“Emereck.”
Liana’s voice roused him from his musings and he turned. “What is it?”
“Did you see something just now, by the gate?”
“No, but I wasn’t really paying attention.” He glanced at the gate and frowned, puzzled. “It does seem different, somehow.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that it looked any different. I thought I saw something move.”
“There’s nothing there now. Maybe…” Emereck’s voice trailed off as he realized what it was that made him think the scene had altered. “The music’s changed again!”
“Has it?” Liana was still staring toward the gate.
“Not much; the key’s the same. But the style is—”
“Something’s wrong.”
“What?” Emereck looked around. Shalarn and Kensal were standing beside one of the wind-music statues, still talking. The rich silks and velvets of her riding costume made a sharp contrast to the faded green leather of the Cilhar’s uniform, and the curving shape of the bone-white statue beside them added a touch of strangeness to the picture. Shalarn’s men were scattered through the nearby garden, looking uncomfortable and extremely out of place against the rich greens and browns of the lush plants. The two guards were watching Kensal with obvious unease; the captain was edging toward the horses, just inside the gate. Emereck looked back at Liana. “I don’t see anything.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. And I don’t know how I can tell, either, so please don’t ask.”
Emereck glanced back toward Kensal and Shalarn. “Can you at least—” He stopped and blinked. All of the shadows in the garden had just shifted. He spun and looked up at the sun. It was a good three finger-widths to one side of where it should have been.
“What was that?” Liana said breathlessly.
Emereck’s head jerked down to look at her again. “You felt something?”
“Didn’t you?” They looked at each other. “If you didn’t feel anything, why did you jump like that?” Liana said at last.
“I saw the shadows change. I think the castle may have moved again.”
Liana looked over her shoulder at the sun. “I think you’re right. I wonder where we are now?”
“I’m more concerned with why it happened. Look, will you make sure Kensal knows? And try and find out if that woman noticed anything. I’m going to check the harp.”
Liana nodded and started toward Kensal and Shalarn. Emereck turned and walked swiftly toward the front of the castle. The pile of garments that hid the harp looked untouched; with Shalarn’s men watching he did not dare check more closely. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and walked on, trying to look as if he had been heading for his horse all along.
The captain scowled, but stepped back to let Emereck pass. At the edge of his vision, Emereck saw Shalarn approaching from what was now the south side of the gate. Liana and Kensal had fallen a little behind her, and Shalarn’s two guards had moved in to flank them. Emereck frowned, wondering what they were planning. Then his attention was jerked away by a ripple of movement ahead of him. The castle gates were swinging open.
Emereck stepped back a pace. Behind him, he heard the soft ringing of a sword being drawn from its sheath, and then the gates were open far enough to reveal the riders on the other side. Emereck recognized the Duke of Minathlan and Ryl at once, but the sight of the third rider drove all other thoughts from his head.
His face and arms were covered with a fine, dark brown fur. From a mane of the same color emerged two ears, shaped like a fox’s but with short tufts of hair at their ends. He wore a loose tunic of dark green, belted at the waist. He carried a bow and a quiver of arrows at his back, and he rode bareback on a shaggy pony.
Emereck closed his mouth and swallowed hard as the three rode inside. A Wyrd! And riding with the Duke of Minathlan and Ryl. He tried to force his stunned mind to think, to consider the implications, but he could not do it. He could only remember the legends: the Wyrd attack on Basaraan during the Wars of Binding, their cities made of living trees, their magic and their songs.
The riders dismounted, and Emereck shook himself and glanced around. Shalarn and her men were staring in wonder at the Wyrd. Liana seemed less astonished, though she watched the Wyrd with curiosity. Only Kensal showed no surprise; his lips quirked in a wry smile as he bowed to Ryl, but that was all.
The Duke’s eyes swept the company, and he gave a small, stiff nod of recognition in Emereck’s direction. Emereck bowed in return. The Duke’s lips tightened; then Liana stepped forward, and the lines around his mouth softened fractionally. “I am glad to find you well, my dear,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Liana replied, and curtsied. “Allow me to present my companions: the Lady Shalarn sa’Rithven of Lithra and her guard, and Kensal Narryn of the Cilhar.”
