“It’s a city,” Flindaran said, hugging her.
“I know that! I meant, what kind of a city is it? Gendron says they have dancing every night, and magic shows, and—”
“Gendron hasn’t been in Ciaron for a long time.”
“Was he only teasing me? He would!” The girl stepped back, and Emereck got his first clear look at her. Even wearing a slight pout, her face was strikingly pretty. Her hair was arranged in an intricate series of curls, and her gown was a bit over-elaborate for Emereck’s taste.
Flindaran, too, was studying her. “Lords, you’ve grown up pretty, Talerith!”
The pout vanished at once. “Yes, haven’t I? Come sit down and tell me about your travels.”
She started to draw Flindaran forward, but he pulled back and turned toward Emereck. “First I want you to meet—”
“Oh, you’ve brought a minstrel! Then we can have music at supper tonight.” Talerith smiled up at Flindaran. “But I don’t want music now; I want to talk to you.”
“Emereck’s a friend of mine,” Flindaran said, frowning. “A visitor.”
“Oh.” She turned and looked at Emereck more closely. From her expression, Emereck judged she was not favorably impressed. Then she smiled brightly. “Well, if he’s a friend of yours, then I—I’m sure he’s very welcome.”
Emereck bowed. He saw Talerith steal a furtive look at Flindaran, then she stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m pleased—that is, welcome to Minathlan, Minstrel.”
“I give you thanks for your welcome, my lady,” Emereck said as he took her hand and bent to kiss her fingers.
The hand was withdrawn as soon as he let it go. “Sit down, please, and tell me about Ciaron,” Talerith said.
As she turned to take her own chair, Emereck saw her surreptitiously brush her fingers against her skirt. Suddenly he felt tired, too tired to face a conversation of artificial courtesy. “I beg you will excuse me, my lady,” he said.
Talerith’s face brightened, then clouded again as Flindaran turned. “What? You’re not serious, Emereck!”
“I’m quite serious. I’m… a bit tired.”
“I suppose you want to practice some more of those boring scales.” Flindaran studied him, then shrugged.
“All right, then, let’s go. I’ll be back in a minute or two, Talerith.”
“Flindaran, you can’t!” Talerith threw Emereck an angry look. “You just got here!”
“What’s the matter with you? Look, I have to go. Emereck hasn’t been in Minathlan before; he’ll never find his rooms again without some help.”
“Liana can show him. I want you to stay here.”
“Talerith—”
“I have no objection to the lady Liana’s company, if she is willing to lend me her help,” Emereck put in.
Flindaran glanced at him in surprise, and Emereck felt his face grow warm. A look of sudden enlightenment replaced Flindaran’s slightly puzzled expression, and he grinned. “Is that all right with you, Lee? Go on, then, I’ll be by later. He’s three doors down the hall by the library.”
Emereck bowed again and turned to go. Talerith shot him a look of profound dislike as he left, and he wondered what he had done to earn her disfavor. Then he was standing in the corridor outside with Liana. He felt as though he ought to say something, but he could not think of a single remark that would not sound vacuous. Finally he settled for a simple thank you, which he thought had the merit of being sincere, even if it was extremely unoriginal. He cleared his throat. “I am grateful for your courtesy, lady.”
“Oh, you don’t need to thank me! Flindaran was right; you really do need someone to show you your way. Minathlan is a dreadful maze if you don’t know how to get around it.”
“Having you as a guide makes a pleasure of a necessity.”
Liana laughed delightedly. “I’d heard that all minstrels had tongues of silver; now I believe it!”
“The phrases come from training and habit,” Emereck said, flushing. “But the meaning is sincere.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Liana smiled, then glanced back over her shoulder with a thoughtful expression. “It’s a pity you couldn’t have…”
Her voice trailed off, but Emereck had a fair idea what she was referring to. “It seemed to me that Lady Talerith would have been ill-pleased by my presence no matter what I did.”
