Authors: Joanne Bertin
It was Prince Rann, Bard Daera, and Raven’s friend Arisyn. “Kella, wait!” Rann called. Kella ran back to him. The children hugged.
“You were so brave, Kella!” Rann said. “Both today and when … um, the other time. We were all watching from up in the balcony. But why didn’t you tell me what happened?” he scolded. “I’d have told Uncle Beren to make Leet and his haunted harp leave.”
“The haunted harp that nobody but us believes in,” Arisyn said glumly.
Kella started to say something, then stopped. An odd look came over her face; half puzzlement, half … fear.
Alarmed, Maurynna said, “Sweetling? Are you well? What’s wrong?”
Fear turned to excitement. Kella turned in a slow circle. Suddenly she stopped and went back half a step. “There!” she said triumphantly, and pointed.
“There what?” Maurynna asked, thoroughly confused now.
“Rynna, do you remember me saying I could still feel the harp calling me, but that it was far away? When the guards brought the box into the room, it didn’t feel any stronger until Linden opened the box. Then it was awful. It went away again when he shut it, to just that little tugging. But it’s getting stronger now!”
Maurynna stared down at her cousin. “You’re feeling the other harp and not the—the whatever was in the box, aren’t you, Kella? It’s out there.…” She closed her eyes, murmuring softly, “If we could find it, then Raven is saved.…” Hope leapt up in her heart; the first real hope she’d let herself feel in far too long.
She knelt and looked deep into her cousin’s eyes. “Kella, I know how frightened you are of this thing, but you’re the only one who can find it. You’re the only one who can save Raven.”
Kella nodded, her face pale. “I want to help Raven,” she said in a tiny voice. “But I’m so afraid of it, Rynna.…”
“I’ll hold your hand,” Rann offered. He caught her hand and smiled at her.
“And I’ll hold the other,” Maurynna said. “You won’t have to touch it, sweetling. Just find it for me.”
Soon their strange little parade was jogging through the castle and out a door to the gardens.
* * *
The Justice of Balyaranna looked from one man to the other. “We seem to have reached a stalemate, my lords. But I, for one, am curious. My lord Portis, please take your seat again. Dragonlord, if you would take the witness’s chair, I am curious as to all that led you to these ‘pieces of spruce’ and where you found them.”
Truth be told, Linden was glad enough to sit down. “It began, my lord Justice, before my soultwin, Lleld and her soultwin, Jekkanadar, Otter, Raven, and I left for Jehanglan. One day we came upon Bard Leet in the library at Dragonskeep. He had, it seemed, rather odd tastes in reading.…”
* * *
“I’ve never been here before,” Rann said, looking around. He pulled Kella to a halt. “This is the oldest part of the gardens. There are … there are stories about it.”
Kella squeaked in fright. Maurynna started to ask “What stories?” but thought better of it. “Another time, Rann,” she said firmly.
“Yes, please, Your Highness,” Arisyn said. To Maurynna’s surprise, he reached out and snapped a branch on a bush, then propped it carefully against another. “One scary thing at a time if you would.”
“I’ve heard those stories. There is nothing here that will hurt us,” Daera said with quiet certainty.
Kella looked over her shoulder and searched the bard’s face.
Daera smiled down at her. “I’m not just saying that, Kella. It’s true.”
A sharp nod, then Kella tugged Maurynna and Rann along again.
The small band went deeper into the garden. Though it was not neglected enough to be called “wild,” Maurynna thought that the gardeners spent as little time here as possible. Yet the feeling of the place was not hostile or frightening; rather, a gentle melancholy pervaded the atmosphere, a kind of wistful sadness.
At last Kella led them to an arched “tunnel” of the roses that the Cassorins loved so well. It was the longest one Maurynna had ever seen; she peered down its length. There seemed to be an open area behind it and what appeared be a building of some sort beyond. And what was that stench? It smelled like something had died here. Then she realized that she’d caught similar whiffs from time to time as they’d walked through the gardens; she just hadn’t paid attention at the time. At least it didn’t seem to bother any of the truehumans.
“It’s there,” Kella said flatly, shaking like an aspen leaf. She pointed into the tunnel. “Somewhere in there. And I’m not going any closer!”
Maurynna nodded. “I won’t ask you to, sweetling. You’ve done wonders already, Kella. I don’t know if I could have been as brave. The rest of you can go back—”
“Raven’s my friend,” Arisyn said in a do-not-argue tone. “I’m going with you, Dragonlord.”
