The Harp of Imach Thyssel

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “In Minathlan, the proper term is Sword-Wielder, but few here worry much about titles.” Her voice was light and noncommittal; it made a sharp contrast to her attire.

  “Even so, I thank you for the correction.” Emereck bowed.

  “Then perhaps you’ll take another suggestion. If you’ve something to keep secret, you’d do well to train yourself to be less easily startled.” Her eyes flickered to the bundle at his feet, then returned to his face.

  “I’ll bear your words in mind,” Emereck said noncommittally. Inwardly, he winced. Had he been that obvious?

  The woman smiled slightly. “Don’t worry that I’ll give you away. I know how to keep my own counsel.”

  “I have no doubt of it. I think—”

  “Kay!”

  Emereck and the woman beside him turned to see Flindaran coming toward them across the courtyard. “I thought that was you!” Flindaran said when he reached them.

  “Welcome home, Flindaran,” the woman said. “You’re a bit early, aren’t you?”

  “We hurried.” Flindaran grinned; then his eyes dropped to her uniform and he shook his head. “Haven’t you let Father promote you yet?”

  “I’ve been promoted, in a manner of speaking. I’m a Free Rider now.”

  “I might have known you’d prefer something like that to a captain’s job.” Flindaran turned to Emereck. “In case she hasn’t mentioned it, this is my half-sister, Kiannar.”

  Emereck bowed and murmured politely. Flindaran ignored him and turned to Kiannar. “This is my friend Emereck Sterren, from the Minstrel’s Guild in Ciaron. He’s even stubborner than you are, Kay.”

  “He’s probably developed it from associating with you.”

  “The thing I like best about you is your tact. Who’s home?”

  Kiannar rattled off a list of names, most of them unfamiliar to Emereck. He listened intently, committing as many as possible to memory so that he could quiz Flindaran about them later. Kiannar finished her recital, and Flindaran frowned. “Oraven’s not here?”

  “He’s out with the Riders, on the western border.” Kiannar’s voice was all but expressionless.

  “He’s what? That idiot! He’s going to get himself killed, I swear it. Why does he keep doing these things?”

  “He has reasons.”

  Emereck looked quickly at Kiannar’s face. Her expression had not changed. He looked back in time to see Flindaran press his lips together tightly. The thought flashed across his mind that there might be a deeper reason than he had supposed behind Flindaran’s reluctance to speak much or often about his family, and then Flindaran said, “I know. How’s the town generally?”

  Kiannar shrugged. “No one’s starving; it’s been a fairly good year.”

  “Kiannar—” Flindaran began angrily, then stopped. “Never mind. Does Father still spend this part of the afternoon with the steward?”

  “Yes, he does,” Kiannar said, looking faintly surprised. “But I doubt that he’s heard you’re home yet.”

  Flindaran’s jaw tightened. “I need to talk to him once I’ve shown Emereck to his rooms.” His voice sounded strained. “Fare you well.”

  Emereck barely had time to make a polite farewell and pick up his harp-case and the Harp of Imach Thyssel before he was hurried off toward the castle. Kiannar merely smiled and nodded, but all the way across the courtyard, Emereck could feel her eyes on his back. As soon as they were inside the castle and safely out of sight, Emereck turned to Flindaran. “What’s possessed you?” he demanded. “We left the horses and most of our bags just standing there!”

  “Oh, someone will take care of them. Probably Kay; she’s good about that sort of thing.”

  “We could have done it ourselves if you hadn’t been in such a hurry all of a sudden. What was that about, anyway?”

  Flindaran looked back over his shoulder. “Kiannar is a grand person, and I’d trust her with my life. She also gets on my nerves every time we’re together for more than about a tenth of a candlemark.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s always right, and it irritates me. Besides, I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

  Emereck raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Flindaran’s answering grin was a little lopsided. “There are a couple of girls I want to renew my acquaintance with.”

  “I might have known.”

  Flindaran’s grin broadened. “This way.”