“Talerith is Lord Dindran’s youngest daughter, and she’s been alternately indulged and ignored since her mother died. I’m afraid it hasn’t been very good for her.”
Emereck considered that a masterpiece of understatement. He did not quite feel able to say so; such direct criticism of his host’s daughter would be unwise at best. He said instead, “That explains a little, but I confess I do not see why she dislikes me so much. Or have I entirely misread her?”
“I think she would dislike anyone she thought might take Flindaran from her. He’s always been her favorite brother.”
“There is more than that, I think.”
Liana bit her lip. “Talerith is… very conscious of her noble birth. Too conscious, perhaps.”
“I see.” Though Emereck’s experience with nobles was slight, he had encountered enough of them to realize that minstrels were not welcomed everywhere with respect and friendship. Talerith was apparently one of those who felt that musicians were desirable, so long as they did not attempt to mingle with nobility on anything approaching an equal footing. He was silent for the remainder of the walk to his room, and though his parting from Liana was friendly, his thoughts were elsewhere.
The Duke of Minathlan sat in his study, thinking. After a time, he rose and went to one of the bookcases that lined the room. He selected an ancient, battered volume bound in green leather and returned to his desk. For nearly an hour, he worked his way carefully through the book, turning each page gently so that the brittle paper would not crack.
Finally he closed the book. He sat looking at it, his expression as unreadable as it had been during his discussion with Emereck and Flindaran about the Harp of Imach Thyssel. Then he pulled a sheet of paper toward him and reached for the inkwell.
When the letter was finished, he set down the pen and bent toward the thin strip of carving that circled the edge of his desk. A moment later, there was a barely audible click. A small drawer sprang out of what had appeared to be solid wood. The Duke removed a gold seal and a half-burned stick of sealing wax. With these he sealed the letter. The hot wax glowed briefly as the seal touched it.
The Duke smiled faintly as he regarded the image stamped on the wax—a tree with three moons tangled in its branches. He returned the seal and the stick of wax to the secret drawer and closed it. Then he rang for a servant to arrange for the letter’s delivery.
The three dancers leapt and spun with supreme grace. Shalarn watched with an outward appearance of attention; it would not do to offend her host even slightly. Inwardly, she resented the necessity of attending this dinner. She would have much preferred a cold supper in a quiet room, and the chance to ponder carefully some of her most pressing problems.
Chief among these was the report her men had brought at last. Far from providing the explanations she had sought, it simply posed more questions. The Cilhar’s purpose remained unknown, and he seemed to have acquired a number of companions. There were the two young men who might be mere counters in this game, or might be active players. Then there was the woman, who was clearly no mere innkeeper. No sorceress of such ability would waste her time sweeping and scrubbing for long.
Unfortunately, Shalarn had no idea who the pseudo-innkeeper might really be. For three days, ever since her men had returned, she had used every resource at her disposal to discover the name of the dark-haired woman who had destroyed her spell at the inn. She had not succeeded. Shalarn frowned. Surely someone must know her! A sorceress of such power—
“The dancing does not please you, my lady?”
Prince Lanyk’s voice was almost in her ear, and it took all her control t
o keep from jerking away. “It pleases me greatly, sire.”
“Yet you frowned.”
“I was but concentrating, to be sure of following the subtleties of their skill.”
“Ah. I, too, admire subtlety.”
“It is a valuable trait in a ruler,” Shalarn said demurely.
Lanyk smiled and moved on. Shalarn did not quite breathe a sigh of relief. She could see his wife watching them surreptitiously—what was her name? Oh, yes, Tammis. It was a measure of her importance that Shalarn had been nearly a month at Lanyk’s court and could still be in doubt of her name. Shalarn dismissed her with a mental shrug, and turned her attention back to the prince.
Was he yet another player in this intricate game? She thought of the tenuous web of rumor and innuendo she had followed. It had taken her two years of patient work to untangle the strands and trace their hidden meanings; Lanyk did not have the patience for such a task. If he played, he was a newcomer to the game.
