The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel (16 page)

“Quite remarkable,” the little man said placidly in answer to the unspoken question. “He’ll need some rest, of course, and I’ll want to check on him now and then, but I believe the crisis is entirely over.” He looked speculatively in Emereck’s direction. “Interesting instrument you have there.”

“Not at all,” Emereck said coldly.

“I see. Pity.” The healer shrugged.

“Oraven’s really all right?” Talerith said breathlessly.

“Yes, of course I am,” Oraven said. “Except…”

“Except what?” Flindaran demanded instantly.

Oraven grinned broadly. “Except that I feel like sleeping for a week. Stop fussing at me, Flindaran!”

“Flindaran, you did it!” Talerith cried. “Oh, you’re wonderful!”

Behind her, Gendron was eyeing his brother with an expression of surprised respect. Under other circumstances, Emereck would have found it amusing. Flindaran flushed very slightly and glanced at Emereck, but he did not speak.

“Quite so. But Lord Oraven should sleep now,” the healer said firmly.

“Not yet,” Oraven objected. He smothered a yawn. “I’ve got to talk to Father first.”

“Then by all means do so,” said the Duke from the doorway.

Like dolls on strings, everyone’s head turned toward the door. “Father!” Talerith exclaimed.

The Duke surveyed the room. “There appear to be a remarkable number of people present,” he commented. “Since Oraven is apparently both out of danger and greatly in need of rest—”

“Oh, Father, it was wonderful!” Talerith said with a gushing enthusiasm that set Emereck’s teeth on edge. “Flindaran did it all; he found that harp on his way home, and—”

Sweet demons,
Emereck thought as Talerith chattered on,
Flindaran must have told her everything
! His anger surged, but he could not confront Flindaran now, in the presence of the Duke and so many others. He fought his emotions down.

“I am quite aware of what Flindaran has done, my dear,” Lord Dindran said. His eyes flickered to his son. “More so, perhaps, than he appears to be.”

“Sir?” said Flindaran.

“I doubt that there is anyone in the city who did not hear your… er… performance.”

“The whole
city
?” Flindaran repeated numbly.

“The instrument would seem to carry well.”

“I’m sorry. But I had to do it! Oraven—”

The Duke held up a hand. “Spare me your justifications, I beg you. I have neither time nor inclination to listen.”

“Father, you’re not being fair!” Talerith objected angrily. “Flindaran saved Oraven’s life!”

Lord Dindran looked at her. Talerith flushed. “I think it is time for all of you to go,” the Duke said, and waited.

Gendron bowed immediately and went to the door. Talerith moved slowly after him. Emereck turned and picked up the harp; when he turned back, Talerith was glaring at him from the open doorway.

“That’s Flindaran’s harp!” she said angrily.

“Talerith—” Flindaran said, rising hastily.

“Well, it is! He’s just a common minstrel; he can’t take it. You can’t let him!”

Flindaran shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think you understand, Talerith. Emereck and I found the harp together.”

“You saved Oraven with it,” Talerith said stubbornly. “It’s yours.
He
wouldn’t have done anything for Oraven if he’d had it.”

“No doubt the two of you find this conversation extremely edifying,” the Duke said. “I, however, do not. You will oblige me by continuing it elsewhere.”

“But, Father, you can’t—”

“Did I ask for your opinion, my dear?” the Duke said sweetly. “I do not recall it.”

Talerith turned bright red. “I beg your pardon, Father.”

“Very good. No doubt you will also beg your brother’s pardon, since it is his rest you are delaying.”

“I’m sorry, Oraven,” Talerith said. She threw her father a look of mingled fear and rebelliousness, and swept out of the room.

Flindaran started to follow, then hesitated. “Sir, if I may explain…”

“In the morning. And I shall be less interested in your explanations than in what you propose to do now that the harp is no longer a secret.”

“Of course, sir.” Flindaran bowed and left. Emereck followed his example. The Duke did not comment; he did not appear to notice Emereck at all. As the door closed behind him, Emereck heard the Duke say, “Now, Oraven, I am entirely at your service.”

Flindaran was waiting in the corridor. Emereck walked past him without speaking, but Flindaran turned and fell into step beside him. Emereck glanced at him and shifted the Harp of Imach Thyssel to his opposite arm.

