The Harp of Imach Thyssel

by Patricia C. Wrede

  If he could disguise the shape somehow… Emereck studied the clothes strewn across the bed for a moment, then set to work. By using every bit of clothing and bedding he owned, he eventually achieved a large, shapeless bundle that gave no hint of the harp inside. He was nearly finished when he heard a soft knock on the door.

  “A moment!” he called, and hurriedly knotted the last wrappings in place. He rose and dusted off his knees, then went to the door.

  It was Liana, pale but composed. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said before he could collect his wits, “but I’m afraid it’s important. May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Emereck replied automatically, and stepped aside. Too late, he remembered the bundle sitting in the middle of the floor, where Liana could not miss seeing it. So much for any chance of slipping out of the castle unnoticed, he thought, and turned.

  Liana was staring at the bundle with a blank expression. As Emereck turned, she looked up and said, “You’re leaving. Someone was here before me, then?”

  “No one has been here since—” Emereck paused. “—since Gendron left, earlier.”

  “Then why?” Liana gestured at the bundle.

  “I can’t stay. Surely you see that.”

  “I understand, but—” Liana stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m doing this all wrong.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Liana sighed. “I came because… because I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here, even if you don’t have the harp any more.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of Talerith. She—” Liana hesitated.

  “She continues her accusations, then.”

  “I’m afraid so. I’ve never seen her like this before! She’s been demanding that Gendron have you locked up. She hates you, Emereck.”

  “Do you think she will succeed in persuading Gendron?” Emereck asked, concealing his concern. If he were arrested now, his deception with the harp was sure to be discovered and he might never get away from Minathlan.

  Liana shook her head. “It’s not that. Gendron knows what Talerith is like. But Flindaran was popular, and it’s no secret that there’s been trouble between the two of you these last few days. Talerith sounds reasonable enough, and she’s the Duke’s daughter. And there are one or two of the guards who would be glad of the chance to demonstrate their loyalty to her, even if it meant doing… something rash.”

  Emereck stared. He could not believe what he was hearing. Yet… he could think of half a dozen songs of soldiers and men-at-arms who had dispensed their own justice in a king’s absence, or disposed of someone who was an embarrassment to their lord. “Black Dawn in Tarrabeth,” for instance, and “Captain Var ri Astar”—he’d sung that one at Talerith’s feast. It was, just barely, possible.

  And if he were killed? Unlike Ciaron and Alkyra, the lands around Kith Alunel held a minstrel no higher than any other craftsman. His death would be an unfortunate incident for Duke Dindran to explain to the guild, no more. Under the circumstances, no one would ask many questions. A minstrel involved in the death of a nobleman would be an embarrassment to everyone. Emereck felt suddenly cold. “Lord Gendron can do nothing?”

  “He’s trying, but things are… rather tense. It would be easier for him if you took a room at the inn for a while, and safer for you.”

  “I see.” Emereck saw indeed. Liana might be concerned for his safety, but he had no illusions about Gendron. The Duke’s heir had seen how the Harp of Imach Thyssel could obsess people; he was taking no chance that Emereck might follow Flindaran’s example and try to steal it back.

  “It’s just until the Duke returns,” Liana went on. “And that harp of yours really will be safe in the armory. Gendron’s already spoken to the guards. They won’t let anyone in until Duke Dindran comes home.”

  “Lord Gendron thinks of everything,” Emereck said dryly. “It’s as well that I’d already decided to leave.”

  Liana bit her lip and did not answer. Emereck turned and picked up his harp-case. Hefting the bundle that hid the Harp of Imach Thyssel, he followed Liana out of the room.

  Emereck’s horse was waiting in the courtyard. Gendron had clearly been thorough in his preparations for the minstrel’s departure; equally clearly, he had no intention of giving Emereck any chance to stay at the castle. Emereck smiled sourly as he took the reins from a sullen guard. Gendron could have no idea how anxious Emereck was to cooperate in this particular plan.