But his comments hinted at some knowledge. Could he be aware of her hidden activities, then? Her eyes narrowed. The Syaski raiders who had interrupted her men at the inn—she had assumed their presence was a coincidence. But if it were not? Lanyk was no true sorcerer, but he might dabble enough that her spells had attracted his attention. Or there might be a sorcerer in his employ—that was more likely.
She studied him from the corner of her eye. Yes, it was possible. She had been careless. She looked at him again, and smiled inwardly. Prince Lanyk might rule his wife with a firm hand, and Syaskor with an iron fist, but Shalarn sa’Rithven he did not rule at all. Nor would he. She could manage Lanyk.
A timid hand touched her shoulder. Shalarn turned. To her surprise, it was Tammis. Shalarn inclined her head. “Princess. May I aid your works?”
“Oh! No, I—I just wanted to talk.”
“It’s only an expression from my home, my lady,” Shalarn said reassuringly. The little mouse didn’t even have sense enough to check up on the customs of her visitors. “What would you say?”
“I—” Tammis was cut off by a burst of clapping as the dancers finished. “I hope you are enjoying your stay.”
“Of course. You and the Prince have been most kind.”
“My husband,” Tammis said, with a barely perceptible emphasis, “is always… kind.”
So the little princess was neither oblivious nor indifferent to Lanyk’s wandering eye! “Sometimes, perhaps, too much so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, only that it can be difficult for a guest to refuse an unwanted gift when it is offered with such great kindness.”
“Ah.” Tammis inclined her head. “I pray you, do not feel constrained to accept such a gift if the Prince should urge it on you.”
“Be assured, Princess, I will not.”
“I thank you, my lady Shalarn. You have greatly eased my mind.” Tammis gave a small, tight smile and left.
Shalarn stood looking after her and pondering on their conversation. Had it been the straightforward probe of her intentions that it seemed, or had Tammis been playing a more subtle game? Shalarn dismissed the thought; whichever it was, it did not matter. She had no intention of becoming involved with Lanyk. She had more important things to do. She smiled to herself, and went to take a seat as the minstrels began to play.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The day after their interview with the Duke, Emereck and Flindaran finally tracked Gendron down. Emereck found the heir to Minathlan something of a puzzle. Gendron bore a strong likeness to Flindaran, though he was nearly ten years the elder. The resemblance was heightened by his cheerful, careless attitude, but there were occasional disconcerting flashes of the Duke—a turn of phrase, a gesture, a raised eyebrow.
They found him in a small sitting room, and after introducing Emereck, Flindaran immediately asked Gendron about Syaskor.
“Oh, Lanyk’s up to something all right,” Gendron replied.
“Yes, but what?” Flindaran said in exasperation.
Gendron laughed. “If I knew what he was after, I might not have had to come home so quickly.”
“You wanted to stay in Syaskor?”
“You would have, too, if you’d seen the woman Lanyk’s got visiting him. I think he has plans for her himself, but if I’d had another two days—”
“It takes you that long? You’re losing your touch, brother.”
“You rush things. I have more finesse. This woman’s a Lithmern noble, and you don’t—”
“What!” Emereck and Flindaran said together.
Gendron stared at them. “She’s a Lithmern noblewoman. Or rather, she used to be. What’s so odd about that?”
“Father hasn’t told you about our trip home, then,” Flindaran said. Gendron shook his head. Flindaran frowned and quickly outlined their encounter with the Lithmern at the inn. He went as far as his finding Emereck in the forest, and finished with, “…and we camped for a couple of days and then came home.”
Gendron looked curiously at Emereck. “It seems that minstrels are hardier than I’d thought. You don’t move like a man who’s been recently wounded.”
“Your brother exaggerates its seriousness,” Emereck said, with a warning look at Flindaran.
“Doesn’t surprise me.” Gendron turned back to Flindaran. “Well, now I see why you were interested when I mentioned Shalarn.”
