The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel (10 page)

The Lithmern captain had not done well, either. Of course, no one had expected the innkeeper to be a sorceress. The hooded one frowned. Who was she? The Dark Ones in the north had given no warning of her presence, but surely they must have known. Someone with the power to undo one of their spells could not have gone unnoticed.

At least Shalarn did not know that the leader of her men was working for someone else as well. The unseen lips curved. Did the Lithmern sorceress really think the captain could have cast the spell of black mist without help? But Shalarn seemed to have no suspicions.

So the effort at the inn had not been totally wasted. The captain of Shalarn’s men was now firmly committed; he would be very useful. And Lanyk was at last convinced that magic would be used against him. He would be more amenable to reason now, more inclined to listen to advice. And the net of subtle power and influence, three years in the making would close even tighter around the Prince of Syaskor.

The hooded one was very patient indeed.

E
MERECK’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF
Castle Minathlan was of a weathered mountain of gray stone. It was a huge, almost shapeless pile, surrounded by a litter of thatched huts and a maze of narrow streets. The people in the village seemed friendly, and Flindaran greeted many of them by name as they rode up to the gates.

Inside the castle courtyard, Flindaran led Emereck to a quiet corner and said, “Wait here while I find out who’s here and which rooms are free. I’ll be back in a minute or so.”

“But not before I’ve finished unloading, I’ll wager.”

“Would I do that?”

Emereck nodded as he dismounted. Flindaran grinned and left. Emereck began unloading the horses, taking particular care with the bundle that contained the Harp of Imach Thyssel. He suppressed a desire to unwrap it right there in the courtyard, and reached instead for the case that held his own harp.

“Welcome to Castle Minathlan, minstrel.”

The unexpected voice behind him made Emereck jump, and he almost dropped the harp-case. He turned and met the level gray gaze of a woman standing behind him. She was young, and her chestnut hair was pulled back from her face in a severe style. “Fair morning to you, mistress,” he said. He took in her dusty leather attire and the sheathed sword by her side, and added, “Or should I name you Warrior?”

“In Minathlan, the proper term is Sword-Wielder, but few here worry much about titles.” Her voice was light and noncommittal; it made a sharp contrast to her attire.

“Even so, I thank you for the correction.” Emereck bowed.

“Then perhaps you’ll take another suggestion. If you’ve something to keep secret, you’d do well to train yourself to be less easily startled.” Her eyes flickered to the bundle at his feet, then returned to his face.

“I’ll bear your words in mind,” Emereck said noncommittally. Inwardly, he winced. Had he been that obvious?

The woman smiled slightly. “Don’t worry that I’ll give you away. I know how to keep my own counsel.”

“I have no doubt of it. I think—”

“Kay!”

Emereck and the woman beside him turned to see Flindaran coming toward them across the courtyard. “I thought that was you!” Flindaran said when he reached them.

“Welcome home, Flindaran,” the woman said. “You’re a bit early, aren’t you?”

“We hurried.” Flindaran grinned; then his eyes dropped to her uniform and he shook his head. “Haven’t you let Father promote you yet?”

“I’ve been promoted, in a manner of speaking. I’m a Free Rider now.”

“I might have known you’d prefer something like that to a captain’s job.” Flindaran turned to Emereck. “In case she hasn’t mentioned it, this is my half-sister, Kiannar.”

Emereck bowed and murmured politely. Flindaran ignored him and turned to Kiannar. “This is my friend Emereck Sterren, from the Minstrel’s Guild in Ciaron. He’s even stubborner than you are, Kay.”

“He’s probably developed it from associating with you.”

“The thing I like best about you is your tact. Who’s home?”

Kiannar rattled off a list of names, most of them unfamiliar to Emereck. He listened intently, committing as many as possible to memory so that he could quiz Flindaran about them later. Kiannar finished her recital, and Flindaran frowned. “Oraven’s not here?”

“He’s out with the Riders, on the western border.” Kiannar’s voice was all but expressionless.

“He’s
what
? That idiot! He’s going to get himself killed, I swear it. Why does he keep doing these things?”

“He has reasons.”

Emereck looked quickly at Kiannar’s face. Her expression had not changed. He looked back in time to see Flindaran press his lips together tightly. The thought flashed across his mind that there might be a deeper reason than he had supposed behind Flindaran’s reluctance to speak much or often about his family, and then Flindaran said, “I know. How’s the town generally?”

