The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  But need and desire and want had overwhelmed him. The journey so far had been a torment. The sight of her, the smell of her hair, the sound of her soft voice, so musical, made him mad. He heaved a sigh, and fingered his dagger, drawing designs in the soft sand of the cavern’s floor. Who was this old man?

  “The prince keeps the watch.”

  Cariad leaped to his feet, sword up.

  Ludi held up both hands. “Calm yourself, young prince. I mean no harm to you or to your house.”

  “How do you know who I am?” Cariad spoke through gritted teeth.

  The old man hunkered down beside the firepit. His movements were smooth and deliberate, his face was calm, and in his eyes was no hint of the madness of earlier. “I am the lost thurge,” he said simply.

  “The lost thurge. The lost thurge of Gravenhage, who rebelled at the end when the original thurges and thanes agreed to sleep.” Cariad shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that, old man.”

  Ludi spread his hands. “I can tell you no more than the truth, young Prince of Gravenhage.”

  “You look remarkably well preserved for what—over ten thousand years old?” said Cariad dryly.

  Ludi nodded and smiled disparagingly. “I deserve that. And more. For I betrayed my goddess at the end, and all my friends.”

  “You still haven’t told me how you know who I am.”

  “I know who you are because I see the truth. It is the curse of living these years, to see what lies beneath the outer face which all present before the world.” His voice lapsed into silence, and he stared into the fire. “An extension of the thurge’s doom, you see, is to see the truth. The truth is not often what we imagine it to be.”

  “So if you know that I am the Prince of Gravenhage, you know the circumstances which led to my being here? In this time and place?”

  Ludi shrugged. “I see your sin. That’s enough.”

  Cariad shifted uncomfortably. “I lost the woman I believed I loved, for all time, and the child we both wanted. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Enough what? Enough payment? Enough suffering? How should I know, my thane? I have wandered over this world for the last ten thousand years—and I will only be released when another comes to take my place. I ask you, is ten thousand years of torment not enough?”

  Cariad smiled slowly. There was something about the old man, something indefinable, that he trusted in spite of all the reasons he could think of why he should not. “Then you know who she”—he jerked his head toward the alcove where Juilene slept—“is?”

  Ludi nodded slowly. “I see the truth of her, as well, yes.” He took a deep breath and hesitated. “You stand at a crossroads. You have a choice to make.”

  Cariad leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “The harp she bears is the Harp of Dramue—the harp which all the Guardians of Eld have searched for these many years. But the time is not right to bring it back to Eld—the thurge who searches for you both knows exactly where you flee. If you stay upon this road, you may well lose the harp and your lives.” He drew a deep breath and heaved a great sigh, and the flames in the firepit leaped higher. “But if you choose not to go to Eld—” He shook his head once more. “I cannot see the future, young thane. Only the truth.”

  Cariad leaned forward. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “You are the non-born knight of Thurge Lindos’s doom. You are destined to meet him—and to kill him. I cannot see the way of it. But there is less risk of the harp being lost once more if you take another road.”

  “Another road? Not go to Eld?”

  “Yes.” Ludi nodded slowly, staring into the flames with puckered brow. “Choose another road. Seize your fate and ride to meet it.”

  “You would offer me counsel, wizard, without explanation. If the harp Juilene carries is truly the Harp of Dramue, then surely it will be better to take it to Eld as soon as possible, where the Wardens will see that it is kept safe.”

  “Do you think it chance that you were attacked today? Do you think the thurge who pursues you is any less determined than you are?” Ludi lifted his head and stared beyond Cariad’s back to the tunnel that led to the outer cave. “He—and his sister—won’t give up easily. You think because you’ve banished a few mere thurge-sent grimmen that the battle is won, and you and your lady can go on your way without fear? The dangers of the wilderness—”

  “Are legendary. My uncle often told me tales. I know what lurks within it.”

  “Ha! Let me finish. The dangers of the wilderness are easily manipulated. Where do you think all the wild elements were banished, long ago? Do you think perhaps the goddess took them with her? That’s not the way it works, boy. Any thurge with the desire to invoke the wild magic can find what he needs within these borders. Heed me, boy, and take another road, if you want to keep your lady safe.”

  “She knows the dangers,” answered Cariad slowly.

  “Does she?” Ludi met his eyes squarely. “The curse is lifted from her—by your own hand—but do you think Rihana and her brother have lost any interest in you? Don’t you think Rihana herself can see the strands of her own work on you?”

  A chill went down Cariad. “Surely—that isn’t—”

  “You ever see your handwriting, boy, from when you were a child? Looks different, but something of what it will become is in it, isn’t it? This is the same in reverse—harder to spot, perhaps, but still there.”

  “And you think if we turn off the road to Eld—and go to another place—we can buy the time we need to save the harp and ourselves?”

  Ludi nodded. “The harp’s in danger, so long as the thurge pursues you. You must turn him away from you. And there’s only one place you can go, where Diago will be loath to extend his magic—Sylyria.”

  “Sylyria—where Lindos reigns as Over-Thurge? Where I am his doom?”