“Who?”
“The Lithmern noblewoman, idiot! But I can’t believe she had anything to do with that raid.”
“You know of any other Lithmern in Syaskor?”
“No. But Shalarn’s too… too…”
“Good-looking?”
“…too innocent for that.”
“Then where did the Lithmern soldiers we fought at the inn come from?” Emereck said.
“She did bring a few of her men with her,” Gendron admitted reluctantly. “I saw them once in a while around the palace.”
“And you still think she had nothing to do with it?” Flindaran said sarcastically.
“Lanyk probably used her men behind her back somehow.” Gendron scowled. “I wish I’d known; I’d have been more insistent about inviting her here.”
“You mean you asked this Lithmern woman to come to Minathlan?” Flindaran said. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Have you told Father?”
“Of course not! I don’t really expect her to come, especially with the situation on the border the way it is.”
“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with the circumstances,” Emereck said. “I would be grateful if you would explain.”
“It’s a bit hard to do clearly,” Gendron said. “Prince Lanyk has always been twitchy about his borders; that’s why Minathlan has the Free Riders. Lately, though, he’s been worse than usual.”
“Oh?” Flindaran said. “Father didn’t mention that.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“What do you mean by ‘worse than usual’?” Emereck asked.
“His men have been raiding border villages, he’s had Trader caravans searched, things like that.”
“The Traders aren’t going to like that,” Flindaran commented.
“If it comes to that, none of his neighbors like it. He hasn’t bothered Minathlan much so far, but Kiannar told me Father’s doubled the patrols.”
“She didn’t mention that to me!”
Gendron looked at him. “How long did you talk to her?”
Flindaran reddened slightly. “Well…”
“You know, you’re lucky you came home when you did. Another week or two and you’d have had to swing all the way south of Kith Alunel to avoid trouble.”
“What makes you think I’d want to avoid trouble?”
“I thought you had sense. I see I was wrong.”
“Then you believe travel west is unsafe?” Emereck broke in.
Gendron nodded. “At least it is as long as Lanyk keeps playing these games of his.”
&
nbsp; “And you have no suspicion as to the reasons for Prince Lanyk’s behavior? Since you have come so recently from Syaskor, I thought—”
“Nobody there knows anything. Or if they do, they aren’t talking about it.” Gendron grinned suddenly. “I think Lanyk’s trying to start a war in order to get away from that Cilhar icicle he’s married to.”
“Lanyk married a Cilhar?” Flindaran said in surprise. “When did that happen?”
“A couple of years ago, right after you went off to Ciaron. Didn’t you hear about it there?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know the bride was a Cilhar! I thought Syaski hated Cilhar.”
“They do. But that didn’t stop Lanyk. Myself, I don’t see why he bothered.”
“Oh?”
“Tammis is the dullest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She’s plain, she’s boring, she never says anything, and she creeps around after Lanyk like a shadow. It’d drive me crazy in three days.”
“She doesn’t sound much like a Cilhar.”
“She’s some sort of renegade from the northern mountains. Lanyk tries to keep it quiet, but it’s common gossip at court whenever he’s not around.”
“And you have the biggest ears this side of the Mountains of Morravik.”
Gendron grinned again, unoffended. “That’s why Father sent me to Syaskor in the first place. Anyway, I think all Lanyk’s really looking for is an excuse to get away from his wife.”
Something in Gendron’s tone caught Emereck’s attention. “Looking for?”
Gendron shrugged. “The story is that Lanyk’s looking for something he wants very badly. Myself, I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because supposedly he doesn’t know what it is he’s looking for. Even Lanyk isn’t that fuzzy-headed.”
Flindaran and Emereck exchanged glances. “You’re right,” Flindaran said. “It doesn’t make sense. Where’d you pick up a tale like that, anyway?”
“Servants,” Gendron said with a touch of smugness. “No one else ever talks to them, but they find out everything.”
[Lyra 03] - The Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 7