Philip Athans - Realms of Mystery

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?”