“Pick a direction,” Kensal said, “and let’s go.”
Emereck looked at the Cilhar in surprise, then understood. If he, Emereck, chose their path, there could be no question of Kensal’s leading them into a trap. The knowledge only irritated Emereck more. He scowled and pointed. “West. We can make the forest in another day if we push, and it’ll be easier to hide if there’s trouble.” He looked challengingly at Kensal.
The Cilhar nodded gravely. “It is always easier to avoid trouble. If possible.” He made a clucking noise to his horse, and started off. Liana threw the switch after the Syaski horse and followed. Feeling vaguely dissatisfied and thoroughly unhappy, Emereck kicked his horse into motion and went after them.
Wind rustled the branches of the trees outside the tent, casting shivering shadows across the walls and roof. Inside, Tammis, Princess of Syaskor and sometime sorceress, paced angrily up and down between a cot and a small mahogany table. On the table lay a black mirror that reflected none of the tent’s interior, only a clotted crimson stain.
Lanyk had failed. Worse, the secondary link had been destroyed. And they had been so close to success! Mother of Mountains, how could he have bungled it? He had been within reach of the power they sought, might have been actually holding it. So close—and now this. Her small mouth was set in a thin line.
The situation was intolerable. Lanyk was dead, the patronizing little fraud, and she had not even had the satisfaction of killing him herself. As soon as the Syaski found out, what little direct influence she had would end, unless she was prepared to use raw power to enforce her claim to the throne.
The corners of her mouth relaxed slightly as she pictured the consternation of the courtiers. Most of them had believed in her carefully planned mousiness. Did they really think a Cilhar would be so helpless? The smile faded and she shook her head. It was too soon. She could not ensorcell an entire country, not without help. And to get the help she needed, she had to have the… whatever it was. She ground her teeth in frustration. Lanyk could have at least used the link to let her know what he had found before he got himself killed!
Firmly, she brought her mind back to the immediate problem. Once the Syaski heard of her husband’s death, it would be only a matter of time before some ambitious general or courtier decided that assassinating an unpopular Cilhar princess was the quickest way to the throne.
Very well, then; they must not hear of Lanyk’s death. She could manage that, at least. But how long would it be before the soldiers grew restless anyway, waiting for their precious Prince to return? That was easy; they were restless already. She could handle them, but…
Tammis’s frown deepened. She could hold the Mother-lost soldiers, but to do so she would have to stay here, watching her chances of reclaiming her birthright fade as the real prize slipped out of reach. And sooner or later her hold would slip, too, and the Syaski hatred of Cilhar would take over. No, it made no sense to stay. Better to risk everything on the chance of seizing the thing for herself. With careful preparation, it could be done. She was no bungler.
She turned to the table and passed her hand over the surface of the black mirror. The red stain faded and was replaced by a murky reflection of the tent’s interior. Satisfied, Tammis wrapped it carefully in a piece of silver-colored silk, then placed it in a flat oak box. She seated herself beside the table and frowned in concentration. There was that boringly single-minded Shalarn and her soldiers to deal with, as well as the group she was seeking. And someone else had brushed her mind recently; that one would need special handling. Tammis smiled and began the list of the things she would need to take with her.
In the study of Castle Minathlan Duke Dindran sat behind the polished desk. His face was an expressionless mask, but the lines around his mouth seemed deeper than they had been. Beside him sat the Wyrd, Welram, on the shortest chair the servants could find. Gendron was across from them, watching his father. When the silence became unbearable, he cleared his throat. “Sir, I—”
The Duke cut him off with a wave. “I do not blame you for what has happened, Gendron.”
“I should have watched Flindaran and Talerith more closely. And I should have guessed that the minstrel would never leave without that Harp.”
“You could not have predicted Flindaran’s actions.”
“The responsibility is still mine.”
“I left you and Flindaran in charge. It is as much my fault as yours. More,” the Duke added, half to himself. “Practice at raising children appears to have made me worse at it, not better.”