Kiannar shrugged. “No one’s starving; it’s been a fairly good year.”

“Kiannar—” Flindaran began angrily, then stopped. “Never mind. Does Father still spend this part of the afternoon with the steward?”

“Yes, he does,” Kiannar said, looking faintly surprised. “But I doubt that he’s heard you’re home yet.”

Flindaran’s jaw tightened. “I need to talk to him once I’ve shown Emereck to his rooms.” His voice sounded strained. “Fare you well.”

Emereck barely had time to make a polite farewell and pick up his harp-case and the Harp of Imach Thyssel before he was hurried off toward the castle. Kiannar merely smiled and nodded, but all the way across the courtyard, Emereck could feel her eyes on his back. As soon as they were inside the castle and safely out of sight, Emereck turned to Flindaran. “What’s possessed you?” he demanded. “We left the horses and most of our bags just standing there!”

“Oh, someone will take care of them. Probably Kay; she’s good about that sort of thing.”

“We could have done it ourselves if you hadn’t been in such a hurry all of a sudden. What was that about, anyway?”

Flindaran looked back over his shoulder. “Kiannar is a grand person, and I’d trust her with my life. She also gets on my nerves every time we’re together for more than about a tenth of a candlemark.”

“Oh?”

“She’s always right, and it irritates me. Besides, I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

Emereck raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Flindaran’s answering grin was a little lopsided. “There are a couple of girls I want to renew my acquaintance with.”

“I might have known.”

Flindaran’s grin broadened. “This way.”

Emereck nodded. He did not ask any further questions, though he was no nearer understanding their encounter with Kiannar. It was plain that Flindaran did not want to discuss the matter. Emereck stored the incident in the back of his mind for further consideration and concentrated on remembering as much of their route as he could. The castle was even more jumbled on the inside than he had expected from its unorganized exterior, and he did not like the idea of being lost if he ever had to find his way around it alone.

Finally they reached the room Flindaran had chosen for him, and Emereck set down his bundle with a sigh of relief. He felt as though every servant and guard they passed had stared curiously at the awkward package. Though he knew he was only reacting to Kiannar’s uncomfortable comments, he was glad that he, and the Harp of Imach Thyssel, were safely out of sight.

As he turned toward Flindaran, the size of the room registered, and he frowned. “This is a little grand for a mere minstrel, isn’t it?” he said. His gesture included the red-gold canopy over the bed, the tapestries covering the walls, and the gleaming wooden furniture that was scattered about the room.

“You’re here as my friend, not as a minstrel.” Flindaran sat down in one of the chairs and looked expectantly from Emereck to the cloth-covered harp. “Aren’t you going to unwrap it?”

Emereck looked at him sharply, then reached for the bundle. Flindaran was right; he ought to make sure the harp had not been damaged during the journey. As the wrappings fell away, Emereck blinked. The Harp of Imach Thyssel seemed much plainer than he remembered. It looked more like the battered instrument Emereck’s first master had used to teach him to play than like a powerful maker of magic. He realized that Flindaran was watching intently, and he bent to his examination.

He did not find any new damage, but he scowled at the accumulation of centuries-old dents and scratches. None were serious, but still… He would have to have a proper carrying-case made for it before he left Minathlan. Knowing that the harp was protected by more than an old cloak or two would be worth the delay. Emereck looked up, and his eyes met Flindaran’s.

“Well?” Flindaran said.

“It’s not hurt.”

“Good. Then we can go see Father now, and get it over with.” Flindaran rose and started for the door.

“I’m still not sure I like this idea.”

“I thought we’d settled this on the ride here. You can’t bring a thing like that”—Flindaran waved at the harp—“into someone’s house without telling them about it. Particularly someone like Father.”

“Well—”

“Besides, he’d find out anyway, eventually.”

“Not unless you told him.”

“That’s what you think. He has ways of learning what he wants to know. I don’t know what they are, but they’re effective. Believe me, we’re better off telling him right from the start.”

“All right, but I still don’t like it. And I’m not going anywhere until the harp’s out of sight.”

“Why? No one even knows it’s here yet!”

“Flindaran!”