  He turned and bowed to Liana. “I thank you and your family for your hospitality, lady,” he said formally. “Convey my thanks to your brother.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Liana said quickly. Emereck looked at her, and she blushed slightly. “To see you settled at the inn. Gendron will want me to make sure the arrangements are satisfactory.”

  “Lord Gendron is kind,” Emereck said with a touch of irony, “but it is unnecessary.”

  “I think he feels he owes you something, after all this.”

  Emereck shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I won’t be going to the inn.”

  “But there isn’t anywhere else.”

  “Not in Minathlan. But there’s no reason for me to stay here, not now.”

  “What about the harp?”

  “As you said, it’s safe enough where it is,” Emereck said without meeting her eyes. “And sooner or later someone will have to report all this to the Guild. I’d rather do it sooner, and take whatever penalty they give me.”

  “Penalty?”

  “This whole affair has been a mess from the beginning, and it’s my own fault. I should never have brought the harp to Minathlan. And I doubt the Guild-Masters will approve of many of the things I’ve done here.”

  “Flindaran’s death wasn’t your fault,” Liana said softly.

  “It was, but it’s not only that.” He paused, searching for the right words to explain the long list of his mistakes and failures. He did not find them. “There are other things,” he said lamely.

  Liana looked at him. “Couldn’t you wait until the Duke gets back? He won’t blame you for what happened.”

  “I doubt that,” Emereck said, thinking of his encounters with Duke Dindran. “But that doesn’t really matter. I’m not leaving because of your father.” Belatedly, it occurred to him that Liana might have accepted that excuse. The Duke was certainly formidable enough to intimidate most people.

  “Then why do you want to leave?”

  “Because I can’t stay! There’s nothing to keep me here.” Even as he said the words, Emereck knew they were not entirely true. Leaving Minathlan would be a relief and a pleasure, but leaving Liana…

  “I see.” Liana studied him gravely. Finally she sighed. “Then I’ll come with you.”

  “What?” Emereck’s jaw dropped.

  “I’m coming with you,” Liana repeated composedly.

  “But you can’t just leave your family and go wandering around the country with no one but a minstrel for company!”

  “Why not?” Liana sounded mildly curious.

  “You’re the Duke’s daughter!”

  “One of them. I’m afraid I don’t see what that has to do with my coming with you, though.”

  “Lord Gendron won’t allow it.”

  “Gendron has no choice in the matter. He can’t tell me what to do and what not to do, and he knows it.” Liana looked at him with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Emereck swallowed and tried again. “Why do you want to come with me?”

  “You don’t know?” Liana looked at him. “Then let’s just say it’s my duty.”

  “That’s ridiculous! How can it be?”

  “You are— You were Flindaran’s friend. And someone has to tell your Guild-Masters what really happened here.”

  “I’ll do that myself.”

  “You’ll take all the blame,” Liana pointed out. “That’s not right, and it’s not true. So I’ll come with you, and explain.”


  “Your father—”

  “Duke Dindran would expect it of me.”

  Emereck stared, then shook himself. The thought of the Harp of Imach Thyssel burned in his mind; if he let Liana accompany him, it would be almost impossible for him to keep her from discovering it. “It’s a long, dangerous trip. You can’t go so far with only me for an escort.”

  “I can, and I will,” Liana said calmly.

  “I don’t want your company!” Emereck almost shouted the lie, trying to make up in volume what he lacked in sincerity.

  Liana’s face went very still; then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have it anyway,” she said firmly. She turned to one of the guards, who had been observing the argument with interest, and began giving him instructions.

  Emereck stared at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail of her appearance. Then he swung himself into the saddle. “Not if I can help it,” he said, and kicked his horse into motion. He caught a glimpse of Liana’s hurt, startled expression, and the surprised and angry faces of the guards, and then he was through the gate and riding down the hill toward the town. The horse went faster than was truly safe on such a slope, but Emereck did not draw in his reins until he was well away from both castle and village.

