The Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 15

  Puzzled, Emereck allowed the man to return to his mutterings. Ryl was a sorceress; it was possible that she was more sensitive to the influence of the harp than other people. But Emereck had no real basis for assuming that Ryl was Kensal’s companion. He wanted to ask the apothecary’s assistant for a description of the sick woman, but he did not quite dare. If the two were after the harp, he did not want word of his interest to reach them. He had already displayed too much curiosity about the Cilhar and his lady.

  He shifted uneasily, thinking of the Harp of Imach Thyssel lying unguarded at the bottom of the wardrobe in his room. Well, not totally unguarded, but what could Lord Dindran’s men do against magic? Perhaps Flindaran was right to insist that the harp belonged in the castle strongroom. Emereck frowned. He should never have come down to the village… no, if he hadn’t come, he wouldn’t have discovered Kensal’s presence in Minathlan. The thing to do now was to get back to the castle quickly and tell Flindaran what he had learned. Perhaps they could think of a way to protect the harp; at the very least, the guards could be warned. Emereck glanced toward the inner door of the shop. How much longer could it take to mix the potion Liana wanted?

  Liana and the apothecary emerged at last. Emereck contained his impatience long enough to take his leave politely, but as soon as they were out of the shop he turned to Liana. “Is there anything else you have to do right away?”

  “I have a few more errands, but they shouldn’t take as long as this one. I’m sorry you had to wait for me this time.”

  “No, it’s nothing to do with you. I… saw an old friend, that’s all, and I need to talk to Flindaran about it as soon as I can.”

  “And you want to go back to the castle now.”

  Emereck hesitated, then nodded. Liana studied him. “This is more important than you’re saying,” she said at last. “Let’s go, then.”

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized I was being so obvious.”

  As they started away from the square, Liana smiled. “You’re nearly as tense as one of your own harpstrings. Is it a secret?”

  Emereck hesitated. “Not exactly, but… well, it’s a long story.”

  “Tell me.”

  Somewhat to his own surprise, Emereck did. He was not really giving the secret of the harp away, he told himself; Liana must know something about it already, if only from Flindaran’s healing of Oraven. Besides, it was a relief to share the secret with someone other than Flindaran and his sardonic father.

  Liana listened quietly, then shook her head. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Tell Flindaran, I suppose, and then try to decide what to do about Kensal.”

  “You don’t know that he’s looking for the harp.”

  “I don’t know that he isn’t,” Emereck said defensively. “And I have to be ready if he is. The harp is too important not to be careful with it.”

  Liana looked at him. “I wish there was some way you could get rid of that thing right now.”

  “You mean destroy it?” Emereck was appalled. “I couldn’t do that. The Harp of Imach Thyssel is one of the greatest treasures of Lyra!”

  “Nobody’s missed it for the last thousand years or so, have they? But that’s not what I meant. I just wish you could give it to someone else and stop worrying about it. It’s making you suspicious of everyone.”

  “Not everyone,” Emereck said, looking at her.

  “Well, nearly everyone, then,” Liana said, smiling. The smile faded, and she said seriously, “Be careful, Emereck.”

  “I’ll do the best I can. But if someone like Kensal or Ryl tries to take it, I’ll have to try to stop him.”

  Liana gave him a sidelong look. “That wasn’t quite what I meant,” she murmured. Emereck looked at her in puzzlement, but she did not enlarge on her statement. They walked the rest of the way to the castle in silence.

  Chapter 14

  EMERECK SET A QUICK pace for the walk back to Castle Minathlan. Liana did not object, and the return trip took very little longer than the outgoing walk had taken. By the time they reached the castle, they were both panting from the exertion. Inside the gate, they paused to catch their breath. “I think that’s the quickest trip I’ve ever made,” Liana said. “They won’t be expecting us yet.”

  “Where would Flindaran be at this time of day?” Emereck asked as soon as he could speak easily again.

  “It depends on what Gendron has him doing,” Liana replied. She frowned, thinking. Emereck glanced around and saw Kiannar crossing the courtyard. He waved, and she turned and came to join them. “Good day, sword-wielder,” Emereck said as soon as she was within hearing.