Gendron looked at him in concern. “Father, I…”
“Dindran!” Welram was staring toward the door, his ears pricked forward like a fox hearing a rabbit in the underbrush. “Someone comes.”
“No one will get past the guards,” Gendron said, torn between irritation and respect. “The orders—”
“Guards and orders cannot stop magic,” the Wyrd said. “And there is a very powerful and subtle magician coming this way.”
Gendron looked at the door as though he had just been told it was made of human bones, then looked back at Welram. “You’re sure? How can you tell?”
“One magician knows another.”
“Enough,” the Duke said. “Welram, how long—” He broke off as someone knocked at the door. A moment later, the door swung open and a lanky blonde woman wearing servant’s garb stepped inside. She glanced at the Wyrd without surprise, closed the door behind her, and stood waiting with a serene confidence that was out of keeping with her appearance.
“It seems that you were correct, Welram,” the Duke said.
“It is no fault of your guards and servants that I am here,” the woman said. “I arranged matters myself.”
“Did you. You make yourself quite free of my home.”
“It was necessary. I apologize for disturbing you, but I have need of a few words with you and your guest.”
“Indeed.” The Duke leaned back. “And would it be presumptuous to inquire who you are?”
The woman smiled. “I am one of the Five who have been Watchers and Guardians of the world since before Varna sank, since before the Shadow-born were bound, since before Tyrillian fell. I am one of the last of the Eleann, and my name is Rylorien.” The words rang through the chamber like a bell tolling.
There was a moment’s silence; even the Duke looked slightly shaken. “Guardians?” Gendron said at last. “What Guardians?”
Welram answered him without taking his eyes from the woman before them. “When the third moon fell and the Eleann died, they left five Guardians behind them. Their names were Elasien, Amaranth, Iraman, Valerin, and Rylorien.”
“Anyone may claim a hero’s name,” Gendron said uncertainly.
Rylorien looked at the Duke. “Your library proclaims you a scholar, lord Duke. Have you studied the small green book that opens only to the touch of the Dukes of Minathlan and their kin?”
“How do you know of that?”
Rylorien smiled. “I was there when it was written. Have you studied it?”
“I have.”
“Then watch.” Rylorien raised a hand. Her form shimmered, grew, changed. Her skin was a pale golden color, her slanted eyes a golden brown, her hair the color of clear honey. She stood a head taller than the Duke. Dindran stared for a long moment; then he bowed. Rylorien smiled and began to change again. The golden shape shimmered and ran, and then a small, dark-haired woman stood composedly before them. Gendron closed his mouth and swallowed hard.
The Duke studied the dark-haired woman for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Your first demonstration was quite convincing. There was no need to display your, er, adaptability further.”
“This is the form in which the minstrel Emereck knows me. If we are to seek him, I think it wisest to make recognition easy for him.”
Gendron looked at his father. “You’re going after that Harp?”
“Welram and I had intended it,” the Duke replied. “You will remain in char
ge here.”
“You’d trust me after what happened last time?”
“If I did not, I would not have made that decision.” The Duke looked at Rylorien. “Have you an objection to such an expedition?”
“None at all. I wish to come with you. There is magic gathering against the Harp, and I think we may help each other.”
The Duke inclined his head. “An excellent idea.”
Shalarn rode at the center of the small column of men. Behind the silk scarf that kept the dust out of her face, she was frowning. In another three or four days they would reach Minathlan. Everything had gone smoothly since she had begun her warding spells, yet she was uneasy. The feeling had been growing since the previous day, and she knew better than to ignore such hunches.
She turned in the saddle and beckoned to her Captain. “We will stop here for a few minutes,” she said when he pulled his horse up beside hers. “There is something I wish to investigate.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As he turned and began giving orders, Shalarn pulled her horse to a halt and slid to the ground. While her men and horses rested, she took a map, a box of herbs, and a black velvet bag from their special places in her saddlebags. She went a little way off the road and set up the spell, slowly and with great care. She did not want to waste even a fraction of her power.