Shalarn darted a sharp look in Emereck’s direction when it became apparent that Liana was not going to continue. The Duke’s head turned to look at her. “Lithra. I see.” He looked at Ryl. “I believe we have found the source of that wrongness we were discussing earlier.”
“I think not,” Ryl replied. “She bears no taint of shadow.”
“You are sure?”
“I am. Open yourself to the castle, and you will be sure as well.”
“She claims she is looking for a way to destroy the Shadow-born,” Kensal put in.
“And so I am,” Shalarn said, controlling her anger with obvious effort. “You cannot deny it.”
“True,” Kensal said. “But I also can’t confirm it. We have only your word, either way.”
“The Wyrd Glens of Alkyra sent us word long ago of Lithra’s dealings with the Shadow-born,” the Wyrd said. His voice was deeper than Emereck had expected from so small a person.
“Do you think everyone in Lithra believed their promises?” Shalarn said. “And do you think we all believe them still, after they destroyed our sorcerers and forced our army into the trap at Coldwell?”
“‘Who can be fooled once, can be fooled again,’” the Wyrd quoted.
“Peace, Welram,” Ryl said. “Have I not said she is no knowing servant of the Shadow-born?”
“Knowingly or unknowingly, I serve no one but myself!” Shalarn said. “I seek to destroy the Shadow-born. They will pay for what they have done to me, and to Lithra.”
“Revenge is overrated,” the Duke said. “As well as being rather difficult in this case. The Shadow-born are not lightly disturbed.”
“Nevertheless, I will do it! That is why—” Shalarn stopped and glanced at Kensal.
“That is why she has been following me,” Kensal said. He looked at Ryl. “She wants what we came for.”
“Ah.” Ryl looked at Shalarn, and there was something like pity in her eyes. “If what you say is true, I am afraid it would do you no good. If the Harp of Imach Thyssel could destroy the Shadow-born, we would have used it long ago to do so.”
“The Harp of Imach Thyssel!” Shalarn’s eyes flew from Kensal to Emereck. “So it is the minstrel I want!”
“No,” Ryl said gently. “Did you not hear me? The harp can undo certain of the works of the Shadow-born, for it is older even than they, but it cannot harm the Shadow-born themselves.”
Shalarn turned back to Ryl. “How do you know?”
As Ryl started to answer, Emereck took one step backward, then another, until he was standing outside the little knot of conversation. He saw Kensal’s eyes flicker; then the Cilhar stepped casually between Shalarn and Emereck. Emereck let out a slow breath and turned slightly, so that he could watch the hidden harp as well as Shalarn and her two guards. He frowned suddenly and looked quickly around. Shalarn’s captain was nowhere in sight.
Uneasily, Emereck took another step backward. Where had the man gone? Shalarn was still arguing with Ryl. She did not seem to have noticed him, but Welram and Liana were both looking at him curiously. He shook his head, hoping fervently that they would look away before Shalarn noticed and turned to see what they were
staring at.
Emereck glanced around once more, and saw the bushes to the right of the gate quiver. A moment later, the missing captain appeared from behind them. Emereck’s vague fears vanished and he felt foolish; the man must have gone into the bushes to relieve himself, that was all.
The captain came forward, swinging wide around the little clump of people. Emereck backed up again, so that the captain would not pass between him and the harp. The captain ignored him. Emereck’s misgivings returned and he frowned, wondering what the man was up to. The captain’s attention seemed concentrated on Kensal, as though the Cilhar was the only one of the group who really existed.
Emereck’s eyes shifted to Kensal. He waited for the Cilhar to turn, to shift, to show by the most imperceptible change in position that he knew the captain was there and that he was ready for him. Kensal did nothing, and Emereck’s frown deepened. The captain was directly behind Kensal now, and moving forward; he seemed to be heading for a position between Shalarn and the Cilhar. It was an eminently reasonable thing to do, and yet… Emereck took a deep breath, intending to add some comment to the conversation and thus call Kensal’s attention to what was happening behind him. An instant later, he let it out in a cry of warning.