  “And good day to you as well, minstrel,” Kiannar replied. She nodded a greeting to Liana and went on, “And what service may I do for you and my sister?”

  “I’m looking for Flindaran,” Emereck said. “Have you seen him?”

  “Yes; I believe he was looking for you.”

  “Looking for me?” Emereck said, puzzled.

  “I saw him heading toward your rooms a few minutes ago,” Kiannar said. She gave him one of her unfathomable looks. “Talerith was with him.”

  “But Flindaran knew I was—” Emereck broke off.

  “I may have been wrong. Perhaps they were going somewhere else.”

  “Perhaps we should go see,” Liana said quietly.

  “Yes,” Emereck said. He found Kiannar’s news deeply disturbing. “Yes, let’s go.”

  Together, they hurried toward Emereck’s room. As they rounded the last corner, Emereck saw with a jolt of foreboding that the guard, ordered by the Duke four days before and a fixture outside his door since then, was gone. He broke into a run. He flung open the door of his room and stood paralyzed.

  Flindaran was crouched on one knee in front of the locked chest in the corner, prying at the lock with his dagger. Beside him, Talerith bent over his shoulder. Their heads turned as the door opened, and Talerith’s expression changed from eagerness to chagrin. Flindaran froze, his face a mask of sick dismay. Emereck felt Kiannar and Liana come up behind him, and heard Liana’s soft intake of breath as she realized the implications of the scene, but he could not stir.

  Slowly, Flindaran rose. “Emereck, I… I…”

  “I’m obviously back earlier than you expected,” Emereck said around the tightness in his chest. Behind him, he heard Liana slip away from the door, and then the sound of her running footsteps. He wished fervently that he could join her. He saw Talerith tug urgently at Flindaran’s arm, and wondered savagely how much of this was her doing.

  “I—I thought I heard someone in here,” Flindaran said.

  “Yes, and we knew you weren’t here,” Talerith put in. “So we decided we’d better check.”

  “That’s why your father put a guard outside my door,” Emereck said pointedly. “I don’t suppose you know where he is?”

  “How should I? He wasn’t there when we came by.” Talerith looked at Flindaran for support, but Flindaran did not notice. His eyes never left Emereck.

  “How interesting,” Kiannar’s voice said from behind Emereck. She pushed past him into the room. Her eyes swept past Talerith and settled on Flindaran. Flindaran stiffened. “And when did guards in this castle start leaving their posts without orders?” Kiannar asked him gently.

  “Oh, he probably has some reason or other,” Talerith said, tossing her head. “Does it matter? He wasn’t here.”

  Kiannar raised her eyebrows. “And you just happened to be passing by. And just happened to hear something. And since you just happened to know that Emereck had left the castle, you decided to come in and see what it was.”

  Talerith looked at Kiannar haughtily. “That’s right.”

  Flindaran’s lips twitched, and Emereck looked away from the expression on Flindaran’s face. His mind screamed at Kiannar, finish this! Finish it and go away.

  Kiannar stepped forward and touched the scarred wood around the lock of the chest. “And I suppose you thought whoever you hear
d had hidden in the chest, and locked it behind him?” Her tone was very dry.

  Flindaran’s mouth twisted and he lunged at Kiannar with the dagger he still held. Kiannar sidestepped and backed away, without reaching for her own weapons. Talerith screamed. Emereck leaped forward and grabbed Flindaran’s free arm. “Flindaran, are you mad? She’s your sister!”

  With a snarl, Flindaran swung around and aimed a stroke at Emereck. His face was contorted with anger, humiliation, and something that might have been shame. Emereck felt a stab of fear; he was no match for Flindaran in a fight. Light glinted off the blade of the dagger, and he threw himself down and sideways to avoid the blow. His weight swung Flindaran around; then he lost his grip on Flindaran’s arm and fell heavily.

  The sudden release threw Flindaran out of balance. He staggered, attempting to regain it, and tripped over Emereck’s legs. Emereck saw the dagger’s blade flash again as Flindaran threw his hands out in an unsuccessful attempt to catch himself. With a grunt of surprise or pain, Flindaran fell forward into a chair. The chair went over with a loud crash, and then there was silence.

