He bowed and raised a hand, and the hall quieted. “It is a custom among minstrels to ask now what songs their listeners would hear,” Emereck said. He saw Talerith lean forward eagerly, and he smiled and continued smoothly, “But tonight I plan something different. Lord Flindaran will join me for the next song—‘The Song of the Wandering Knight.’ Flindaran!”
Flindaran rose amid much applause, and Talerith closed her mouth in an angry pout. Emereck smiled as his friend joined him, and with a flourish he played the opening notes of the song:
“A knight came riding down the road,
Her armor mirror-bright,
Her sword was silver in the sun,
Her horse was purest white.
“Oh, she was fair and strong and brave
And none could match her might;
No warrior, wizard, king or knave
Could best the Wandering Knight.
“She came to Riven’s castle gate
Where seven rivers run.
She stayed one night, and when she left
She stole Duke Riven’s son.
“The knight went on to old Rathane
And stole a Baron’s horse,
Then sold it to the Earl of Torn
For twice what it was worth!
“A barman bet she could not drink
A quart of Kingman’s Rye.
The knight, she nodded carelessly
And drained the barrel dry.
“She drove the thieves from Rotrin Wood
Until not one remained,
And when the town refused to pay
She drove them back again.
“She fought the Witch of Morlang Isle
From dawn to dusk of day;
Then they went drinking in the town
Before she went away.
“Six men set on her late one night
To steal her purse away.
When she killed two the others fled;
They’re running to this day.
“For she was fair and strong and brave
And none could match her might;
No sword that swung in all the land
Could best the Wandering Knight.”
The last chords of the song were drowned in applause. Emereck bowed, smiling, though he knew that the enthusiasm had more to do with Flindaran’s participation than with the quality of the performance. Not that they had done badly. On the contrary, Flindaran had done very well indeed. Emereck made a mental note to persuade Flindaran to try performing more often. He bowed again, and noticed the blond serving woman watching them intently. So she was not as indifferent to Flindaran’s charms as she pretended!
Flindaran returned to his seat, and Emereck announced his next song. Suddenly, he saw a stir at one of the side doors. He paused. Kiannar came into the hall, her face set. There was a buzz of conversation, which died as she strode toward the Duke. She spoke to him for a moment in a low voice, then bowed and stepped aside.
The Duke rose. “My apologies to you all, but I fear I must leave. You will oblige me by continuing the festivities in my absence.” He bowed to the astonished assembly and turned to accompany Kiannar.
A babble of voices rose around the tables, then was cut short by a piercing shriek. In the open doorway stood a fat, red-faced woman, tears running down her face. “It’s the Riders! The Free Riders are back, and dear Lord Oraven’s killed!”
“Quiet, you fool!” Kiannar said harshly.
The fat woman did not seem to hear. “They’ve killed him!” she cried. “Oh, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!”
Kiannar stepped forward and gave the woman a resounding slap. The woman threw her hands over her face and burst into racking sobs. Kiannar took her arm and pushed her out of the hall, then turned back to the crowd. “Oraven’s not dead,” she said in a loud voice. “I saw him myself before I came here.”
“What’s happened, then?” someone shouted.
Lord Dindran looked coldly in the direction of the voice, and abruptly there was silence. “A group of Free Riders have returned from the border of Syaskor,” the Duke said at last.
An uneasy murmuring rustled through the hall, then quieted. The Duke bowed mockingly. “Thank you for your attention. My son Oraven has also returned. He is apparently gravely wounded—but not, I believe, dead. No doubt I shall learn the truth of this myself if I am ever allowed to leave.”
No one said a word. The Duke’s gaze swept the crowd. “Very good. As your curiosity seems satisfied, I will now withdraw. My son Gendron will preside until I return.” The Duke bowed again and left the hall. Kiannar followed, closing the door behind them. In the stunned silence, Emereck looked back at the head table. Flindaran was white. Gendron was scowling angrily. Talerith sat hunched over her plate. As Emereck’s eyes reached her, she looked up.
“Play, minstrel!” she said shrilly. “Play something gay. Play something!”
Emereck stared at her. He saw the guests shift uncomfortably in their seats as Talerith said again, “Play!” Then he raised his hands. Still staring at Talerith’s angry, frightened face, he plucked the opening notes of the song he’d been working on since the night in Ryl’s inn.
“Dark water, still water, darker yet the sky;
Shadowed was the path beyond and cold the wind on high.
Black forest, old forest, murky, dead, and dry;
Dark the day and dark the way when Corryn went to die.
Barren fields behind him stretched, and dark and empty rooms
Where lay the young lord’s wife and child all silent in their tombs.
His thoughts were set on vengeance then, as he rode through the gloom;
Sorrow keen for child and queen drove Corryn to his doom.
Past the lake and through the trees, up to his brother’s door,
He made his way, and—”
“Stop!” Talerith’s voice cut across the song. “Stop it!” she cried again, and burst into tears.