He was not quite in time, but he was not quite too late, either. Kensal started to turn, and the captain’s dagger struck his left side, just below the shoulder, instead of his heart. Kensal staggered. His right hand flickered once, then reached for his sword. The captain cried out and clutched at his left shoulder. One of the black, spiky raven’s-feet protruded from it.
At almost the same instant, Shalarn gave a cry of pain. Emereck turned his head and saw another of the raven’s-feet buried in her right arm. His eyes jumped back to Kensal; could even a Cilhar have thrown two of the weapons so quickly?
Shalarn’s captain had no such doubts. “Cilhar treachery!” he shouted. “To me, and defend the lady Shalarn!”
Shalarn’s other two guards sprang forward, drawing their swords. “Treachery indeed,” the Duke growled as he pulled out his own weapon and stepped forward to meet them.
“Stop this!” Shalarn cried. “Stop it at once!”
Her men ignored her. Kensal was already engaged with the captain, their swords moving more rapidly than Emereck would have believed possible. Emereck shook off his momentary paralysis and dove for his belongings. There was a dagger in there somewhere, a gift from Flindaran long ago; he spared a mental curse for his stupidity in not wearing it. Without a weapon, there was nothing he could do to help Kensal and the Duke.
It took only a moment to find the dagger. As his hand closed on the hilt, he heard Liana cry out. He whirled and started back before his eyes had time to take in what was happening.
Liana was unharmed. She had evidently been circling the combatants, possibly with the same idea as Emereck; she was standing halfway between the fight and the bushes where the captain had emerged. Kensal and the captain were still engaged, though both were clearly tiring. Of the two, Kensal was in worse condition; the left side of his uniform was soaked with blood. Duke Dindran stood nearby. His sword had been dropped or wrenched away; he stood weaponless, one hand pressed against his side. A trickle of red crossed the back of the hand, and Emereck caught a glimpse of a black spike projecting out from between the fingers. One of Shalarn’s guards lay unmoving in front of him. The other had his sword raised for a death-stroke at the Duke.
There was no way Emereck could reach them in time. He cried out in frustration. The guard’s sword started down—then dropped from his suddenly limp hand. The man stared in dumb surprise at the small wooden dagger-hilt sticking out of his chest, then toppled. Beside Ryl, Welram grinned fiercely and lowered his throwing arm. He said something Emereck could not hear, and pointed toward the bushes.
Ryl nodded and raised her arms. “Ri shera fin niterbarata il fina garhan lasa!”
The bushes shivered, and Emereck heard an angry cry. With a rustle and a crackle, a woman came through them, walking as though she were being dragged. Her hair and eyes were dark. She was tall, taller than the Duke; a loose cloak hid most of her figure. Her right hand held a raven’s-foot poised to throw, but she seemed unable to move it. Her left was clenched in anger. Her face showed no trace of fear, only fury.
“Tammis?” Shalarn said incredulously.
The captain’s head turned toward the new arrival, and his eyes widened. “No! You said no one would know, you—” The sentence ended in a gurgle as Kensal’s sword ran him through. Kensal pulled the weapon free, breathing hard. The captain fell, still staring reproachfully at the woman called Tammis.
Ryl’s eyes had not left Tammis and the raven’s-foot she held. “Drop it,” Ryl commanded, then, when the woman did not obey, “Bespyl pori!”
The raven’s-foot fell harmlessly to the ground. Emereck saw a flash of surprise mingle with the fury on Tammis’s face; then her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” she demanded, staring at Ryl.
“We might ask the same of you,” the Duke pointed out. He had removed the raven’s-foot from his side, but kept his hand pressed to the wound. It had no effect on his usual manner.