  Emereck nodded. He did not ask any further questions, though he was no nearer understanding their encounter with Kiannar. It was plain that Flindaran did not want to discuss the matter. Emereck stored the incident in the back of his mind for further consideration and concentrated on remembering as much of their route as he could. The castle was even more jumbled on the inside than he had expected from its unorganized exterior, and he did not like the idea of being lost if he ever had to find his way around it alone.

  Finally they reached the room Flindaran had chosen for him, and Emereck set down his bundle with a sigh of relief. He felt as though every servant and guard they passed had stared curiously at the awkward package. Though he knew he was only reacting to Kiannar’s uncomfortable comments, he was glad that he, and the Harp of Imach Thyssel, were safely out of sight.

  As he turned toward Flindaran, the size of the room registered, and he frowned. “This is a little grand for a mere minstrel, isn’t it?” he said. His gesture included the red-gold canopy over the bed, the tapestries covering the walls, and the gleaming wooden furniture that was scattered about the room.

  “You’re here as my friend, not as a minstrel.” Flindaran sat down in one of the chairs and looked expectantly from Emereck to the cloth-covered harp. “Aren’t you going to unwrap it?”

  Emereck looked at him sharply, then reached for the bundle. Flindaran was right; he ought to make sure the harp had not been damaged during the journey. As the wrappings fell away, Emereck blinked. The Harp of Imach Thyssel seemed much plainer than he remembered. It looked more like the battered instrument Emereck’s first master had used to teach him to play than like a powerful maker of magic. He realized that Flindaran was watching intently, and he bent to his examination.

  He did not find any new damage, but he scowled at the accumulation of centuries-old dents and scratches. None were serious, but still… He would have to have a proper carrying-case made for it before he left Minathlan. Knowing that the harp was protected by more than an old cloak or two would be worth the delay. Emereck looked up, and his eyes met Flindaran’s.

  “Well?” Flindaran said.

  “It’s not hurt.”

  “Good. Then we can go see Father now, and get it over with.” Flindaran rose and started for the door.

  “I’m still not sure I like this idea.”

  “I thought we’d settled this on the ride here. You can’t bring a thing like that”—Flindaran waved at the harp—“into someone’s house without telling them about it. Particularly someone like Father.”

  “Well—”

  “Besides, he’d find out anyway, eventually.”

  “Not unless you told him.”

  “That’s what you think. He has ways of learning what he wants to know. I don’t know what they are, but they’re effective. Believe me, we’re better off telling him right from the start.”

  “All right, but I still don’t like it. And I’m not going anywhere until the harp’s out of sight.”

  “Why? No one even knows it’s here yet!”

  “Flindaran!”

  Flindaran shrugged and glanced around the room. “Stick it in that chest in the corner; I think it’ll fit. You can even lock it up if you want to. There ought to be a key around somewhere.”

  A little irritated by Flindaran’s casual attitude, Emereck moved the Harp of Imach Thyssel into the chest. He covered it with some of the linen he found there, then rose and followed Flindaran out of the room. He told himself that no one but the two of them knew the harp was there, but his attempts at self-reassurance only made him feel more u
neasy than ever. Finally he forced the harp from his mind and went back to memorizing corridors. He thought the twisting passages were beginning to make some kind of sense, when Flindaran stopped short at the juncture between two hallways.

  “Lee!” Flindaran shouted, and took three strides down one of the passageways. Emereck reached the crossway and saw Flindaran a few steps away, hugging a tall blond girl.

  She was dressed in a blue gown too fine for a servant’s but too plain for one of the nobility. She leaned back to look at Flindaran, and Emereck saw her face clearly for the first time. Serious brown eyes, straight nose, a mouth too wide for prettiness—and then she smiled, and she was beautiful. “It’s good to have you home, Flindaran,” she said, and her voice was warm and welcoming. Even though she was not speaking to him, Emereck felt at home.

  Flindaran grinned. “You’ve gotten even prettier than you were when I left.”

  The girl smiled again, and an irrational stab of anger drove all thought of the harp from Emereck’s mind. Flindaran should know better than to pay empty compliments to a girl like this! She deserved better than a casual flirtation; couldn’t he see that?

