“Yes,” Emereck said after a pause during which he carefully did not look at the place where the harp lay hidden among his belongings. “I suppose it is.”
They broke camp as soon as it was light, and went on. The land was dry and dusty; here and there, great outcroppings of stone reared starkly above the plain. They reminded Emereck of bones, the bones of the world poking through a dry, dead skin. He decided that his nightmares were making him morbid, and resolved to stop thinking about it.
Near mid-morning they stopped to rest the horses. Emereck paced restlessly while the animals grazed, unsure why he was so nervous but unable to keep still. Finally he left Liana sitting in the meager shade of one of the stones and climbed a small hill. He stood looking out over the plain, thinking of the Guildhall in Ciaron, of the songs he needed to practice, of anything except the harp and Flindaran and the last few days at Castle Minathlan. At last he turned to rejoin Liana. Halfway down the hill, he halted abruptly. There was a small cloud of dust on the northern horizon.
Emereck ran the rest of the way. Liana looked at him in surprise until he pointed out what he had seen. She studied it briefly, then nodded. “Horses,” she said. “Probably five or six of them, coming this way.”
“One of your border patrols?” Emereck asked without much conviction.
“No, we’re well past the borders of Minathlan by now.”
“Then Gendron must have—”
“I don’t think so. They’re coming from the wrong direction to have ridden straight from the castle.”
“Well, who do you think they are?” Emereck said crossly.
Liana frowned. “I suppose they could be from a Trader caravan, but I can’t imagine what would bring one out here. Or they could be travelers.”
“Or thieves,” Emereck said. Or wizards, he added silently, or warlords, looking for the harp. “And I don’t want to stay here and find out which of us is right. Maybe we can outrun them.”
“Running will only attract their attention,” Liana objected.
“All right, we’ll ride slowly,” Emereck said over his shoulder as he walked toward the horses. “But let’s go!”
They rode southwest, angling away from the approaching riders. For a time it seemed they had succeeded in keeping clear, but soon it became apparent that the riders had changed direction to intercept them. “I don’t like this,” Emereck said. “Come on.”
He kicked his horse into a trot, then a canter. Liana followed. A few minutes later, Emereck heard her call, “They’re gaining on us,” and then “Syaski soldiers!”
Emereck glanced back. He saw with shock how close the riders had gotten, and only then did he note their uniforms. He gestured at Liana to hurry and leaned forward to urge his own horse to greater speed. Together they crashed on through the tall grass. Emereck’s world narrowed down into the heat of the sun on his back, the smell of dust and horses, the sea of waving grass ahead, and the sound of hooves like funeral drums, growing louder as the Syaski gained on them.
Emereck’s horse faltered. Desperately, he dug his heels into the animal’s sides, but even as he did one of his pursuers passed him. Emereck twisted his reins, hoping to put a little distance between himself and the Syask. His tired and thoroughly frightened mount did not respond in time. The Syaski horseman swerved in front of Emereck.
Emereck’s horse shied, then plunged sideways. For the next several minutes, Emereck was completely occupied with staying in the saddle; he had no attention to spare for what was happening, or even for thoughts of escape. When he finally succeeded in bringing the terrified horse under control, he and Liana were surrounded.
There were seven Syaski, all wearing similar uniforms of leather dyed a dark blue. Their horses formed a circle around Emereck and Liana, and a smallish, brown-haired man rode forward. Emereck saw Liana’s eyes widen. “What is it?” he whispered.
“That’s Prince Lanyk!” she hissed back, then fell silent as one of the soldiers fingered his sword-hilt suggestively.
Lanyk studied them for a moment with the narrow-eyed gaze of a cat studying a mousehole. “Who are you?” he said at last. His voice reminded Emereck of a poorly-made melar—all surface polish and no depth of tone.
“Minstrel Emereck Sterren, of the Ciaron Guildhall, my lord,” Emereck said, half-bowing.
“And the lady?”
“Liana Dinfar, milord,” Liana replied.
“And what are you doing out here that makes you so eager to avoid our company?” the prince asked.
“Is it surprising that two travelers prefer not to encounter a larger group they know nothing of?” Emereck countered. “There are bandits—”
“Very few, on these plains,” Lanyk said, cutting him short. “Which you know, or you would not be traveling as two alone. Try again.”
“Oh, tell him, Emereck,” Liana said.
Emereck turned, surprised by the petulance in her voice, and intercepted a sharp look of warning. “But, Liana—” he began uncertainly.
“Then I will!” Liana turned to the Prince, and smiled. “We thought you were from Minathlan, you see.”
“From Minathlan?” Lanyk stared at her, nonplused.
“Yes, from Minathlan. I was one of the waiting-ladies for the Duke’s daughter, Lady Talerith, and Minstrel Emereck has been playing there this past month, and we, well, we became friends.” Liana looked down modestly, and one of the soldiers smothered a snicker.
Emereck held his face in a mildly anxious expression he hoped would be suitable for whatever tale Liana was spinning. Inwardly, he marveled at Liana’s performance. She sounded flighty, thoughtless, entirely empty headed, completely incapable of deceiving anyone. He wondered how many other unexpected talents she possessed, and whether she would be able to persuade Prince Lanyk to let them go.
“I don’t see what Minathlan has to do with your running away from us,” Lanyk said.
“But the Duke didn’t like it!” Liana said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Like what?”
“Emereck and me! So we ran away. And of course when we saw you, I thought he, the Duke, I mean, had sent you to bring us back. You can’t imagine how glad I was to be wrong.” Liana gave the prince of Syaskor another dazzling smile.
“And where are you running to?” Lanyk asked smoothly. “Not Kith Alunel, certainly, the way you were heading.”
