bearer access to parts of Silverymoon where few are allowed to go, and even to cast magic that is otherwise restricted by the wards. I suspect he was trying to get somewhere he