Flindaran flushed. “Emereck… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!” Emereck did not try to keep the bitterness from his voice. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! No real harm’s been done.”

“No
harm
! Everyone in the city knows about the harp now.”

“You’re over-dramatizing.”

Emereck stopped and glared. “I heard the music myself, and I was all the way out in the courtyard. And I’m not the only one; everyone in the castle heard it as well.”

“People heard music; so what? If you’d quit shouting about it, no one will know where it came from.”

“How do you expect to keep it secret? Do you plan to lock up the guard and the healer and your sister?”

“Oh demons, Emereck, what’s so important about keeping it secret anyway?”

“How am I going to get it back to Ciaron quietly if everyone knows what and where it is? I had a chance when you and the Duke were the only ones who knew about it, but now…”

“You’re exaggerating!”

“I suppose you think no one else would want it?” Emereck said with biting sarcasm.

“Leave it here, then.”

“After what you’ve done? You had no right to take the harp!”

“I had to! I don’t expect you to understand—”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Emereck said bitterly. “I’m just a ‘common minstrel.’”

“I didn’t mean that, and you know it! You don’t have any brothers; how could you understand?”

“Why don’t
you
try understanding? Or didn’t it occur to you to ask what I thought?”

“Oraven was dying! You weren’t there, and I didn’t have time to find you.”

“You didn’t even try.”

“I tell you, there was no time! What was I supposed to do, apologize to Oraven’s corpse because I went looking for you instead of helping him? I thought you’d be willing to listen.”

“You didn’t think,” Emereck shouted. “You never think! You just rush into things without considering anything but what you want Flindaran, the great hero!”

Flindaran’s face was white with anger. “At least I
do
things instead of just thinking about them! Oraven would be dead now if I’d stopped to listen to you.”

“And what about the price? Did you think of that when you used the harp?”

“I don’t believe there’s any ‘price’ for playing it!”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Flindaran glanced back down the corridor, in the direction of Oraven’s room. He hesitated, and his eyes turned to the harp Emereck held. His face took on a faraway expression. “It was worth it.”

“Worth it!” Emereck spat the words.

“Yes, worth it! You’ll never know that, because you’ll never dare to play it yourself. You’re afraid of the harp because you’re afraid of yourself. I may have made mistakes, but at least I had the courage to try!”

“You’d have done better to have the courage
not
to try!”

“Don’t lecture me! That harp’s as much mine as it is yours. We both found it.”

“The Harp of Imach Thyssel belongs to the Minstrel’s Guild!”

“Take it, then! Take it, and much good may it do you!” Flindaran spun on his heel and left.

Emereck stood looking after him. Slowly, his anger drained away, leaving only a numb resentment and a tingling sensation where his right arm rested on the harp. Hastily, he shifted the instrument to his other arm and began walking toward his own rooms.

Emereck slept very poorly during the remainder of the night, and again his dreams were nightmares of torture. He awoke determined to leave Minathlan as soon as possible. He spent nearly an hour composing a suitably polite message to the Duke, requesting an interview. To his surprise, it was granted at once, and at mid-morning he found himself standing in the Duke’s study once more.

“I give you good morning, my lord,” Emereck said.

“And I you,” Lord Dindran replied politely, and waited.

“And Lord Oraven? How does he do?”

“Considerably better than might have been expected under… other circumstances.” The Duke studied Emereck for a moment. “Shall we dispense with this pretense? You asked to see me.”

“My lord, I—I wish to leave Minathlan. At once. I came to take my leave of you.”

“I see.” The Duke leaned back in his chair. “I rather thought it might be that.”

“Then you have no objection?”

“I have never had any objection to your leaving whenever you wish. The Harp of Imach Thyssel is another matter entirely.”

Emereck stiffened. “The harp belongs in a Guildhall, and the sooner it gets there, the better for us all!”

“Your faith in your Guildmasters is touching,” Lord Dindran commented dryly.

“You disagree?”

“Not at all. The Harp of Imach Thyssel undoubtedly belongs in a Minstrel’s Guildhall—if, indeed, it can be said to belong anywhere. Which of the Guildhalls will have the dubious honor of watching over it is for them to decide.”

“Then I am afraid I do not understand you.”

“I am not averse to your departure, with or without the harp. My objection is to your timing.”