  Ludi nodded. “Wild magic is awake in the land, boy. You don’t know what it feels like, but I do. All the wilderness sings with it—stirs with it—nothing is quite the same as it was.”

  “And this Lindos—I am meant to kill?”

  “A thurge’s doom is always true.”

  “Why will Diago not pursue us into Sylyria?”

  “In order to find you, he has to use his magic. And that magic leaves a trail—a scent, so to speak. He won’t do that—he won’t want to draw Lindos’s attention to himself.”

  Cariad sat back. The fire leaped and burned, as though no time had passed at all, and the cavern about him was utterly still. It was as if they had wandered into a bubble, where everything stayed the same.

  “The storm is over,” said Ludi. “It will be a fine day. But the paths are muddy; you must take care.”

  “You can tell me no more?”

  “I can tell you only this—if you persist in going to Eld, the harp will most likely be lost before you get there. If you go to Sylyria…” His voice trailed off. “All that is, won’t be.” He spoke in a breathy whisper, staring transfixed into the flames. “Everything shall change—time itself is altered.” He stared at Cariad, his eyes clouded and no longer clear. “I can see no more, young prince.”

  “Wait—can you tell me if there is anywhere else we can go? Parmathia? Albanall?”

  “We can only hide from destiny so long, my prince. And yours pursues you on eagle’s wings. The hound at the hunt is no more eager on the trail than your fate. And none of us escapes in the end. Leave the things you brought from Diago’s house in my cave. The scent will grow cold—his purpose will be frustrated, and it will buy you a little more time.” He rose, his joints creaking audibly like any ordinary old man’s. “Your love lies waking.”

  Cariad glanced over his shoulder at the niche where Juilene slept, and when he looked back, the old man was gone. A chill went down his spine. He got to his feet, and a mantle of weariness seemed to descend upon him. He drew a deep breath and deliberately straightened his shoulders. He ducked down through the low opening.

  Juile
ne lay in the center of the bed, her hair streaming on the pillows. She smiled when she saw him, and held out her hand. Swiftly, he moved to take it, and pressed a kiss upon the palm. “We have to leave,” he said.

  She nodded, her eyes still glazed with sleep.

  He paused, wondering how to tell her of his conversation with the old man. “I’ve been speaking to our host,” he began. “And he doesn’t think we should go to Eld.”

  “Why not?” She sat up and stretched, and covered a yawn with the back of one hand. “Where are we to go then?”

  “He thinks we should go to Sylyria.” He waited to see her reaction.

  Her eyes widened, and a smile broke out on her face. “Sylyria? Truly? You would take me home?” She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him closely. “Truly?”

  He hugged her back, unable to resist the feeling of her body pressed against his. “It isn’t that simple, Juilene. You heard what that old man called me last night—the non-born knight. That means I am Lindos’s doom. We are fated to meet—at some point.”

  “And if we go to Sylyria, then you will, and all the people Lindos has hurt or killed will be avenged, and you and I can live happily…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on his face. “Forgive me,” she said at once. “I have no right to expect—”

  He caught her hands in both of his, and brought them to his mouth. “Juilene, there is no future I can imagine that does not have you in it. But things are far more complicated than you know.”

  “Then tell me,” she said, sinking back on her heels. “Tell me all of it.”

  He picked up one curl as it lay over her shoulder. “I would that I could, my dearest love. And I will, I promise. I owe you that.” He shook his head and turned away. “But right now, we must ride. Every moment we stay here is a moment we lose. The longer we stay in the wilderness, the longer we are vulnerable to attack from Diago. So come. The storm is over and Ludi says it is a fine day for travel. If my memory serves me correctly, we can reach the road to Sylyria by nightfall. What do you say to a night in a proper inn?”

  Juilene smiled in spite of herself. A bath, a real meal, a wide bed—one shared with Cariad. “It sounds fine to me.”

  “Then up with you, lazy woman. The hour grows late.”

  He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and a light spank on the rump, and left her. He ducked out the opening and stood in the cavern. The firepit was empty. Nothing burned within it, and no ash marred the interior. But light streamed from an opening in the roof of the cavern, showering dust motes, and beside the empty pit, two loaves of bread and a flask lay on a piece of linen. Beside the linen, two traveler’s packs were propped against each other, and resting beneath them both were piles of fresh clothing, carefully folded. Two pairs of boots, one much smaller than the other, leaned against each other. He knelt and touched the food. The flask was silver, blackened and dented in spots. It appeared very old, and the linen—he looked at the linen and a chill went through him. It was a crest he knew nearly as well as he knew his own. The crest of the Over-Thurge of Gravenhage was worked in faded thread.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They reached the road to Sylyria long before nightfall. As if the storm had cleansed the land, they found the path muddy but clear. Cariad was wary and alert, his hand never far from the hilt of his sword, but the horses moved with relative ease across the sandy track.

  At midday, they paused and ate the rest of the bread Ludi had left for them. There was more to the food than bread, Juilene thought, for it filled her with an energy that made her feel as though she could travel on for miles more. She looked all around herself with interest. Could it be possible that they were truly going home?

