The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel (21 page)

“It is nothing. But whom do you suspect?”

“It has to be someone from Lanyk’s court, but beyond that, I do not know.”

“Could it be Prince Lanyk?”

“I have no doubt that he is behind it, but there must be someone else. He is no sorcerer.”

“His wife, perhaps?” The captain seemed dubious even as he made the suggestion, and Shalarn laughed.

“Tammis? No. Even if she had the courage to try something, it wouldn’t be magic. She’s some sort of Cilhar, and they’re warriors, not sorcerers.”

“One of the courtiers, then.”

Shalarn nodded. “But which? Think on it, captain, and if you come to any conclusion tell me later. Right now I wish to rest.”

The captain nodded and fell silent, but the conversation would not leave Shalarn’s mind so easily. Who was tracking her? She had seen no sign of magic during her stay with Lanyk, not even a simple warding spell. This sorcerer was either very good or very, very subtle indeed.

Frowning, Shalarn stared into the fire, but that last, unwelcomed thought would not go away. She turned over in her mind the things this sorcerer had done: the small but effective mishaps that had delayed her, the careful probing of her wards, the rusted nail inscribed with the Rune of Separation. Very good, and very subtle. Shalarn shivered and drew her cloak closer around her shoulders, though the night was warm and windless.

The interior of the tent was dark and curiously silent. The noise of men and horses moving outside was muffled, as if the sound were coming from a great distance. In the center of the tent stood a small table of polished mahogany. A tall figure in a hooded cloak sat beside it, bending in concentration over a black mirror.

Light flared suddenly, hard and cold, throwing sharp-edged shadows against the canvas walls. The mirror lit with a harsh blue-white light that moved like a living thing across its surface. For an instant, a dim, wavering picture formed: a dark-haired woman seated before a fire, pulling a cloak more closely about her. Then it was gone.

The hooded figure sat back and let the unnatural light die away from the surface of the black mirror. No use to try it again. The Lithmern sorceress had set her wards thoroughly. It was a pity she had found the nail. She was suspicious now, and more careful; it would be difficult to slow her any further.

Still, the delays had served their purpose. Lanyk should be at least a day ahead of Shalarn by now, perhaps more. As long as he didn’t bungle things, the Prince of Syaskor would have the focus of this power very soon. And once he brought it back, he could be disposed of.

A slender hand put back the hood of the cloak, revealing the brown hair and dark eyes of Tammis, Princess of Syaskor. Her lips were curved slightly in anticipation. Lanyk was in for a very unpleasant surprise.

The Duke of Minathlan frowned into the night. Behind him, his two guards were putting wood on the fire and feeding the horses. At last he turned to join them, but he had taken only one step when a voice came out of the sprinkling of trees behind him. “Good hunting to you, my lord Duke.”

“Ah, Welram,” the Duke said, without a trace of surprise. “I had begun to fear you were not coming.”

“Your news was irresistible,” the other said. He came forward, and the firelight gleamed on pointed teeth in a face that was vaguely catlike and entirely unhuman. Dark brown fur covered his face and arms, and his ears were the shape of a fox’s amid a dark mane of hair. The top of his head did not quite reach the Duke’s shoulder.

“I thought the Wyrds of Vallafana’s Forest would find it interesting. Will you be returning to Minathlan with me?”

“You would find it difficult to keep me away.”

The Duke smiled. “Very good. I will give you more details over dinner, if you will join me.”

“I would be pleased.” The two turned and went together toward the Duke’s men. As they seated themselves by the fire, a gold ring flashed on Welarn’s hand. The design on it was of a tree, with three moons tangled in its branches.

Ryl let out a long, slow breath and opened her eyes. Kensal relaxed fractionally and handed her a cup of water. He waited in silence until she set it aside. “Well?” he asked at last.

Ryl shook her head. “It is as you guessed, or nearly so. Flindaran tried to steal the harp, at his sister’s urging, and was discovered. In the quarrel that followed, he fell on his own knife and died.”

“You’re sure about that? It sounds a little too… convenient.”

“I am sure. Did I not tell you that the harp does not move easily away from one unwilling to give it freely?”

