The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel (20 page)

“But the harp isn’t—” Emereck stopped short. “I don’t appear to have much choice in the matter,” he said at last.

Gendron seemed relieved as he nodded to the remaining guards. Emereck watched as they tested the lock to make sure it was still secure, then hoisted the chest and left the room. The servants followed, to remove Flindaran’s body, and soon the only sign of the recent tragedy was a damp, scrubbed area on the floor.

When the last of the servants was gone, Gendron turned to leave. In the doorway he stopped and looked at Emereck. “If you’d like a different room…”

“Later, perhaps. Now I’d just… like to be alone.” Gendron nodded and left. The door closed behind him with grim finality. Emereck stood staring at it for a long time, wondering what to do now. He had allowed Gendron to confiscate a locked chest full of linen; the harp itself was still resting safely in the bottom of Emereck’s wardrobe, where he had moved it the day before. He would have to do something before the deception was discovered, and there was no one he could turn to for help. His only friend in Minathlan was dead, and he himself was to blame. Emereck had never felt so alone in his life.

F
OR A LONG TIME
, Emereck stared out the window with unseeing eyes. There was no room in his mind for anything but memories and grief. At last he began to pace. Unconsciously, he avoided the scrubbed place on the floor where Flindaran’s body had lain, though doing so gave his pacing a crooked track.

On his twenty-ninth trip past the doorway, Emereck’s mind began working again. He stopped and stood motionless for several seconds, then turned. With a jerk, he opened the wardrobe and started emptying its contents on the bed.

He had to leave. He did not know how he was going to get out of Minathlan; he only knew he must go, and at once. He hated this castle, had hated it even before Flindaran’s death, and now… He pulled the last of his belongings from the wardrobe and lifted out the Harp of Imach Thyssel. The sooner he got away from this place, the better.

He stared at the harp, wondering how he was going to smuggle it out of the castle. He could put it in the harp-case, but that would mean abandoning his own, ordinary instrument. Emereck thought of making the long journey to Ciaron without a harp he dared to practice on, and pressed his lips together. No. The Harp of Imach Thyssel had destroyed his friendship and killed his friend; he would not let it steal his music as well. He would have to find another way.

If he could disguise the shape somehow… Emereck studied the clothes strewn across the bed for a moment, then set to work. By using every bit of clothing and bedding he owned, he eventually achieved a large, shapeless bundle that gave no hint of the harp inside. He was nearly finished when he heard a soft knock on the door.

“A moment!” he called, and hurriedly knotted the last wrappings in place. He rose and dusted off his knees, then went to the door.

It was Liana, pale but composed. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said before he could collect his wits, “but I’m afraid it’s important. May I come in?”

“Of course,” Emereck replied automatically, and stepped aside. Too late, he remembered the bundle sitting in the middle of the floor, where Liana could not miss seeing it. So much for any chance of slipping out of the castle unnoticed, he thought, and turned.

Liana was staring at the bundle with a blank expression. As Emereck turned, she looked up and said, “You’re leaving. Someone was here before me, then?”

“No one has been here since—” Emereck paused. “—since Gendron left, earlier.”

“Then why?” Liana gestured at the bundle.

“I can’t stay. Surely you see that.”

“I understand, but—” Liana stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m doing this all wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Liana sighed. “I came because… because I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here, even if you don’t have the harp any more.”

“Why not?”

“Because of Talerith. She—” Liana hesitated.

“She continues her accusations, then.”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve never seen her like this before! She’s been demanding that Gendron have you locked up. She hates you, Emereck.”

“Do you think she will succeed in persuading Gendron?” Emereck asked, concealing his concern. If he were arrested now, his deception with the harp was sure to be discovered and he might never get away from Minathlan.

Liana shook her head. “It’s not that. Gendron knows what Talerith is like. But Flindaran was popular, and it’s no secret that there’s been trouble between the two of you these last few days. Talerith sounds reasonable enough, and she’s the Duke’s daughter. And there are one or two of the guards who would be glad of the chance to demonstrate their loyalty to her, even if it meant doing… something rash.”

