The Harp of Imach Thyssel Read online

  “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.

  Chapter 12

  EMERECK 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 F
olly” 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.

  The chest containing the Harp of Imach Thyssel was securely locked, but Emereck watched it warily as he began to play. No silver echoes accompanied his music, and gradually he progressed from scales to exercises and from exercises to ballads. With a kind of malicious glee, he ran through all of the scales and exercises Flindaran hated most. None provoked any response from the harp, and by the end of the day Emereck began to relax. He was considering whether to go out and face the Duke’s family at dinner, when someone rapped at his door.

  “Come in!” Emereck called without thinking.

  Flindaran stepped into the room and shut the door quickly behind him. Emereck stiffened. Flindaran leaned back against the door, watching him warily. “I came to see whether you were going down to dinner,” Flindaran said finally.

  “You are considerate, my lord.”

  Flindaran winced. “I suppose I deserve that. Look, Emereck… I want to apologize for yesterday. Last night, I mean.” His eyes drifted toward the chest that held the harp.

  Fleetingly, Emereck remembered the exalted look on Flindaran’s face when he played the harp. He wondered what it had been like. He did not say anything.

  There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry, Emereck,” Flindaran said at last.

  “I believe you mentioned that at the time.”

  “I thought I’d better do it again.” Flindaran looked at Emereck and managed a half-hearted grin. “Somehow I always have to tell you everything twice.”

  “Well, if you’d get it right the first time…” Emereck started, and stopped. They looked at each other, and Emereck looked away. “How is your brother?” he said carefully.

  “Mending. The healer says he should stay in bed for about a week, but he’ll be fine eventually.”

  Emereck frowned, surprised, then nodded in understanding. Oraven’s wounds had been serious, and Flindaran’s use of the harp had been interrupted. It was entirely reasonable that the harp had not healed Oraven as completely as it had Emereck. “I’m glad he’s better.”

  Flindaran nodded, and there was another awkward pause. Finally, Emereck cleared his throat. “Flindaran, I—Well, it was my fault, too. I’m sorry.”

  Flindaran’s grin was full of relief, but there was still a touch of hesitancy in his manner. “Then you’re coming to dinner?”

  “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll stand there complaining at me all night.”

  “Not if you’re going to start playing scales again. Don’t your fingers get tired?”

  “How did you know I’d been practicing all day?”

  “I was exercising in the courtyard this afternoon, and I heard you.” Flindaran nodded toward the open window.

  “I hope you enjoyed it.”

  “I might have if you’d played something besides dah-dah-dee-di-dah,” Flindaran said. “How can you stand doing that, over and over?”

  “How can you stand swinging a sword at a wooden stand, over and over?” Emereck retorted.

  “It’s not the same thing. Come on, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

  “Practice is practice,” Emereck said, as he rose and started toward the door. Flindaran grinned, bowed, and swung the door open. Together, they left the room and started toward the castle dining hall, still arguing with outward amicability.

  Emereck grew more and more restless as the days passed. The Duke of Minathlan showed no sign of allowing him to leave, and a guard remained outside his door at all times. Though Emereck’s movements were not restricted, the guard’s presence made him feel like a prisoner. He wanted more than ever too leave Minathlan, but he could not bring himself to leave the Harp of Imach Thyssel behind, and he could think of no way of smuggling it out of the castle. In the end, he sat in his room and brooded.

  Flindaran tried to distract him by sitting in Emereck’s room for hours, talking. Emereck did not know quite what to make of it, until he noticed Flindaran’s eyes drifting toward the locked chest in the corner. All of Emereck’s earlier misgivings returned with redoubled force. From then on, he watched Flindaran more closely, and soon discovered that whenever Flindaran thought he was unobserved he studied the chest that contained the harp.

  Emereck lay awake late that night, trying to decide whether to confront Flindaran with his suspicions. The following morning, he cornered Flindaran in the courtyard and explained what he had observed.

  “You’re imagining things,” Flindaran said when he finished.

  “I don’t think so,” Emereck said quietly.

  “Living with that thing in the same room is affecting your brain. You ought to get rid of it.”

  “I will, as soon as I get to Ciaron. The Guild-Masters are more than welcome to it!”

  Flindaran frowned. “I mean sooner than that. Why don’t you have it put in the strongroom?”