“So the minstrel still has it.”

Ryl nodded. “He has it. And he has taken it out of Minathlan.”

Kensal raised an eyebrow. “That’s hard to believe. Gendron would be a fool to let it happen, especially now.”

“Nevertheless, the harp is gone.” Ryl’s voice was calm and certain. “It moves west, toward the Mountains of Morravik and your home.”

“All right, then; when do we leave?”

“We do not. The Duke returns tomorrow eve; I would be here when he arrives. There are matters I wish to speak of with him.”

“You make having a little chat with a Duke sound easy,” Kensal said. “And I thought that getting that harp was important.”

“It is. But the Harp of Imach Thyssel is secret no longer. I sensed a presence as I… followed it. Perhaps more than one; I am not sure. If there are to be magicians involved in this, I may need an aid you cannot give me.”

Kensal studied her. “The Shadow-born
are
part of this,” he said flatly.

“I suspect it.”

“And you think the Duke of Minathlan can help against them? What does he know of magic?”

“More than you may think,” Ryl replied. “There are traces in this town, recent ones. Though I doubt that the Duke himself is the source of what I have seen.” She smiled, as though she considered the idea humorous for some private reason.

“As you will. But I grow tired of this waiting.”

“Then it’s as well I have another task for you; I would not have you grow bored in my service.”

“Boring is very nearly the last word I would use to describe it,” Kensal said with an exaggerated sigh. “What do you have in mind?”

“Follow the minstrel. He does not realize how near to danger he is. I think you can overtake him; he has but half a day’s start of you.”

Kensal grinned fiercely. “I can catch him. But what do I tell him when I do? He’s no fool; I doubt that he’ll trust me.”

“Tell him the truth, as much of it as he will hear.”

“Ryl, are you sure?”

“The time for secrecy is passing. And I think nothing less will convince him of our need in time.”

“If he can still be convinced.”

Ryl nodded soberly. “Yes. If he can be convinced.”

E
MERECK LAY STILL, TRYING
to recapture the dream he had been having. It had been important, he was sure, though he could not have said why. There had been music in it, and tall, gentle people with golden skin, and strange moonlight… He sighed as the memory slipped away, and became aware of a crackling sound nearby, and a smell of something cooking that made his mouth water. His eyes flew open, and he blinked in disbelief.

A circular area a few yards away had been cleared of grass and weeds, and a small fire burned cheerfully in its center. Two birds, pigeons perhaps, were suspended over the flames on a small but sturdy wooden spit. Liana sat on the opposite side of the fire, watching the birds cook. Beyond, a dapple-gray mare grazed beside Emereck’s horse.

“Good morning, minstrel,” Liana said calmly as Emereck sat up, staring.

“Liana, what are you doing here?” Emereck demanded.

“Cooking breakfast,” Liana replied. “I hope you like plains-duck; there isn’t much else to be found around here.”

“That’s not what I meant! How did you find me?”

Liana smiled. “I wasn’t more than an hour or two behind you. And I’m afraid you’re no plainsman; your trail was rather obvious.”

Emereck looked at the almost featureless expanse of grass and weeds that surrounded them. “It was?”

“For someone who has grown up around Minathlan, it was. I caught up with you last night, but I… didn’t think you would want to be disturbed then.”

She must have heard his harping. Emereck looked at her and became suddenly aware that he was still covered with the grime of yesterday’s journey, and that he was in need of a shave as well as breakfast. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind—there was nothing he could do about it at the moment—and said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You made your opinion rather obvious yesterday,” Liana said, studying the two birds intently. She leaned forward and adjusted their position, then went on, “But I happen to disagree with you. Besides, you left without taking any provisions, and I thought you might need a few.”

“You brought those from Minathlan?” Emereck asked, nodding at the plains-ducks.

“No, I shot them early this morning.” She glanced down, and for the first time Emereck noticed a bow and a quiver of arrows on the ground beside her.

“Oh.” Emereck had a hard time envisioning Liana shooting anything, but the evidence was unmistakable.

