Philip Athans - Realms of Mystery

“What’s the matter?” Lynaelle asked, shivering from the cold in only her thin shift.

“Shut up!” Hurlonn spat, keeping the crossbow trained on the girl. “Tie her, Gorlin. Don’t let her use any of her infernal magic on us. Ungrateful little whelp.”

Shastin spun Lynaelle around and pushed her against the bed, then grabbed her arms, jerking them cruelly behind her back. “Ow!” she cried out, not understanding. “Please! What’s wrong?” She could feel rope being threaded around her wrists, burning her skin as the slack was drawn up. “Please, Gorlin, someone, tell me what’s going on!” Lynaelle sobbed, desperately wishing Ambriel would arrive and call off this mob. She did not struggle as Gorlin finished tying her hands and began to bind her fingers, immobilizing them completely.

“I say we kill her now and be done with it,” Hurlonn raged. “No sense in waiting.”

“No,” Gorlin said quietly but firmly as he helped Lynaelle to her feet. “The Lady’s law says she gets a trial. There will be no killing.”

“Fah!” spat Hurlonn. “A trial is a waste of time.” Outside her small one-room cottage, Lynaelle could see that dawn was breaking, but the sun was still behind the mountains.

“Nonetheless,” Gorlin pronounced firmly, “the Lady’s law is clear. There will be a trial. Let’s go, girl.” He gently pushed Lynaelle forward, toward the door, steering her by his grip.

“Please!” Lynaelle said, moving forward woodenly, shivering, her feet aching from the cold floor. “I didn’t do anything! Somebody please talk to me.” She felt numb, as if none of this were real. Where is Ambriel? she wondered. Or Daleon?

“Don’t pretend you didn’t kill him!” Hurlonn fumed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t go up there last night and blast him with the very magic he taught you to use!”

Lynaelle stumbled then, her head spinning. Ambriel! No! She sank to her knees, unable to breathe. Someone had taken Ambriel from her. I didn’t do it! her mind screamed. No, it can’t be real. She began to shake uncontrollably. “P-please,” she sobbed quietly. “I didn’t do that. I would never…” Never kill the only person who ever really cared about me, she finished in her head, remembering the previous day, the last time she had seen him.

“No, no, Lynnie, twist it. Like this,” Ambriel chided as he tore another strip of parchment from the sheet in his lap. His gnarled fingers, steady despite their age, pulled the strip taut and then deftly looped it back on itself, giving it a half twist. “There, like that,” he said, pinching the ends together between his thumb and forefinger and holding it for the girl to see.

Lynaelle chewed her lower lip as she studied the twisted shape in the older man’s hand, wanting to make certain she understood what he had done. She nodded finally, confident she could duplicate it. She took her own strip and pulled it taut by the ends, as he had done, then mimicked his movements to form the endless loop.

“Good, very good,” Ambriel smiled, absently stroking his whiskered chin with one hand as he peered at the object in Lynaelle’s grasp. She smiled briefly to herself as she looked at him, crouched as he was upon the granite outcropping where they were studying, a coil of rope before him on the stone, He kept his cloak, the same sky-blue color as his eyes, wrapped about himself, for the air held a chill this late in the summer, even at the peak of a sunny afternoon.

To most, Ambriel still seemed impossibly spry for his age, but Lynaelle had begun to notice little changes that hinted otherwise. Their walks through the woods never seemed to last as long as they once did, and his lessons on magic with her came less frequently. Mostly, she had begun to notice where the lines in his face had deepened and multiplied. He’s getting old, the back of her mind whispered, but she ignored it and concentrated on the lesson.

“Now, the rest.” His voice was deep and rich against the hushed roar of the tumbling water at their feet. “Say the words slowly and clearly.”

Lynaelle nodded again and rose to her feet, positioning herself so that the coil of rope was directly in front of her. She focused inwardly for a moment, concentrating, as she held the looped parchment before her. Then she began to speak, firmly citing words in an arcane tongue, As she formed the final syllables, she held her other hand up, palm to the sky, and blew a bit of cornstarch she had been grasping so that it passed through the twisted loop and settled on the coil of rope. She shivered, that now-familiar tingle engulfing her, as the incantation opened magical connections both within and around her body. She watched expectantly as the rope began to uncoil, one end climbing magically upward toward a dark, shimmering opening that appeared for an instant in the sun-dappled air.

A deluge of water suddenly cascaded from the sky, crashing directly into Lynaelle and knocking her off-balance. She stumbled backward from the rock and fell into the icy stream, toppling onto her back and submerging. The torrent of water continued to slam into her, pinning her under the surface, and Lynaelle flailed about in a panic, unable to breathe. She inadvertently swallowed several mouthfuls of both icy fresh water and warmer salt water before she managed to roll to one side and escape the deluge. Just as quickly as the torrent of water had appeared, it vanished, leaving Lynaelle on her hands and knees in the stream, thoroughly drenched and shivering from cold.

Lynaelle crawled from the stream onto shore, wiping water from her face and trying to catch her breath. She barely noticed Ambriel standing safely upon the bank of the stream, still clutching his spellbook. He gaped incredulously into the open air where the magical doorway had been spewing water only seconds before. All evidence of the rope, the parchment, and the cornstarch had been washed away from the outcropping of rock.

When Lynaelle saw that her teacher was unhurt, she fell back upon a bed of dried fir needles, her eyes closed, breathing deeply and trying to calm her pounding heart.

“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.