Emereck lowered his hands, shaken. What had possessed him? “Corryn’s Ride” was a grim song at any time, but now when one of Flindaran’s brothers was badly injured and perhaps dying… He was dimly aware of the shocked expressions of the Duke’s guests, and of Liana hurrying toward Talerith, but his attention was centered on the head table and Flindaran’s tightly controlled face.
Gendron rose. As he bowed to the guests, his resemblance to the Duke seemed much stronger than it had been earlier. “Under the circumstances, I think it is best to end this evening early. I am sure my father will inform you of whatever news the Riders have brought. In the meantime, I ask your pardon for this uncomfortable finish to our feast. Fare you well.”
Emereck sat motionless, still watching Flindaran, as the people around him began to leave. Liana helped Talerith out through a private door at the back of the hall. Gendron looked at Emereck. “You will answer to my father for this, minstrel.”
“Yes, my lord,” Emereck said without turning.
At the sound of Emereck’s voice, Flindaran looked at him at last. His face was expressionless. Their eyes met, and Emereck swallowed. “Flindaran, I—”
Flindaran made a chopping gesture with one hand. “Later,” he said, and his voice was strained. “When I’ve… Later.” He turned and left the hall. Gendron stood watching Emereck a moment longer, then followed his brother.
With a muffled oath, Emereck sprang to his feet and all but ran out of the hall. He barely noticed the blonde serving woman in the shadows watching him through narrowed eyes.
CHAPTER
TEN
Emereck was not sure how long he wandered through the castle halls, but it seemed as if it had been hours. The passageways seemed more mazelike than ever. He was unable to keep out of the way of the servants, and even if he had been certain he knew how to find his room, he was not ready to return to it.
Finally he blundered into the empty courtyard at the rear of Castle Minathlan. He sighed in relief as the door closed behind him; no one was likely to di
sturb him here. He walked down the staircase and seated himself on the bottom step, leaning back against the wall. The stone was cool against his back, even through the cloth of his tunic. Numbly, he stared up at the stars. Kaldarin had not yet risen; Elewyth was a lopsided silver-green oval overhead. The moonlight gave a faint greenish sheen to the stone staircase.
He did not understand what was happening to him. He knew better than to play death songs in the presence of the dying, yet he had allowed his resentment of Talerith to goad him into playing “Corryn’s Ride.” It was a mistake, he told himself, only a mistake, but he felt as if he had betrayed all the teachings of his Guildhall.
And why had the Duke’s children reacted so violently to the song? It had been in extremely poor taste, but that was not enough to explain Talerith’s wild burst of weeping, or Gendron’s sharp anger. And Flindaran—Emereck flinched away from the memory of Flindaran’s face as it had looked just before he left the hall. How could he have guessed that they would be affected so strongly?
He heard a door open behind him, and he leaned backward into the shadows. He did not want to deal with the castle folk yet. He wanted to think before he had to—
“Emereck?” a soft voice said tentatively. “Minstrel Emereck?”
“Liana!” Emereck rose and came forward in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“I see.” Emereck turned away. “You know I didn’t intend—That is, I am sorry about… what happened.”
“Of course.” Liana sounded mildly surprised. “But it wasn’t your fault, you know. Hesta started it. Though I can understand why she was upset. She was Oraven’s nurse, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Emereck hesitated. “How is he?”
“Very bad. The healer has been with him since he arrived.”
“I’m sorry.” Emereck could have ground his teeth at the inadequacy of the reply. I should never have come here, he thought. He was making one mistake after another, because he didn’t know enough about this place and the people who lived here. He looked at Liana. “I could use an explanation.”
“Of what?”
“Why everyone behaved like madmen when I sang that song,” Emereck said bitterly. “I shouldn’t have done it, but—”
“Oh. Flindaran never told you about Oraven, did he?”
“No.” Emereck had trusted Flindaran to tell him the things he needed to know about Minathlan, and Flindaran had not. Emereck suppressed a flash of anger at Flindaran’s thoughtlessness; after all, part of the fault was his own. He had never asked.
“I thought as much,” Liana said calmly. “That’s why I came.”
Emereck looked at her, startled. Her face was in shadow, and he could not make out her expression. “I’d be grateful if you would explain,” he said at last.
“Come and sit down, then, and I’ll tell you.”
They settled themselves on the low stone wall that ran along one side of the staircase. Emereck looked at Liana expectantly.
“Oraven is… special,” Liana began. “Special to everyone in Minathlan, even Lord Dindran, though he doesn’t show it often. He’s about five years younger than Gendron, and he’s never been as wild as the Duke’s other sons. He’s a—a very sweet, generous person, and everyone loves him….”
Emereck shifted uncomfortably. Liana’s information did not explain anything. The reaction of the guests had already told him that Oraven was highly thought of. Surely there was more than that?
“Oraven’s the only one of the family who was ever close to all of the others. But he was especially close to Flindaran, before Flindaran left for Ciaron. He taught Flindaran how to use a sword, and… oh, all sorts of things. Even after Oraven married—”
“Married?” Emereck said, surprised. “I didn’t think any of Flindaran’s brothers were married.”
“They aren’t, now,” Liana said softly.
“Oh. I see.”