“Very well. Daera, please take Rann and Kella back to Rann’s rooms. I want Kella as far away from this thing as possible.”
Daera hesitated. “I’m not certain I can find my way back, Dragonlord. We came through parts of the garden that I’ve never seen before and it all might as well be a maze with those tall hedges.”
“Just look for the dangling branches,” Arisyn said. “If there wasn’t anything unusual there, every time we came to a choice of ways, I broke one and pointed it back the way we had come from. When you reach the apple tree ‘house,’ go down the path marked by the white rosebushes. At the rabbit fountain, go north. Oh—and when you get to the topiary bear, take the path that his right paw points to.”
Maurynna clapped him on the shoulder. “Smart lad!” she said with a grin. “Now—off with you.”
Daera led the children away at a trot. About a quarter of a candlemark or so later, Maurynna decided they’d given the others enough of a head start. “Let’s get this over with.” She led the way inside.
The tunnel closed over them and the scent of roses wrapped around them as they walked on and on. Save for the muffled sound of their own footsteps, the silence was absolute. No bird sang, no insect chirped. It seemed forever before they reached the glade at the end.
By some chance or a brave gardener—or magic—it was not overgrown with weeds. The lawn was of chamomile; it led up to the ruins of a large building of quarried stone, its empty windows staring blindly at them. A gaping archway led into its shadowed depths.
The smell was worse here. Maurynna breathed through her mouth as much as possible.
“Who would put a building here?” Arisyn wondered. “And what died here?” He wrinkled his nose.
So it was strong enough for a truehuman to smell now, too. That mystery would have to wait for another time. She stared at the building; something about it was familiar.…
“It’s a folly!” Maurynna said. “One of my great-great-something-grandfathers built one on our country estate in Thalnia. He liked to go there and work on his book.” She pointed to the dark opening. “I’ll wager anything that’s where we go.”
At the edge of the entrance Maurynna paused and sent several globes of coldfire ahead to light their way into the grotto. Dead leaves crunched under their boots as they walked. The sound bounced back from the walls, running ahead of them. Then, in an echo of the tunnel of roses outside, this tunnel opened into a room of stone.
And on a table made from one of the massive rectangular blocks that formed the walls lay a pale box of a shape that Maurynna easily recognized. How many times as a girl in Thalnia had she seen Otter take such a box down from the wagon that had brought him from the docks to Raven’s house? Then she had danced with excitement at the sight. Now her skin crawled; she could feel the dark magic within calling to her own magic. It was like the dull throb of a toothache.
But at least a toothache doesn’t make you feel … unclean.
“You took an oath, Leet,” she said softly. “One of the most sacred oaths in the Five Kingdoms and you chose to break it. I’ll see you given to Iryniel the Punisher yet, you bastard.”
Sixty-eight
When he got back to
their chamber, Linden was surprised that neither Maurynna nor Kella was there. He considered mindcalling his soultwin, but if she was comforting Kella, he didn’t want to disturb her.
He called for wine and left Otter, Lleld, Shima, and Conor in the outer room. Raven was back in his tower cell, true, but at least Linden had the satisfaction of knowing that Leet was under guard as well.
Once in the sleeping chamber, he stripped, heatspelled the water in the stone basin, and washed off the worst of the dirt and grime. Oh, for a proper bath and a good, long soak.… As he dressed once more, he felt Maurynna touch his mind. Moments later he burst into the small sitting room. Surprised faces turned to him.
“Maurynna’s found the haunted harp,” he announced grimly.
* * *
It seemed to take forever and a day before the door opened. To Linden’s surprise, it was Sevrynel’s foster son, Arisyn, who carried the traveling case. Maurynna followed him, pale and sweating.
“I couldn’t carry it anymore,” she said. “For some reason I could feel it even through the rowan. It wasn’t like that with the soundboards. Those I couldn’t feel at all, just a little when you opened the box. But this—this is horrible.”
Arisyn set the case down on the hastily cleared table. “While I can’t feel a thing from it,” he said cheerfully. “And I think I’m quite glad, too.”
They circled the table, staring down at the wooden harp case that lay there, its rowan boards pale against the dark chestnut table.
“I can feel it,” Lleld whispered.
“As can I,” Shima said.