Flindaran shrugged and glanced around the room. “Stick it in that chest in the corner; I think it’ll fit. You can even lock it up if you want to. There ought to be a key around somewhere.”

A little irritated by Flindaran’s casual attitude, Emereck moved the Harp of Imach Thyssel into the chest. He covered it with some of the linen he found there, then rose and followed Flindaran out of the room. He told himself that no one but the two of them knew the harp was there, but his attempts at self-reassurance only made him feel more uneasy than ever. Finally he forced the harp from his mind and went back to memorizing corridors. He thought the twisting passages were beginning to make some kind of sense, when Flindaran stopped short at the juncture between two hallways.

“Lee!” Flindaran shouted, and took three strides down one of the passageways. Emereck reached the crossway and saw Flindaran a few steps away, hugging a tall blond girl.

She was dressed in a blue gown too fine for a servant’s but too plain for one of the nobility. She leaned back to look at Flindaran, and Emereck saw her face clearly for the first time. Serious brown eyes, straight nose, a mouth too wide for prettiness—and then she smiled, and she was beautiful. “It’s good to have you home, Flindaran,” she said, and her voice was warm and welcoming. Even though she was not speaking to him, Emereck felt at home.

Flindaran grinned. “You’ve gotten even prettier than you were when I left.”

The girl smiled again, and an irrational stab of anger drove all thought of the harp from Emereck’s mind. Flindaran should know better than to pay empty compliments to a girl like this! She deserved better than a casual flirtation; couldn’t he see that?

“Emereck, I want you to meet Liana,” Flindaran said, turning. “Of all my sisters, she’s my favorite.”

Sister
? Emereck bowed to hide his confusion and relief. “I am delighted.”

“You mean that, don’t you?” Liana said. Her voice was light and soft; it made Emereck think of distant flutes. Silver flutes, perfectly tuned. “I’m glad. And it will be nice to have music again. It’s been a long time since a minstrel came to Minathlan.”

“He’ll probably only be here a few days,” Flindaran cautioned her. “Don’t start planning a feast or anything.”

“But while I am here, I will be honored to entertain you as best I may,” Emereck said. “I only hope my playing will not disappoint you, my lady.”

Liana dimpled, and Emereck felt suddenly light-headed. “You are very polite, and I thank you very much,” she said, “but you really shouldn’t call me ‘my lady.’ I’m not entitled to it.”

Flindaran frowned suddenly. “Who says so? You’re my sister, aren’t you?”

“Not entirely. Don’t fuss about it, Flindaran, it’s not that important.”

“Well, you’re my father’s daughter. Isn’t that enough?”

Liana sighed. “It’s enough for me; I don’t need more. And it makes some people unhappy when you insist on giving me courtesies I’ve no real right to.”

Flindaran’s frown deepened. “Liana, if someone’s been stepping on the hem of your cloak, I can—”

“I told you it wasn’t important,” Liana said almost sharply. “I don’t like making people unhappy, especially about something as silly as a ‘my lady’ or two. What difference does it make?”

“I’m sorry. I thought… Well, all right, then. I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you.” Liana smiled and curtsied. Then she stepped forward and tucked her hand under Flindaran’s arm. “Now, tell me about your trip. You’re almost two weeks earlier than we’d expected, you know; how did you manage it?”

Flindaran glanced at Emereck. “We took a short cut.”

There was a small pause, then Liana said, “Then it’ll be another week at least before the caravan arrives? Talerith will be disappointed. She was looking forward to the fair, especially the dancing.”

“Dancing? Talerith? She’s still a child.”

“Maybe she was when you left, but she’s seventeen now. More than old enough for dancing.”

“A great age indeed,” Flindaran said solemnly. “Next thing you know she’ll be getting married.”

“I believe Lord Dindran has been approached about it at least twice already.”

“What!” Flindaran stared at her, then shook his head. “I must be getting old. Talerith, married!”

Liana laughed. “Oh, not for a long time yet. Years, maybe. But she’s certainly thinking about it.” She paused and looked at him sidelong. “You should stop and see her. She’d like that.”

“Maybe after Emereck and I talk to Father,” Flindaran said carelessly.

“You haven’t seen him yet? Then I’ve kept you long enough. But you’ll come back later and tell me about Ciaron, won’t you?” Her smile included them both.