Emereck stared. He could not believe what he was hearing. Yet… he could think of half a dozen songs of soldiers and men-at-arms who had dispensed their own justice in a king’s absence, or disposed of someone who was an embarrassment to their lord. “Black Dawn in Tarrabeth,” for instance, and “Captain Var ri Astar”—he’d sung that one at Talerith’s feast. It was, just barely, possible.

And if he were killed? Unlike Ciaron and Alkyra, the lands around Kith Alunel held a minstrel no higher than any other craftsman. His death would be an unfortunate incident for Duke Dindran to explain to the guild, no more. Under the circumstances, no one would ask many questions. A minstrel involved in the death of a nobleman would be an embarrassment to everyone. Emereck felt suddenly cold. “Lord Gendron can do nothing?”

“He’s trying, but things are… rather tense. It would be easier for him if you took a room at the inn for a while, and safer for you.”

“I see.” Emereck saw indeed. Liana might be concerned for his safety, but he had no illusions about Gendron. The Duke’s heir had seen how the Harp of Imach Thyssel could obsess people; he was taking no chance that Emereck might follow Flindaran’s example and try to steal it back.

“It’s just until the Duke returns,” Liana went on. “And that harp of yours really will be safe in the armory. Gendron’s already spoken to the guards. They won’t let anyone in until Duke Dindran comes home.”

“Lord Gendron thinks of everything,” Emereck said dryly. “It’s as well that I’d already decided to leave.”

Liana bit her lip and did not answer. Emereck turned and picked up his harp-case. Hefting the bundle that hid the Harp of Imach Thyssel, he followed Liana out of the room.

Emereck’s horse was waiting in the courtyard. Gendron had clearly been thorough in his preparations for the minstrel’s departure; equally clearly, he had no intention of giving Emereck any chance to stay at the castle. Emereck smiled sourly as he took the reins from a sullen guard. Gendron could have no idea how anxious Emereck was to cooperate in this particular plan.

He turned and bowed to Liana. “I thank you and your family for your hospitality, lady,” he said formally. “Convey my thanks to your brother.”

“I’ll come with you,” Liana said quickly. Emereck looked at her, and she blushed slightly. “To see you settled at the inn. Gendron will want me to make sure the arrangements are satisfactory.”

“Lord Gendron is kind,” Emereck said with a touch of irony, “but it is unnecessary.”

“I think he feels he owes you something, after all this.”

Emereck shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I won’t be going to the inn.”

“But there isn’t anywhere else.”

“Not in Minathlan. But there’s no reason for me to stay here, not now.”

“What about the harp?”

“As you said, it’s safe enough where it is,” Emereck said without meeting her eyes. “And sooner or later someone will have to report all this to the Guild. I’d rather do it sooner, and take whatever penalty they give me.”

“Penalty?”

“This whole affair has been a mess from the beginning, and it’s my own fault. I should never have brought the harp to Minathlan. And I doubt the Guild-Masters will approve of many of the things I’ve done here.”

“Flindaran’s death wasn’t your fault,” Liana said softly.

“It was, but it’s not only that.” He paused, searching for the right words to explain the long list of his mistakes and failures. He did not find them. “There are other things,” he said lamely.

Liana looked at him. “Couldn’t you wait until the Duke gets back? He won’t blame you for what happened.”

“I doubt that,” Emereck said, thinking of his encounters with Duke Dindran. “But that doesn’t really matter. I’m not leaving because of your father.” Belatedly, it occurred to him that Liana might have accepted that excuse. The Duke was certainly formidable enough to intimidate most people.

“Then why
do
you want to leave?”

“Because I can’t stay! There’s nothing to keep me here.” Even as he said the words, Emereck knew they were not entirely true. Leaving Minathlan would be a relief and a pleasure, but leaving Liana…

“I see.” Liana studied him gravely. Finally she sighed. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“
What
?” Emereck’s jaw dropped.

“I’m coming with you,” Liana repeated composedly.

“But you can’t just leave your family and go wandering around the country with no one but a minstrel for company!”

“Why not?” Liana sounded mildly curious.