When the preparations were complete, she took a small gold sphere on a silver chain from the velvet bag. She dangled it carefully over the map, and spoke the words that set the spell in motion. There was a flash of heat and the pile of herbs under the sphere crumbled into ashes.
Shalarn finished the spell and lowered her hand. Her eyes widened, though she had half expected the result. The source of the power for which she searched had moved. The line of ashes pointed west of Minathlan now. She studied the map until she was certain she had memorized the pattern, then cleared away the traces of the spell.
She rose to her feet, dusted the last traces of ash from her hands, and walked back to her men. “Captain!”
“My lady?”
“My plans have changed. We will go southwest from here, instead of continuing to Minathlan.”
The Captain looked at her with wary curiosity, then nodded. Shalarn smiled as she remounted. She and her men could overtake these others in a day or two. Provided the ones she sought had no magic to hurry them along, she reminded herself. She would work the tracing spell every night when they camped to make sure she had not lost them. When she caught up to them—well, she would choose that road when she reached the crossing.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
As soon as they were well underway, Emereck rode up beside Kensal. “I believe you promised us an explanation, Cilhar,” he said.
Kensal sighed. “So I did. You saw the pieces of crystal?”
“I saw them.”
“That was a shadow-stone. It’s a kind of link to the nastiest bunch of sorcerers I know of.”
“A link?” Liana said.
Kensal nodded. “Under the right conditions, the sorcerers can use their power through the stones, cast spells through them, perhaps even travel through them somehow. And they and their servants can find one of those stones anywhere on Lyra.”
“That’s why you smashed it,” Emereck said numbly. “To keep them from finding us.”
“Yes. Soldiers and fighting men I can handle, if there aren’t too many of them, but wizards are another matter. Magic isn’t my specialty.”
“Then why are you helping us?”
“I owe you a life for your help at Ryl’s inn,” Kensal said after a moment. “And even if I did not, I am a Cilhar; I would do far more than this to keep the Harp you carry out of Syaski hands.”
Kensal’s explanation sounded reasonable, but Emereck was sure the man had not told him all his motives. He frowned, searching for the right way to ask the question, and Liana said suddenly, “Who are these sorcerers you spoke of?”
“They are called Shadow-born. They’re the ones responsible for the Lithmern invasion of Alkyra a few years back.”
“The Lithmern were defeated,” Emereck pointed out.
“Defeated doesn’t mean wiped out. The Lithmern are still there, and so are the Shadow-born.”
“But if the Alkyrans killed some of them—”
“They didn’t,” Kensal interrupted, shaking his head. “Apparently the Shadow-born can’t be killed, only bound.”
“Can’t be killed?” Emereck said incredulously. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous it may be, but it is true nonetheless.” Kensal looked at Emereck curiously. “You’re a minstrel. You must know the songs.”
“What so—” Emereck stopped. “The Pallersi Cycle? The Wars of Binding?”
“Exactly.” Kensal looked pleased, like a Master Minstrel whose apprentice has just correctly answered a difficult question.
“But those wars were three thousand years ago!”
“What is time to things without bodies?”
“No bodies?” Liana said. “I thought you said they were wizards!”
“They are,” Kensal replied cheerfully. “They just aren’t human wizards. Or Shee ones, or Neira, or Wyrd for that matter. It’s a pity in a way; Shee or Wyrds would be easier to deal with.”
“No one’s seen a Shee or Neira or Wyrd for centuries!” Emereck said, feeling more confused by the minute.
Liana looked as if she were about to say something, then changed her mind. Kensal shrugged. “Shee and Wyrds and Neira are just as real as Shadow-born. And it’s not true that no one has seen them for centuries; they’ve been all over Alkyra for the last four years.”