  “Emereck, I want you to meet Liana,” Flindaran said, turning. “Of all my sisters, she’s my favorite.”

  Sister? Emereck bowed to hide his confusion and relief. “I am delighted.”

  “You mean that, don’t you?” Liana said. Her voice was light and soft; it made Emereck think of distant flutes. Silver flutes, perfectly tuned. “I’m glad. And it will be nice to have music again. It’s been a long time since a minstrel came to Minathlan.”

  “He’ll probably only be here a few days,” Flindaran cautioned her. “Don’t start planning a feast or anything.”

  “But while I am here, I will be honored to entertain you as best I may,” Emereck said. “I only hope my playing will not disappoint you, my lady.”

  Liana dimpled, and Emereck felt suddenly light-headed. “You are very polite, and I thank you very much,” she said, “but you really shouldn’t call me ‘my lady.’ I’m not entitled to it.”

  Flindaran frowned suddenly. “Who says so? You’re my sister, aren’t you?”

  “Not entirely. Don’t fuss about it, Flindaran, it’s not that important.”

  “Well, you’re my father’s daughter. Isn’t that enough?”

  Liana sighed. “It’s enough for me; I don’t need more. And it makes some people unhappy when you insist on giving me courtesies I’ve no real right to.”

  Flindaran’s frown deepened. “Liana, if someone’s been stepping on the hem of your cloak, I can—”

  “I told you it wasn’t important,” Liana said almost sharply. “I don’t like making people unhappy, especially about something as silly as a ‘my lady’ or two. What difference does it make?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought… Well, all right, then. I won’t say anything.”

  “Thank you.” Liana smiled and curtsied. Then she stepped forward and tucked her hand under Flindaran’s arm. “Now, tell me about your trip. You’re almost two weeks earlier than we’d expected, you know; how did you manage it?”

  Flindaran glanced at Emereck. “We took a short cut.”

  There was a small pause, then Liana said, “Then it’ll be another week at least before the caravan arrives? Talerith will be disappointed. She was looking forward to the fair, especially the dancing.”

  “Dancing? Talerith? She’s still a child.”

  “Maybe she was when you left, but she’s seventeen now. More than old enough for dancing.”

  “A great age indeed,” Flindaran said solemnly. “Next thing you know she’ll be getting married.”

  “I believe Lord Dindran has been approached about it at least twice already.”

  “What!” Flindaran stared at her, then shook his head. “I must be getting old. Talerith, married!”

  Liana laughed. “Oh, not for a long time yet. Years, maybe. But she’s certainly thinking about it.” She paused and looked at him sidelong. “You should stop and see her. She’d like that.”

  “Maybe after Emereck and I talk to Father,” Flindaran said carelessly.

  “You haven’t seen him yet? Then I’ve kept you long enough. But you’ll come back later and tell me about Ciaron, won’t you?” Her smile included them both.

  “If Flindaran does not, I will be more than pleased to answer your questions,” Emereck said.

  “Of course we will,” Flindaran said, throwing Emereck a surprised glance. “Later. Come on, Emereck.”

  They made their farewells and left. When Liana was out of earshot, Flindaran sighed and shook his head. “She really is my favorite sister, even if she’s only half my sister. I wish I knew why I get along so well with her and so poorly with Kiannar.”

  “Why should you?” Emereck said, remembering the dark-haired warrior. “They’re not much alike.”

  Flindaran looked at him. “They’re twins. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Oh. No. You didn’t.” Emereck fell silent. Flindaran did not seem inclined to continue the conversation, and they walked without speaking until they reached the study door.

  Chapter 7

  LORD DINDRAN HIMSELF ANSWERED Flindaran’s knock. If the Duke of Minathlan was surprised by the sudden arrival of his youngest son, unannounced and two weeks earlier than expected, he gave no sign. He greeted Flindaran and acknowledged his introduction of Emereck with unruffled calm. Even Flindaran’s request for a conference brought only a raised eyebrow and a nod of dismissal to the steward.