“No, you don’t. Oraven had been married a little over a year when he decided he wanted to study sorcery. Well, I think he’d always wanted it, but he felt he owed something to Lord Dindran and his brothers first. So he didn’t do anything about it until Flindaran was old enough to be sent to school in Ciaron.
“Anyway, he went to Kith Alunel to see if he could find a wizard who would teach him. His wife was pregnant, but it was still early and he expected to be home before the baby came. Only he was delayed in Kith Alunel, and the baby was early, and his wife died of it. The child only lived a few hours.”
“I’m sorry.”
Liana smiled at him. Even in the moonlight he could see that her expression was strained. “Oraven blamed himself, though there’s nothing he could have done. I think he still blames himself. After Flindaran left, Oraven gave up the idea of learning magic and joined the Free Riders. I think he’s always hoped he’d be killed, and now…”
“And now he may have gotten his wish,” Emereck said slowly.
“And everyone knows, but no one really wants to admit it,” Liana said, nodding. “So when you sang…”
Emereck nodded slowly. Unknowing, he had played “Corryn’s Ride”—a song about a man whose wife and child were dead, and who wanted to die avenging them. No wonder Gendron and the others had been upset! “And Flindaran—”
“He had to leave for Ciaron just one week after Oraven came home. He wanted to stay and help somehow—not that there was much he could have done—but he had to go. He was very unhappy about it.”
“Couldn’t he have delayed it a year?”
Liana looked down. “Minathlan isn’t rich. Lord Dindran had already paid for the first year of teaching. I think he would have let Flindaran stay, but…”
“Flindaran would find it hard to ask him, I think.”
“Yes. So he left.”
“I see. Thank you. I understand much better now.”
Liana did not answer. They sat for a long time in silence, while Emereck considered. Finally he looked at Liana. “Why did you tell me all this?”
“I thought you ought to know,” she said simply. “Especially if—if Oraven…”
“He’s not dead yet, and you said the healer was with him.”
“No, he hasn’t died. But I think he will. He doesn’t want to live.”
Emereck stared. “Where’s Flindaran?” he said at last in a voice he hardly recognized as his own.
“With Oraven and the healer and the rest of the family. At least he was when I left, and I don’t think he’d have gone anywhere else. Not now.” Liana rose to her feet. “And I’d better be getting back in case… anything happens.”
“I’m coming with you,” Emereck said.
“But—”
“I have to see Flindaran before ‘anything happens.’ I have to explain—”
Emereck broke off as the sound of a single harpnote echoed through the courtyard, soft and pure. Another followed, and another, vibrating in his very bones. He turned and stared at the castle in horrified disbelief. Flindaran wouldn’t, he couldn’t have—but the silver sound kept on. The music pulled at him far more strongly than it had before. For a moment he resisted, then with an incoherent shout, he ran into the castle.
Shalarn’s eyes flew open. For a brief instant she lay staring into the darkness, then she threw the bedclothes aside and rose. She snatched her robe from the bedstand and shrugged it on as she hurried across to the door of the room where she performed her sorceries.
A wave and a muttered word dissolved the locking spells that protected her secrets from accidental discovery. Inside, she paused and concentrated. Yes, she still felt the tug of the magic that had awakened her. She had a little time yet. But how much?
She pushed the thought from her mind and whirled to the high chest beside the door. She yanked two drawers open and took the things she needed: four candles, a map, a bag of dried herbs, a small gold sphere at the end of a silver chain. In three steps she was beside the table. Her hands shook with the need for hurry as s
he spread the map flat and set the candles in their places—black to the north and south, white to the east and west. Carefully, she made a small pile of the crushed herbs at the point on the map where Lanyk’s castle stood. Then she dangled the gold sphere above the herbs and began to chant.
A small figure slid silently through the forest south of Minathlan. Around him, rain fell in a slow, drenching drizzle. His bow and arrows made an oddly shaped bulge under the green cloak that protected them from the damp. His face was invisible inside his oiled leather hood.
His soft boots made no sound on the wet ground. Though there was no sign of a trail, he moved surely. Occasionally he paused to inspect a plant or to examine some nearly invisible mark on the forest mold.
Suddenly he stopped. He sniffed the night air tentatively, then stood motionless in an attitude of listening. Water collected in the hollows of his hood and dripped steadily from the hem of his cloak. He did not appear to notice.
The door opened and Kensal looked up. “Well?” he said as Ryl entered.
“In some ways it went very well.”
“In some ways?”
“Both of those we sought are there, and they are the two who fought beside us at the inn. One is, in truth, a minstrel; the other is son to Duke Dindran.”
“So all your suspicions were correct.”
Ryl sank into a chair, frowning. “Yes, but I fear it helps us little. The minstrel bears the mark of the Harp already; I think it is in his keeping.”
“Then you know where to find it?”
“He must keep it near him, or the fear of the burden would not be so clear on him.”
Kensal studied her. “You’re worried about something. What?”
“The other—the Duke’s son. He has been touched as well, though I think in him the Harp has awakened desire. I wish I dared look more deeply.”
[Lyra 03] - The Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 9