“You’re the Duke’s daughter!”

“One of them. I’m afraid I don’t see what that has to do with my coming with you, though.”

“Lord Gendron won’t allow it.”

“Gendron has no choice in the matter. He can’t tell me what to do and what not to do, and he knows it.” Liana looked at him with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Emereck swallowed and tried again. “Why do you want to come with me?”

“You don’t know?” Liana looked at him. “Then let’s just say it’s my duty.”

“That’s ridiculous! How can it be?”

“You are— You were Flindaran’s friend. And someone has to tell your Guild-Masters what really happened here.”

“I’ll do that myself.”

“You’ll take all the blame,” Liana pointed out. “That’s not right, and it’s not true. So I’ll come with you, and explain.”

“Your father—”

“Duke Dindran would expect it of me.”

Emereck stared, then shook himself. The thought of the Harp of Imach Thyssel burned in his mind; if he let Liana accompany him, it would be almost impossible for him to keep her from discovering it. “It’s a long, dangerous trip. You can’t go so far with only me for an escort.”

“I can, and I will,” Liana said calmly.

“I don’t want your company!” Emereck almost shouted the lie, trying to make up in volume what he lacked in sincerity.

Liana’s face went very still; then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have it anyway,” she said firmly. She turned to one of the guards, who had been observing the argument with interest, and began giving him instructions.

Emereck stared at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail of her appearance. Then he swung himself into the saddle. “Not if I can help it,” he said, and kicked his horse into motion. He caught a glimpse of Liana’s hurt, startled expression, and the surprised and angry faces of the guards, and then he was through the gate and riding down the hill toward the town. The horse went faster than was truly safe on such a slope, but Emereck did not draw in his reins until he was well away from both castle and village.

He rode south until he was out of sight of Minathlan, hoping that Gendron, or anyone else who might be watching, would think he was heading for Kith Alunel. When Minathlan was safely below the horizon, he turned off the road and headed west. Soon he was hidden among grassy, rolling hills, and he relaxed slightly.

He did not make camp until it was too dark to continue riding. It could hardly even be called making camp, he reflected; he had no provisions for himself or his horse, and he did not even dare to light a fire. If Gendron had sent anyone after him, it would certainly attract their attention. All Emereck could do was gather a few armloads of the long grass, one for his own bed and the rest for his horse.

When he finished caring for his horse, he rolled himself in his cloak and sat staring into the moonless darkness. The wind whispered through the dead stalks of last year’s grasses, and the stars were bright and cold. The night had Flindaran’s face; even when he closed his eyes, Emereck could not escape it.

Finally Emereck rose and opened his harp-case. The polished wood felt warm and familiar to his touch. Harp in hand, he climbed a small hill nearby. He seated himself, facing north and east toward Minathlan, and lifted the instrument. His hands moved surely in the darkness, playing a soft, mournful accompaniment to the wind.

At last he hushed the harp strings and paused. Elewyth was rising, nearly full now, and the night was quiet, as though it waited for something. Emereck bowed his head, and began to play once more. After a time, he realized that the tears were streaming down his face. He turned his head aside, to keep from wetting his strings, and let them fall as the music of the Varnan Lament for the Dead hung in the air around him.

Shalarn stood in the gathering twilight, arms outstretched, weaving the warding spells around her camp. At last she lowered her hands, and nodded to herself. The spell would hold against all but the most powerful of magics, and she was sure to notice if something that strong were used against it.

She turned and walked wearily toward the fire her guards had made. “You seem tired, my lady,” her captain said as she seated herself.

“Magic can be wearing,” Shalarn said dryly.

“Is it really necessary for you to drain yourself this way?”

“Of course it is necessary! Whoever has been causing these delays has not given up.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Three times last night I felt someone lurking around the edges of my spell, testing it. It is not the sort of thing I could be mistaken about.”

“Yes, my lady,” the captain said stiffly.

Shalarn looked at him and sighed. He was her equal by blood, if not quite in birth, and he was her only real confidant. She did not want to alienate him. “Your pardon, captain. It is difficult to be polite when I am so exhausted.”