“That will not be necessary,” Kensal said. He had turned to face Tammis, and his voice was colder and harder than any Emereck had ever heard. “I know who she is. Tammis Fenrel, traitor and renegade. The Cilhar banished her ten years ago for deliberately leading her attack team into a trap.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Shalarn said emphatically. “She’s the Princess of Syaskor!”
“Maybe, but she’s also a Cilhar outlaw.”
Tammis laughed suddenly. It was not a pleasant sound. “Kensal Narryn. I should have guessed; only you would still care about such ancient history.” She smiled mockingly.
“I wish you had chosen to do your fighting yourself,” Kensal said. “I would have enjoyed beating you.”
“Easy enough to say, to a woman who can’t move.”
Kensal turned. He seemed to be holding himself upright by sheer force of will, but he still managed to lift his sword and say, “Let go of her, Ryl.”
“No. Wounded as you are, you would be no match for her, and I would not have you die to no purpose. And she is the source of the evil I have felt here.” Ryl’s voice was calm, but her face was tense with concentration.
“She serves the Shadow-born?”
Ryl nodded.
Kensal looked at Tammis as though she were a snake three days dead and crawling with maggots. “You should have been killed ten years ago. And paralysis or not, I’m going to do it now.”
“I think not,” Tammis said. Her smile widened fractionally. “Not when I know exactly who your companion is.”
“You can’t,” Kensal said flatly.
“You forget: I, too, know the traditions of the Cilhar. And you should not have chosen such an obvious alias for such an exceptionally powerful sorceress.” Tammis inclined her head very slightly in Ryl’s direction. “She can only be the Guardian Rylorien.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Tammis laughed again. “I’ve learned more than you think since I left the Mountains of Morravik. I know the weakness of the Eleann.”
The fingers of her left hand began to uncurl, one by one, and Emereck saw that she held something within it. Kensal started forward, but before he could reach her, Tammis cried loudly, “Arsklathran fin!” and pointed at Ryl. At the same moment, Emereck saw exactly what she held in her hand. It was a slender crystal of smoky black.
Chapter 24
AS TAMMIS SPOKE, THERE was a sudden, wailing discord from the musical statues. The air darkened and grew colder. A ripple of distortion moved outward from the crystal Tammis held; as it reached him, Emereck felt a twisting stab of pain in every bone and muscle of his body. He wanted to cry out, but he could not move. Then the ripple passed, leaving him gasping. A moment later, Ryl screamed.
The sound froze Emereck’s blood. He knew it, recognized it, though he had never heard it b
efore. It was the scream of the golden people of his nightmare, as they twisted and melted and changed, the scream he had never quite heard in the dream but had always known was there. Slowly, reluctantly, his head turned, and he looked at Ryl.
She was lying on the ground, curled in on herself, her dark hair falling in a tangled veil around her. Her body shimmered and slipped out of focus, then solidified briefly. The outline of her form blurred and ran, like butter melting slowly on a hot griddle. Her shape firmed again, and for a moment she lay gasping on the ground. Emereck had a brief hope that she had succeeded in throwing off whatever was happening to her; then the cycle began again.
Kensal, too, had glanced at Ryl. He hesitated, apparently torn between rushing to help her and attacking Tammis. Then Welram threw himself to his knees beside Ryl and took her hand in one of his. His eyes narrowed to thin slits and he bared his teeth; it was a moment before Emereck realized that the Wyrd was concentrating on something.
That was enough for Kensal. He lunged toward Tammis, sword outstretched. Tammis raised the crystal. A shaft of blackness darted from her hand to Kensal, and the Cilhar crashed to the ground in front of her. She looked down. “Old fool,” she muttered.
When Kensal lunged, Emereck had begun edging slowly toward the overgrown garden on his right. He still had his dagger; if he could get behind Tammis, perhaps he could stop her. He knew it for a faint hope, at best; he was a poor fighter by any standards while she was both Cilhar and a sorceress. But he had to do something. Ahead of him, he saw Liana moving with the same caution toward her bow and quiver. He would have smiled encouragement, but he did not want to distract her or to draw Tammis’s attention in their direction.
The Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 23