  Emereck pulled himself to his feet and started forward. He had no clear idea of what he intended to do; he felt only a sudden fear that was even greater than his grief over Flindaran’s second betrayal. Kiannar was before him; Emereck reached Flindaran’s side just as the warrior-woman lifted his shoulders and gently turned him over.

  “Flindaran,” Emereck began, and stopped as he saw the spreading red stain around the dagger-hilt protruding from Flindaran’s chest. “No,” he said in a stunned whisper. “Please, no!”

  Talerith screamed again. Kiannar ignored her and lowered Flindaran carefully to the floor. She looked up at someone behind Emereck and said grimly, “Get a healer, and hurry.”

  The room seemed suddenly full of people. A guard stooped to exchange words with Kiannar, then hurried away. Talerith was weeping noisily somewhere in the background, and Emereck could hear Gendron’s voice giving orders. Part of his mind wondered how Flindaran’s brother had arrived so quickly. Then Flindaran’s eyes opened, and Emereck forgot about everything else.

  “Kay?” Flindaran said fretfully.

  “Don’t move,” Kiannar told him. “You’ve got a dagger stuck in your chest.”

  “Not yours.”

  “Your own. You fell.”

  “Yes. I remember.” Flindaran grimaced, half in pain, half in disgust. “What a stupid thing to—” A racking cough cut his sentence short, and his face grew more ashen as Emereck watched. Kiannar held his shoulders still until the spasm passed, then wiped a thin froth of blood from his lips. Flindaran’s eyes followed her hand with a dispassionate gaze, then looked at Emereck. “The harp,” he said in a fading whisper.

  For a long, shocked moment, Emereck could only imagine that Flindaran, even now, wanted to possess the harp. He stared in disbelief; then comprehension came. The Harp of Imach Thyssel could heal! Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? He started up, then froze as another realization hit him. To heal Flindaran, Emereck would have to play the harp, and pay whatever price it required. He couldn’t do it! But Flindaran… He looked down, and the gray pain on Flindaran’s face decided him. Whatever price the harp demanded, it could not be half as great as the one he would pay for not using it. Emereck rose and started forward.

  A second coughing spasm shook Flindaran, and Emereck looked back. Flindaran caught his eyes and tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Emereck,” he whispered, and died.

  Numbly, Emereck stared down at Flindaran’s face. He was distantly aware of Talerith’s hysterical sobbing, of Kiannar’s hand gently removing the dagger from Flindaran’s chest, of Gendron’s voice giving orders. They did not reach him. He was alone in his mind with Flindaran’s corpse and the knowledge that he, Emereck, was to blame for this. If he had thought of the harp’s healing abilities sooner, if he had not hesitated when Flindaran suggested it… But the harp had never been an instrument of healing to Emereck; he had seen it only as a powerful, dangerous weapon to be safeguarded and kept from the wrong hands, never used. Now it was too late. Even magic could not bring back the dead. Emereck bowed his head, and tears spilled unheeded down his face.

  The sound of a low-voiced conversation behind him brought him back to a consciousness of his surroundings. It had been going on for some time, but now a snatch of it penetrated. Emereck rose hastily to his feet and turned. Gendron, Kiannar and Talerith were grouped just inside the doorway; in the hall behind them stood Liana along with several guards and castle servants.

  “It wasn’t Kiannar’s fault, Lord Gendron,” Emereck said when they stopped talking and looked at him. It took all his training to keep his voice calm and steady, but he succeeded. “Flindaran attacked her; she never pulled out her own weapons at all.”

  “I know,” Gendron said.

  “You know?”

  “Liana brought me; unfortunately I didn’t quite get here in time. I saw the end of it, though.”

  Emereck heard the grief in Gendron’s voice, and he looked down to keep himself from crying again. He heard Gendron turn away and say, “He’s right, Kiannar; it’s not your fault.”

  “No,” Talerith said venomously. “It’s his fault!”

  Startled, Emereck looked up. Talerith was pointing at him. Her face was blotched from crying, and damp straggles of hair hung limply about her neck. “It’s his fault!” she said again, and Emereck could hear the edge of hysteria in her voice.

  “Be quiet! You’ve done enough for one day,” Kiannar said.