“I—” Emereck shook his head. He knew there were Guildhalls that considered the songs of the Pallersi Cycle to be literally true, but he himself had always thought that the songs and stories of the Wars of Binding were half poetry and half myth. Oh, there had certainly been some great magical conflict, but most of the Master Minstrels of Ciaron felt that it must have been an interracial war. Hadn’t the three nonhuman races—the Shee, the Wyrds, and the Neira—withdrawn from humans after the war? The “Shadow-born,” according to this interpretation, referred to those members of the Four Races whose hatred had begun the war. Some of the Masters even regarded the three nonhuman races as myths, though there were Alkyran records barely two hundred years old that mentioned Shee and Wyrds. “I would have heard of it in Ciaron if what you say is true!”
Kensal shrugged. “Talk to the Alkyrans. Talk to the minstrels who were there during the invasion. Your Grand Master himself crowned the new queen of Alkyra. Talk to him!”
“I know, but…” Emereck’s objection trailed off. If Shadow-born were real beings, not metaphor…
“But what are they, really?” Liana asked. “These Shadow-born?”
“Powerful, ambitious, and dangerous,” Kensal replied promptly. “I don’t know much more than that, and I don’t want to.”
“And you think they’re following us?” Liana persisted.
“The Shadow-born? No. One of their servants, perhaps. But that could be almost as bad.”
“How do you know all this?” Emereck asked suspiciously. “You said yourself you’re a fighter, not a wizard.”
“Ryl told me when she asked me to help her get the Harp of Imach Thyssel.”
Emereck’s head snapped in Kensal’s direction. For a moment he simply stared, trying to absorb the implications of Kensal’s statement. He and Ryl were working together, and they were after the Harp. But why had Kensal admitted it? He must know how Emereck would react. He might be trying to demonstrate his good faith. Or was he only trying to fool Emereck into thinking he was being open? “Please explain,” Emereck said at last.
“Ryl is one of the Five Eleann Guardians,” Kensal began. “I don’t know much about them, but one of their main jobs seems to be keeping an eye on the Shadow-born. Other than that, they don’t meddle much in the affairs of the Four Races.
“The Harp of Imach Thyssel
was one of the exceptions to that rule. Somehow when Imach Thyssel was destroyed, the Guardians got hold of the Harp. They couldn’t or wouldn’t destroy it, so they hid it in Castle Windsong.”
Emereck made a choking noise. “How do you know about—”
“I’m telling you. Now, I think I mentioned earlier that the Shadow-born were behind the most recent Lithmern invasion of Alkyra. The Lithmern were looking for a quick way of working sorcery and they released about fifteen of them. They must have thought they had a chance of keeping fifteen under control. The rest—”
“The rest? How many of these things are there supposed to be? And what does this have to do with the Harp?” Emereck said, bewildered.
“I’ll get to that. There are several hundred Shadow-born, I think. Most of them were bound under Lithra; there are a few others scattered across Lyra in other places. May I go on?”
Emereck nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“The released Shadow-born got out of control rather quickly. For some reason they didn’t unbind the others right away, just weakened their bonds or something. Maybe they didn’t want to share their freedom; maybe that’s just how Shadow-born think. Anyway, they loosened the spells holding the other Shadow-born, then went off to war with Alkyra and got beaten.”
“How could the Alkyrans defeat those things, if they’re as bad as you say?” Emereck demanded.
“That’s what the Four Gifts of Alkyra are for,” Kensal said impatiently. “Surely you knew they’d been found again?”
“Yes.” The tale had been a sixteen-days wonder at the Ciaron Guildhall. “But—”
“Who’s telling this story? The Alkyrans used the Gifts to bind the fifteen Shadow-born who’d come with the Lithmern army, but they didn’t do anything about all the others under Lithra. I don’t think they guessed there were more. And, after a few years, the Shadow-born in Lithra started working loose, and the Guardians had to go down and stop them.”
[Lyra 03] - The Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 17