“And I,” Linden said thoughtfully. “But Arisyn can’t. But why … Wait. Arisyn—can you sing?”
“Not a note, Your Grace.”
“Neither can I,” Maurynna pointed out.
“I know,” Linden said dryly. “But you can feel it nevertheless. It must be calling to our Dragonlord magic.” He glanced at Conor; the Beast Healer shook his head.
Otter said slowly, “Are you certain you can feel something from this, boyo? Because I can sing and yet I don’t feel anything from it.”
“Truly? Odd, I would have thought … Ah well—I suppose we might as well get this over with.” Linden opened the box and set the harp onto the table, touching it as lightly as possible. “Hmm—no silk lining to this box. Maybe that’s why it ‘leaks.’”
It was a beautiful thing, he thought, just like the harp Leet had played the night before the Queen’s Chase. As far as he could tell, the two were identical save for—yes, Kella had been right. The flowers around the seagull on this harp were
not
bluebells. He stared at the circlet of King’s Blood and shook his head. “Save for the flowers, it might be the same harp we heard at the encampment.”
“By Auvrian!” Otter said suddenly, bending closer to study the harp. “That’s ash! He had harps made with
ash
wood?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Shima asked. “It sounded very nice when he played it.”
Otter snorted. “It might very well sound nice, but most bards wouldn’t have a harp made of ash even if they could find a luthier to make it for them. Ash is considered unlucky because it’s a wood of war; spear shafts are made from it.”
“How appropriate for a harp meant to kill,” Lleld murmured. “Brrrr! That thing makes my skin crawl.”
* * *
Otter studied the harp. It truly was a beautiful thing; Thomelin the luthier had outdone himself. Still, as far as he could tell, it was just a harp like any other.
Then Shima ran a finger down the strings. He snatched his hand back with a curse in his own tongue.
Yet Otter barely noticed. With the first bell-like tone, he was in a different world. There was only himself—and the harp. Himself and the harp … Himselfandtheharp … He sat in one of the chairs, pulled the harp to him, and began to play.
Dearest gods, he’d never felt anything like this. Like a fine wine, there were different “flavors” to it. An undertone of fear, bewilderment, even a touch of revulsion—all from him, he realized—but lost in a rush of power, of standing like a god over all others. And now the last nuance was coming through.… He had it now. Hunger. So much hunger …
Powerful hands clamped over his wrists. He yelped in pain and surprise. Otter tried to free himself but to no avail. A deep voice ordered, “Get the damned thing away from him!”
Other hands snatched the harp away. “No!” he cried, struggling to get to the harp that called so sweetly to him. He wept, a lover wrenched from his darling.
There came a ripping sound, then—peace. It was over. The harp no longer called to him. Otter fell back in his chair. He felt like a man who had escaped from the jaws of a ravening shark and now lay gasping on the beach, trying to make sense of what had happened.
He stared dull-witted at Maurynna as she laid a cloth-wrapped bundle in the traveling case. As she tucked the last bits of embroidered fabric into the rowan box, she muttered, “Beryl will never forgive me for ruining that bed hanging”—here she slapped the lid on the box and pushed down to make it all fit—“but I daresay a bolt or three of Neiranal silk from Dragonskeep will help.”
Whaaat?
Otter’s mind asked blearily. Then he saw one of the bed curtains was ripped straight across. The thought of the strength required to rip silk that heavy sobered him.
So did the pain in his wrists. He looked down at them as Linden, standing behind him, released his grip. The marks of the Dragonlord’s big hands were plain to see.
“That will raise a fine crop of bruises,” he said with forced lightness.
“My apologies, Otter,” Linden said, coming around to face him. “But I had to stop you. Yours was not a truehuman’s strength just then.” A pause, then a wary “I didn’t break anything, did I?”
Otter twisted his hands this way and that. “No, you didn’t—but I still would have thanked you if it had taken that to free me from that, that …
thing
!” he said.
“It was horrible,” Arisyn said. His voice shook.
“You felt it when Otter was playing?” Linden asked.
“I did. It was …
horrible
!” the boy repeated.
“It was,” Otter agreed. He rubbed his forehead; all of a sudden he felt exhausted. “How could Leet do such a thing? Yet I can also understand why. You can’t imagine the feeling.… It must be like rich wine to a drunkard. You can’t stop; you always want more—and more and more.”