  Emereck studied him as the steward left. The Duke of Minathlan was tall, lean, and gray-haired. His eyes were as dark and bright as a hawk’s, and as unreadable. He was dressed with severe, almost ascetic, simplicity. Emereck found it difficult to reconcile this man with the mental picture of the Duke that he had formed from Flindaran’s conversation.

  Lord Dindran seated himself and motioned for them to do likewise. He studied Flindaran briefly and said, “I see it has become the fashion in Ciaron to cover oneself with dust before presenting oneself in company. You will forgive me if I am old-fashioned enough to prefer the antique mode of behavior.”

  Flindaran flushed. “I beg your pardon, sir. We came straight here as soon as we arrived.”

  “So I observe. To what do I owe this… gratifying display of haste?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I am all attention,” the Duke said politely.

  Flindaran took a deep breath and plunged into the tale of their journey. Lord Dindran listened without comment, his expression unreadable. When Flindaran finished, the Duke inclined his head. “I am compelled to confess that for once you have surprised me, Flindaran.”

  “It was not my intention, sir.”

  “Nonetheless, you have succeeded admirably. I make you my apologies; you were indeed justified in coming directly here.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Duke nodded in acknowledgment, then looked at Emereck. “And I commend your discretion, minstrel.”

  “I fear I do not understand you, my lord,” Emereck replied.

  “It appears from my son’s narrative that the Harp of Imach Thyssel has not yet been played. Knowing him, I infer that yours was the restraining hand. Consequently, I applaud your prudence.”

  “My lord is too kind.”

  A gleam of amusement crossed Lord Dindran’s face, so swiftly that Emereck wondered whether he had imagined it. Then the Duke leaned back and said, “Just so. Now tell me, what are your plans for this impressive instrument?”

  “My intention is to bear it to the Guildhall in Ciaron without delay, my lord,” Emereck said firmly. Somehow, Lord Dindran’s presence made him more uneasily aware than ever that he had neither the experience nor the knowledge to deal with the harp alone.

  “I regret that such a journey is not now possible.” The Duke sounded only mildly apologetic.

  Emereck stiffened. Flindaran frowned and said, “Why not, sir? From my experience with you, I expect you
have some reason.”

  “You are correct. Your little encounter with the Syaski is only one of many that have occurred recently. Though I appreciate your desire to turn this harp over to the Masters of your Guild, I cannot look with pleasure on the possibility of Syaskor obtaining it.”

  “Sir, the men we met were Lithmern, not Syaski,” Flindaran said.

  “That is one of the things that makes your tale so fascinating.”

  “Then you think the Syaski are involved as well?” Flindaran leaned forward eagerly. “That they’re getting ready for something?”

  “There are indications of it.”

  “Sir, if—”

  “I do not believe I have indicated a wish to begin a discussion of the Syaski before I have finished my discussion of this harp of yours.”

  “Again I beg your pardon, sir,” Flindaran said, clenching his teeth.

  “Quite so.” The Duke studied him. “If you are determined to discuss Syaskor with someone, I suggest you seek your brother Gendron. He returned from Syaskor barely two days ago. No doubt he will be willing to indulge your curiosity.”

  Flindaran bit his lip and nodded. Lord Dindran smiled sweetly at his son, then turned to Emereck as though nothing had happened. “You see why I must advise against your immediate departure.”

  Emereck hesitated. “I share your concern about Syaskor, my lord. But I do not like waiting here with no sure course before me. If the western way is barred, perhaps I may go north into Alkyra, or south to Kith Alunel.”

  “I am afraid the northern roads will be washed out at this time of year,” Lord Dindran said apologetically. “And I doubt that Kith Alunel is a better choice than Syaskor at the moment.”

  “Why do you say that, my lord? The Guildhall there has a good reputation.”

  “Unfortunately, the Guildhall in Kith Alunel is temporarily empty. A week ago King Birn banned all minstrels from the city.”

  “What?” Emereck could not suppress the shocked exclamation. Beside him, Flindaran stared at his father in surprise.