  He rode south until he was out of sight of Minathlan, hoping that Gendron, or anyone else who might be watching, would think he was heading for Kith Alunel. When Minathlan was safely below the horizon, he turned off the road and headed west. Soon he was hidden among grassy, rolling hills, and he relaxed slightly.

  He did not make camp until it was too dark to continue riding. It could hardly even be called making camp, he reflected; he had no provisions for himself or his horse, and he did not even dare to light a fire. If Gendron had sent anyone after him, it would certainly attract their attention. All Emereck could do was gather a few armloads of the long grass, one for his own bed and the rest for his horse.

  When he finished caring for his horse, he rolled himself in his cloak and sat staring into the moonless darkness. The wind whispered through the dead stalks of last year’s grasses, and the stars were bright and cold. The night had Flindaran’s face; even when he closed his eyes, Emereck could not escape it.

  Finally Emereck rose and opened his harp-case. The polished wood felt warm and familiar to his touch. Harp in hand, he climbed a small hill nearby. He seated himself, facing north and east toward Minathlan, and lifted the instrument. His hands moved surely in the darkness, playing a soft, mournful accompaniment to the wind.

  At last he hushed the harp strings and paused. Elewyth was rising, nearly full now, and the night was quiet, as though it waited for something. Emereck bowed his head, and began to play once more. After a time, he realized that the tears were streaming down his face. He turned his head aside, to keep from wetting his strings, and let them fall as the music of the Varnan Lament for the Dead hung in the air around him.

  Shalarn stood in the gathering twilight, arms outstretched, weaving the warding spells around her camp. At last she lowered her hands, and nodded to herself. The spell would hold against all but the most powerful of magics, and she was sure to notice if something that strong were used against it.

  She turned and walked wearily toward the fire her guards had made. “You seem tired, my lady,” her captain said as she seated herself.

  “Magic can be wearing,” Shalarn said dryly.

  “Is it really necessary for you to drain yourself this way?”

  “Of course it is necessary! Whoever has been causing these delays has not given up.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Three times last night I felt someone lurking around the edges of my spell, testing it. It is not the sort of thing I could be mistaken about.”

  “Yes, my lady,” the captain said stiffly.

  Shalarn looked at him and sighed. He was her equal by blood, if not quite in birth, and he was her only real confidant. She did not want to alienate him. “Your pardon, captain. It is difficult to be polite when I am so exhausted.”

  “It is nothing. But whom do you suspect?”

  “It has to be someone from Lanyk’s court, but beyond that, I do not know.”

  “Could it be Prince Lanyk?”

  “I have no doubt that he is behind it, but there must be someone else. He is no sorcerer.”

  “His wife, perhaps?” The captain seemed dubious even as he made the suggestion, and Shalarn laughed.

  “Tammis? No. Even if she had the courage to try something, it wouldn’t be magic. She’s some sort of Cilhar, and they’re warriors, not sorcerers.”

  “One of the courtiers, then.”

  Shalarn nodded. “But which? Think on it, captain, and if you come to any conclusion tell me later. Right now I wish to rest.”

  The captain nodded and fell silent, but the conversation would not leave Shalarn’s mind so easily. Who was tracking her? She had seen no sign of magic during her stay with Lanyk, not even a simple warding spell. This sorcerer was either very good or very, very subtle indeed.

  Frowning, Shalarn stared into the fire, but that last, unwelcomed thought would not go away. She turned over in her mind the things this sorcerer had done: the small but effective mishaps that had delayed her, the careful probing of her wards, the rusted nail inscribed with the Rune of Separation. Very good, and very subtle. Shalarn shivered and drew her cloak closer around her shoulders, though the night was warm and windless.

  The interior of the tent was dark and curiously silent. The noise of men and horses moving outside was muffled, as if the sound were coming from a great distance. In the center of the tent stood a small table of polished mahogany. A tall figure in a hooded cloak sat beside it, bending in concentration over a black mirror.