“The Duke insists that all of his family learn to use a bow,” Liana said. “It’s a tradition of some sort. I’m not as good as Kiannar or Oraven, but I’m better than Gendron. Talerith is just hopeless, but the Duke makes her try anyway.”

“I can imagine.”

“So I went hunting this morning,” Liana continued. “I thought we should save what’s in my packs, in case we can’t find any game later.”

Emereck shook his head. “There isn’t going to be a later.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m taking you back to Minathlan.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How are you going to take me back?” Liana repeated patiently. “You can’t very well tie me to my horse, you know, and I can’t think of any other way you could manage it.”

“I don’t believe you’ll stay out here alone if I head back,” Emereck said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Liana tilted her head, considering. “No, I don’t suppose I would.” Emereck let out a breath of relief. Liana smiled and said, “I’d go on to Kith Alunel, alone. Though I’m afraid it would make things a bit awkward for you when you got back to Minathlan; Gendron would certainly want some sort of explanation.”

“What
will
Gendron say about this?”

“Very little, I should think. I talked to him before I left, and he said most of it then.” Liana bent forward to examine the cooking birds. “He was almost as difficult as you’re being, but he gave in eventually.”

“I can’t take you with me!” Emereck had to exert all his willpower to keep from glancing at the bundle beside his horse that contained the Harp of Imach Thyssel. It was a good thing he had not taken time to make a proper camp the previous night after all; if he had loosened any of the careful wrappings around the harp, Liana would surely have noticed it at once.

“You aren’t taking me anywhere. I’m coming with you on my own,” Liana said. “Now, if you’ve quite finished your objections, why don’t we eat? I’m starving!”

They rode west all morning. At first, Emereck was silent, brooding over Flindaran’s death, and the harp, and especially over his failure to dissuade Liana from accompanying him. He had protested throughout breakfast and breaking camp, using every argument he could think of. Liana countered them all with an air of sweet reason that came near to making him wonder whether
he
was the one being irrational.

Liana glanced at him several times as they rode, but did not intrude on his thoughts except to point out very gently whenever he drifted from the direction he had chosen. After her second correction, Emereck abandoned the vague notion he had entertained of leading her in a circle and so getting her back to Minathlan. Liana was coming with him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Actually, he reflected, Liana could easily be an asset on the journey. She clearly knew the plains well, at least this close to Minathlan, and judging by breakfast, she was a good enough archer to supply occasional small game to supplement their dried provisions. Most of all, her presence was a welcome distraction from thoughts of the harp, and of Flindaran. He wondered how long he could keep her from realizing that he was going to Ciaron and not to Kith Alunel, and what she would say when she found out.

It occurred to him that telling her his true destination might be all that was needed to make her return to Minathlan. Surely, she would not insist on accompanying him so far! He took a quick, speculative glance in Liana’s direction. On the other hand, she was wonderfully stubborn. And she was sure to ask any number of awkward questions, once she learned the truth. Better to postpone that confrontation as long as possible, and simply accept her company in the meantime.

He sneaked another glance, and found her watching him. Their eyes met, and suddenly Liana laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said almost at once, “but it seems so silly for both of us to watch each other when we aren’t looking!”

Emereck grinned reluctantly. “I apologize for being such a poor companion,” he said. “I’ll try to do better in the future.”

“I don’t know whether you should,” Liana said thoughtfully. “It never seems to work when people try to be something they aren’t.”

“I beg your pardon?” Emereck said, considerably startled.

“O, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply that I think you’re always a poor traveling companion. You couldn’t be, or—” Liana stopped short.

“Or what?”

“Or Flindaran would have complained. He—he always did, you know, when he didn’t like something.”

“Yes.” Emereck was silent for a moment. “Flindaran never had much patience.” Suddenly he was intensely aware of Flindaran’s absence. The journey was too similar to the last one he had made with Flindaran; the countryside, the sound of the horses, the very freshness of the air made him think of his friend, and know that Flindaran was not there, would never be there again… “It reminds me of Ciaron,” Emereck said at random.

Liana looked from him to the empty grasslands and back. “This is like Ciaron?”