“Surely you see why I must go! Flindaran and I—” Emereck hesitated, uncertain of how to finish the sentence.

“I am afraid your quarrel with Flindaran, unpleasant as it may be, has very little to do with this matter.”

“My lord, I cannot agree. The use of the harp has made my position here far more dangerous than it has been.”

“Obviously. But I fail to see how leaving Minathlan would make you any safer.”

“But Flindaran—” Emereck paused again.

“I would also like to point out that none of the arguments against your journey have changed since yesterday.”

“My lord?”

“The northern roads are impassable at this time of year. King Birn remains determined to keep minstrels out of Kith Alunel, and the Syaski grow more active than ever.”

“A single traveler might skirt Syaskor without attracting attention.”

“A single traveler is also easy prey for bandits.”

“Minstrels seldom have such difficulties, my lord. Even bandits welcome news and song.”

“I will not chance the Harp of Imach Thyssel’s falling into Syaski hands,” Lord Dindran said flatly. “Nor into the hands of the Lithmern, or of some band of robbers. Until I am certain that the harp can be moved in complete safety, it will not be moved at all.”

“You’re as bad as they—” Too late, Emereck realized what he was saying and stopped short.

“I believe I shall forget that remark,” the Duke said silkily, and Emereck had difficulty keeping from cringing. “Provided you do not make such a mistake a second time.”

“I am sorry, my lord; I am overwrought. I beg your forgiveness.”

The Duke studied him through narrowed eyes. “I have no interest in claiming this harp. You find that surprising? I do not wish to make Minathlan the target of every wizard, thief, and warlord in search of a quick route to fame and power. Which is precisely what will happen if it becomes known that the Harp of Imach Thyssel is here. I also have no intention of endangering Minathlan by allowing the harp to fall into the hands of Minathlan’s enemies, notably Syaskor. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly, my lord.”

“Excellent. In that case, I believe we have nothing further to discuss at present.”

“Then forgive me for disturbing you, my lord,” Emereck said. He rose and bowed, seething inside.

“One last thing,” the Duke said as Emereck turned to leave. “After the events of last night, I fear that the harp has attracted some undesirable attention. I have, therefore, asked my Captain of the Guard to assign someone to guard your room until it is safe for the harp to be moved. I am sure you understand my reasoning.”

“Of course, my lord,” Emereck said in a colorless voice. He bowed again, and left the room quickly. He had no doubt of the Duke’s purpose; the guard would protect the harp from thieves, but he would also prevent Emereck from leaving without the Duke’s permission. He was still smoldering as he went back to his room, and his temper was not improved when he found the promised guard already standing outside his door. Muttering curses, Emereck went inside and slammed the door, as if by doing so he could shut out Minathlan and all its inhabitants.

E
MERECK DID NOT LEAVE
his room for the rest of the day. He was torn between a desire to find Flindaran and apologize for his part in their quarrel and a continuing anger that Flindaran had been so careless with the harp. Anything might have happened! Below the anger and regret, buried so deeply Emereck scarcely admitted it to himself, was a strong undercurrent of fear—fear for himself, and fear for Flindaran.

What price would the harp claim? For Flindaran’s sake, he hoped fervently that the legends were wrong, but he did not truly believe it. And no matter what his friend had done, Emereck did not want to watch what the harp must do to him. Involuntarily, his eyes turned toward the chest that held the harp, and he shivered. If only he could leave now!

Unfortunately, Lord Dindran was right. Leaving Minathlan made no more sense now than it had two days ago. But how could he remain immobilized here, while “wizards, thieves, and warlords” collected and drew nearer? The longer he stayed, the more difficulties would await him when he left at last. Yet leaving would be nearly impossible without the Duke’s support, or at least his permission. And even if Emereck could somehow get the harp out of the castle, how could he keep it safe? Emereck felt like the shield-bearer in “Verrick’s Folly” with “seventeen choices and all of them wrong.”

Emereck scowled, wishing for a moment that he could give the harp to the Duke. Let someone else have the responsibility! But he would never be able to come up with an adequate explanation for his Guild-Masters. And who could say what the Duke of Minathlan might do once he had the harp? No, until he reached Ciaron, guarding the harp was Emereck’s problem. He sighed, and picked up his travel harp.