  Light flared suddenly, hard and cold, throwing sharp-edged shadows against the canvas walls. The mirror lit with a harsh blue-white light that moved like a living thing across its surface. For an instant, a dim, wavering picture formed: a dark-haired woman seated before a fire, pulling a cloak more closely about her. Then it was gone.

  The hooded figure sat back and let the unnatural light die away from the surface of the black mirror. No use to try it again. The Lithmern sorceress had set her wards thoroughly. It was a pity she had found the nail. She was suspicious now, and more careful; it would be difficult to slow her any further.

  Still, the delays had served their purpose. Lanyk should be at least a day ahead of Shalarn by now, perhaps more. As long as he didn’t bungle things, the Prince of Syaskor would have the focus of this power very soon. And once he brought it back, he could be disposed of.

  A slender hand put back the hood of the cloak, revealing the brown hair and dark eyes of Tammis, Princess of Syaskor. Her lips were curved slightly in anticipation. Lanyk was in for a very unpleasant surprise.

  The Duke of Minathlan frowned into the night. Behind him, his two guards were putting wood on the fire and feeding the horses. At last he turned to join them, but he had taken only one step when a voice came out of the sprinkling of trees behind him. “Good hunting to you, my lord Duke.”

  “Ah, Welram,” the Duke said, without a trace of surprise. “I had begun to fear you were not coming.”

  “Your news was irresistible,” the other said. He came forward, and the firelight gleamed on pointed teeth in a face that was vaguely catlike and entirely unhuman. Dark brown fur covered his face and arms, and his ears were the shape of a fox’s amid a dark mane of hair. The top of his head did not quite reach the Duke’s shoulder.

  “I thought the Wyrds of Vallafana’s Forest would find it interesting. Will you be returning to Minathlan with me?”

  “You would find it difficult to keep me away.”

  The Duke smiled. “Very good. I will give you more details over dinner, if you will join me.”

  “I would be pleased.” The two turned and went together toward the Duke’s men. As they seated themselves by the fire, a gold ring flashed on Welarn’s hand. The design on
it was of a tree, with three moons tangled in its branches.

  Ryl let out a long, slow breath and opened her eyes. Kensal relaxed fractionally and handed her a cup of water. He waited in silence until she set it aside. “Well?” he asked at last.

  Ryl shook her head. “It is as you guessed, or nearly so. Flindaran tried to steal the harp, at his sister’s urging, and was discovered. In the quarrel that followed, he fell on his own knife and died.”

  “You’re sure about that? It sounds a little too… convenient.”

  “I am sure. Did I not tell you that the harp does not move easily away from one unwilling to give it freely?”

  “So the minstrel still has it.”

  Ryl nodded. “He has it. And he has taken it out of Minathlan.”

  Kensal raised an eyebrow. “That’s hard to believe. Gendron would be a fool to let it happen, especially now.”

  “Nevertheless, the harp is gone.” Ryl’s voice was calm and certain. “It moves west, toward the Mountains of Morravik and your home.”

  “All right, then; when do we leave?”

  “We do not. The Duke returns tomorrow eve; I would be here when he arrives. There are matters I wish to speak of with him.”

  “You make having a little chat with a Duke sound easy,” Kensal said. “And I thought that getting that harp was important.”

  “It is. But the Harp of Imach Thyssel is secret no longer. I sensed a presence as I… followed it. Perhaps more than one; I am not sure. If there are to be magicians involved in this, I may need an aid you cannot give me.”

  Kensal studied her. “The Shadow-born are part of this,” he said flatly.

  “I suspect it.”

  “And you think the Duke of Minathlan can help against them? What does he know of magic?”

  “More than you may think,” Ryl replied. “There are traces in this town, recent ones. Though I doubt that the Duke himself is the source of what I have seen.” She smiled, as though she considered the idea humorous for some private reason.