  “I will not be quiet! That harp was Flindaran’s! If this minstrel hadn’t taken it, none of this would have happened!”

  “Talerith—” Gendron started, but she ignored him.

  “He tripped Flindaran because he was afraid to fight! You were here; you can’t deny it.”

  “It was an accident, Talerith.”

  “It was not! He wanted Flindaran to die so he could keep the harp! That’s why he wouldn’t use it to heal him. You saw, you all saw! Flindaran begged him, and he wouldn’t! It’s his fault.”

  “Liana, get her out of here,” Gendron said over his shoulder.

  “I won’t go! Not until you take the harp away from him. It’s not his, it’s Flindaran’s!” Talerith burst into racking sobs. Liana slipped around beside her and began murmuring soothingly, though her own cheeks still glistened with tears. Gendron made a summoning gesture at the guards; two of them stepped forward and began easing Talerith toward the door. “No!” Talerith cried again. “I won’t go!”

  “I am afraid you will,” Gendron said.

  “You can’t let him keep that harp!”

  “What happens to the harp is my decision, not yours. In the meantime, you will leave.” Gendron’s tone was very like Lord Dindran’s. Talerith turned and stared. Their eyes locked; a moment later hers dropped and she grudgingly allowed herself to be led away. Gendron’s shoulders sagged very slightly as she went out of sight. Then he straightened and turned back to Emereck. His face was stiff as he studied the minstrel. “She has a point, you know,” Gendron said at last.

  “Duke Dindran has recognized my claim to the harp,” Emereck said as calmly as he could.

  “It’s not your claim I question. But leaving that thing in your hands is asking for trouble, I think.” Gendron glanced briefly in the direction Talerith had taken.

  “You can’t seriously believe—”

  “Hear me out. I propose putting that chest, harp and all, under triple guard in the armory until my father returns. That should prevent any further… mishaps, and it may stop Talerith from spreading too many rumors. You can keep the keys, if you like. Father will be back in a day or two, and then this can all be settled.”

  “But the harp isn’t—” Emereck stopped short. “I don’t appear to have much choice in the matter,” he said at last.

  Gendron seemed relieved as he nodded to the remaining guards. Emereck watched as they tested the lock to make sure it was still secure,
then hoisted the chest and left the room. The servants followed, to remove Flindaran’s body, and soon the only sign of the recent tragedy was a damp, scrubbed area on the floor.

  When the last of the servants was gone, Gendron turned to leave. In the doorway he stopped and looked at Emereck. “If you’d like a different room…”

  “Later, perhaps. Now I’d just… like to be alone.” Gendron nodded and left. The door closed behind him with grim finality. Emereck stood staring at it for a long time, wondering what to do now. He had allowed Gendron to confiscate a locked chest full of linen; the harp itself was still resting safely in the bottom of Emereck’s wardrobe, where he had moved it the day before. He would have to do something before the deception was discovered, and there was no one he could turn to for help. His only friend in Minathlan was dead, and he himself was to blame. Emereck had never felt so alone in his life.

  Chapter 15

  FOR A LONG TIME, Emereck stared out the window with unseeing eyes. There was no room in his mind for anything but memories and grief. At last he began to pace. Unconsciously, he avoided the scrubbed place on the floor where Flindaran’s body had lain, though doing so gave his pacing a crooked track.

  On his twenty-ninth trip past the doorway, Emereck’s mind began working again. He stopped and stood motionless for several seconds, then turned. With a jerk, he opened the wardrobe and started emptying its contents on the bed.

  He had to leave. He did not know how he was going to get out of Minathlan; he only knew he must go, and at once. He hated this castle, had hated it even before Flindaran’s death, and now… He pulled the last of his belongings from the wardrobe and lifted out the Harp of Imach Thyssel. The sooner he got away from this place, the better.

  He stared at the harp, wondering how he was going to smuggle it out of the castle. He could put it in the harp-case, but that would mean abandoning his own, ordinary instrument. Emereck thought of making the long journey to Ciaron without a harp he dared to practice on, and pressed his lips together. No. The Harp of Imach Thyssel had destroyed his friendship and killed his friend; he would not let it steal his music as well. He would have to find another way.