  “With all the guards your father has around this castle, the harp is just as safe in my room,” Emereck said. He did not add that he preferred to keep the harp under his own control as much as he could.

  “Yes, but in the strongroom you won’t have to worry about it all the time,” Flindaran said impatiently. “Come on; we can do it now. It will only take a few minutes.”

  “No. The harp is my responsibility. I’ll be anxious about it wherever it is, and I’d rather have it somewhere where I can keep an eye on it.”

  “And I thought minstrels only cared about music!” Flindaran said with a mocking sarcasm that was very unlike him.

  Emereck shrugged, trying to keep his temper. “At the moment I’m more worried about you than the harp.”

  “Worry about your scales, minstrel, not about me,” Flindaran snapped, and stalked off.

  Deeply disturbed, Emereck returned to his room and his harp. His fingers ran automatically through the long-familiar exercises, while his mind turned over and over the implications of Flindaran’s outburst. Finally he rose and bolted the door, then went to the chest that held the harp. He unlocked it, and slowly lifted out the linen that covered the harp. Even more slowly, he raised the harp and set it on the floor beside the chest.

  For a moment he stood staring at the dull ivory. The harp was destroying Flindaran, and destroying his friendship with Flindaran, and he hated it. It was powerful, and therefore dangerous, and he feared it as well. Yet, despite his hate and fear, he could understand Flindaran’s secretive obsession with the instrument. It was as though the harp had been meant to obsess people, and that made Emereck fear it all the more.

  He pulled his eyes away from the harp and climbed to his feet. He crossed to the tall wardrobe on the opposite side of the room, opened it, and studied the small selection of garments inside. He removed a sturdy, dark-brown tunic and returned to the chest. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the harp and wrapped it quickly in the tunic.

  When he was sure that no gleam of ivory showed through the wrapping, he carried the bundle to the wardrobe. He examined the shadowy interior briefly, then set the harp in the darkest corner. Finally, he adjusted his traveling cloak so that the folds hid almost all of the dark, oddly-shaped bundle.

  At last he was satisfied. It was not the most secure of hiding places, but at least the harp was well out of sight. Carefully, he closed the wardrobe door, then replaced the linen in the chest and locked the lid before returning to his practicing.

  For the remainder of the morning, Emereck moved restlessly from one thing to another. At last his uneasiness drove him out of his room and into the castle halls. Almost at once he noticed an unusual level of activity. Servants and guards were moving briskly up and down the corridors. Remem
bering the last, disastrous feast, Emereck stopped one of the men and asked the reason for the stir.

  “Preparations for my lord Duke’s journey, sir,” the surprised man replied, and hurried on.

  More puzzled than ever, Emereck continued walking. He was about to question another of the servants, when he heard Flindaran’s voice, hailing him. He turned, and saw Flindaran coming toward him.

  “So you finally gave up on your scales!” Flindaran said with a grin. “Where away now?”

  Emereck blinked. Nothing in Flindaran’s manner so much as hinted at the angry words he had thrown at Emereck that morning. It was as though the encounter had been completely forgotten, or had never taken place.

  Flindaran’s expression changed. “Uh, did I say something?”

  “What? Oh, no; I was just wandering.”

  “Come down to the courtyard with me, then; I’ve got some things to do.”

  “You seem a little more cheerful now than you did this morning,” Emereck said cautiously as he fell into step beside his friend.

  “It’s been a good day,” Flindaran said vaguely. He glanced down a side corridor, then stopped and called, “Kay! Father wants to see you before he leaves.”

  Kiannar nodded in casual recognition, and they continued on. “What’s all this about?” Emereck asked.

  “Father’s going to be away from the castle for a few days.”

  “This is an explanation? It’s obvious; half the castle is packing things.”

  “Well, that’s all anyone knows. He hasn’t said where he’s going or why.”

  “Is that wise? What if something happened?”

  Flindaran shrugged. “He ought to know what he’s doing; this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Besides—you know him. Would you want to ask him what he’s up to, if he didn’t want to say?”

  “No,” Emereck admitted. “But you must have some guess.”

  “No, and I’m not going to worry about it. It’s just one of his little mysteries; we’ll find out when he wants us to know.”

  A disquieting thought occurred to Emereck. “Who’s going to be in charge while Lord Dindran is gone?”