  She gazed into the distance where she imagined Sylyria lay, imagining what her father and her brother would say when they arrived at the gates of Sarrasin. Oh, to be home, once more. To lie in the bed where she had grown up, to feel the clean white linen sheets, the blankets worn by use to a rich softness nothing else could match, to once more see and touch and know all the familiar things she had thought were lost to her forever. And old Neri, dear Nenny. She hoped the old woman had healed over the months of her absence. She would make the pain and suffering up to the old woman, somehow. Somehow she would find a way to make the old woman realize how much she loved and had missed her. And poor Reyerne, what would he say, when she returned bearing a harp thought to be—no, recognized by the crazy old thurge as the harp borne by the goddess herself.

  “Juilene.” Cariad’s voice, gentle as it was, burst through the bubble of her reverie like a needle through silk.

  She started. “Y-yes?”

  “Come. We’d best be on the move again. I don’t trust this land. We may have bought ourselves a few hours by turning off the track to Eld, but I don’t trust Diago and Rihana either.” He extended his hand and helped her to her feet.

  She brushed the crumbs of food off her tunic. “Very well.” She swung into the saddle with an ease that was new to her. Cariad mounted his own horse, and together they set off down the shady path.

  “Daydreaming, were you?” His words intruded just as the pleasant bubble was beginning to enfold her once again.

  She flushed. “Yes. I—I can’t wait to see home again. I never realized how much I loved it, how much I would miss it, until I had to leave it.”

  Cariad’s smile was grim. “Juilene—” He hesitated, as though searching for the words. “Everything may not be as you remember.”

  She turned to look at him. “Why? What do you mean?”

  He drew a deep breath and hesitated once again. “The reports coming from Sylyria have not been good.”

  “Yes—I know that. I know of the war between the thanes and the thurges—but my father is a great thane—one of the most powerful and the richest. Wait until you see Sarrasin—it could withstand anything the thurges might send against it.”

  Cariad shook his head. “I hope for your sake you are right, my dear.” He lapsed into silence.

  Juilene gazed at Cariad with a troubled frown. It seemed that since last night—since yesterday—a distance had come between them, that their physical intimacy had not increased the familiarity between them, it had only served to distance them, somehow. A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. But Cariad loved her; the curse was lifted, wasn’t it? Or had the crazy old thurge been wrong? She blinked back tears and stole a peek at Cariad’s back. He rode with a ramrod-straight back and a troubled frown. Something was obviously troubling him. She pressed her lips together and tightened her hands on the reins. She would speak to him that evening.

  The shadows had fallen and the stars were shining in the black sky when they reached an inn on the road to Sylyria. Cariad had refused to stay at the first inn they had come to earlier in the evening. There was still a bit of light left in the sky, and he had insisted they press on, while the evening still had a bit of light left to it. Juilene had only nodded and said nothing. She wasn’t sure of his moods, and she had no wish to say or do anything to further upset him. As the miles had increased, he looked more and more troubled. She only resolved to confront him as soon as they were settled for the evening.

  In the courtyard, they slid off their weary horses and a couple of grimy stablehands came forward to take their reins. Cariad picked up their packs and together they entered the common room of the inn. Only a few travelers sat at the tables scattered throughout the room.

  “May I help you, friend?” A small man behind the bar paused in pouring wine into high goblets.

  Cariad nodded. “Lodging, if you have it. And a bath if you have it, and dinner.”

  The landlord nodded as he beckoned to a serving maid. “Right away, sir. The bath will take a few minutes, but I can show you a fine room, and dinner is hot and ready anytime. Will you come with me?”

  Cariad gestured to Juilene. The landlord slid out from behind the bar and disappeared up a set of stairs to the right. They followed him. One lone candle burned in a sconce
high at the top of the steps. “Be careful,” Cariad murmured.

  “Forgive me, sir,” the landlord said as they reached the top. “Trade’s been off these last months. We’ve had to make some small economies. But you’ll see that my rooms are clean—my food is good, and my ale the best in the district.”

  “We understand,” said Cariad.

  The landlord withdrew a ring of jangling keys from the depths of his robe, and led them down the shadowy hall. He paused at a door in the middle of the corridor, inserted a key, and pushed it open. “Here you are, sir.” He stood aside, allowing Cariad and Juilene to peek past him into the room.

  The room was dark, and there was a chill in the air. Juilene could see little but the posts of a wide bed, and a table and chairs at the foot of the bed. Cariad grunted his assent “That will do. You’ll get the fire going, won’t you?”

  “At once, sir. And a bath—I’ll have that brought up to the room and made ready. Will you want something to eat while you wait?” The landlord rubbed his hands together. In glee, thought Juilene, or in the fear they might get away?

  She looked down at her feet. The thin piece of carpeting looked threadbare. Small economies indeed.

  “We’ll eat now,” Cariad was saying. “Bring us your best—we’ve traveled a long way.”

  “At once, at once.” The little landlord eased past them and started off down the hall. “Been on the road awhile—I know how that is. Did a fair amount of traveling in my youth, I did, before my father passed on and left the inn to me. We have quite a reputation, you know—best ale in the district.”