“Oh, that was Emereck’s idea,” Liana said blithely. “If we don’t go straight there, the Duke won’t be able to find us so easily.”
“I see.” Lanyk’s smile held the faintest suspicion of a sneer. He turned and studied Emereck. Emereck did his best to look innocuous. Lanyk’s sneer grew more pronounced. “Forgive me for not offering to escort you on your way, but I have other business to attend to.”
One of the soldiers, a small man wearing a somewhat more elaborate uniform than the others, cleared his throat. “My lord, shouldn’t we go on? These don’t seem to be the ones we’re looking for, and you did say there wasn’t much time.”
“In a moment,” Lanyk said without turning his head. “I wish to make certain.” He reached inside his cloak and brought out a small box. He flipped it open, glanced down at it, and stiffened in his saddle. When he looked up, his eyes were hard and cold. “They have it. Get them off those horses and search their bags.”
Emereck felt the words like blows in the stomach. To have been so close to escaping and then to lose everything… The Syaski were certain to find the harp; what else could they be looking for? He hardly felt the hands pulling him from his horse. He had failed again, and this was the worst failure of all.
One of the Syaski held the horses while the others tramped down a circle of grass and began spreading out the contents of the saddlebags. They unwrapped the Harp of Imach Thyssel almost at once, but to Emereck’s amazement, they continued their work as though it was of no importance. Liana gave Emereck a single, sidelong look when she saw it, then returned to contemplating her bow and arrows, lying just out of reac
h.
Lanyk grew visibly impatient as the work progressed. Finally he dismounted and walked among the clutter, watching the box in his hand. He hesitated briefly before a small bag that belonged to Liana, then went on. When he reached the harp, he stopped and his lips parted in a humorless smile. “A harp,” he said. “How appropriate.”
“I don’t understand. That’s just—”
“Stop your games, minstrel!” Lanyk snapped. “It was clever of Dindran to hide it among a minstrel’s belongings, I’ll admit. Pity he wasn’t clever enough to guess I’d have magic of my own to find it with.” He waved the box in Emereck’s direction, then flipped it closed and bent forward to pick up the harp.
The air sang a hard, high note. Lanyk straightened, clutching at his throat. Emereck caught a glimpse of something black and sharp and spiky, and then Lanyk made a gurgling noise and toppled slowly sideways. Emereck stared, uncomprehending, while the soldiers around him drew their swords. He came out of his shock only when the man holding him jerked, choked, and fell to his knees, another of the black weapons embedded in his throat.
The man guarding Liana was down as well. “Run!” Emereck shouted. He dove toward the Harp of Imach Thyssel, hoping that whoever was throwing things would be too busy with the Syaski to worry about a mere minstrel.
One of the soldiers shouted as Emereck snatched up the harp. Another swung at him. Emereck ducked and kept on running. From the corner of his eye he saw Liana running toward him, closely followed by one of the Syaski. He turned to shout a warning, and something swept his feet from under him.
As he went down, he twisted frantically to keep from falling on the harp. He heard a loud clang above him, the sound of two swords meeting, and then he landed heavily on his side. He lay half-stunned, only distantly aware of the fighting going on immediately in front of him. His head cleared a little, and he pushed himself away from the conflict.
Something swished through the air above him. A Syaski Emereck hadn’t noticed before pitched forward across his legs, pinning them. The black tip of one of Liana’s hunting arrows protruded from the Syask’s back. Emereck shoved at the body, but the fighting was still going on in front of him, and he did not dare raise his head and arms enough to get good leverage.
He glanced quickly upward just as the Syaski swordsman fell, run through, giving Emereck his first clear look at the other fighter. Emereck froze. It was Kensal Narryn.
There were only two Syaski left. One was directly in front of Kensal; the other was hovering indecisively halfway between Kensal and Liana. Kensal pulled a dagger from his belt with his left hand and faced them. “You know what I am,” he said. “You had better lay down your weapons.”
One of the men wavered visibly, but the other looked at Kensal with hatred fueled by fear. “Surrender to a Cilhar? We are Syaski! We’ll die first.”
“As you will have it, then,” Kensal replied, and stepped forward. His sword blurred in his hand; Emereck did not even see the stroke that ended the Syask’s life. An instant later there was a dull thud, followed by a cry, and the last Syaski fell, Kensal’s dagger buried in his chest.
Kensal bent to wipe his sword, and Emereck saw him shake his head. Then Liana’s voice, slightly shaky but still clear, called, “Don’t move, Cilhar. Not at all.”
“Certainly,” Kensal said. “Anything to be obliging.”
“Emereck? Emereck, are you—”
“I’m all right,” Emereck called, wriggling out from under the dead Syaski. “A little battered, that’s all.” He braced his legs to keep from trembling with reaction, and stood up.
Liana, white-faced but determined, stood ten paces away, aiming an arrow at Kensal. “Emereck…”
“I would appreciate it if you would aim elsewhere, lady,” Kensal said in a conversational tone. “Failing that, I would at least like to straighten up. This position is somewhat uncomfortable.”
“Drop your sword, then,” Emereck said.
Kensal opened his hand and the sword fell. “And now?”
“You can stand up.” Emereck picked up the harp and made a wide circle around Kensal to Liana’s side. Kensal watched with an expression suspiciously like amusement. Emereck wondered what to do with the Cilhar. They couldn’t stand there watching him all day.
“What are you doing out here?” Emereck demanded at last.
“Following you,” Kensal replied promptly. “And it’s a good thing I was. You’d be dead and Lanyk would be riding north with that harp by now, if I hadn’t.”
“You’re after the harp, too, then,” Emereck said wearily.
Kensal hesitated. “In a manner of speaking. But I’m not fool enough to try to steal it from you or take it by force. I’ll swear to that, if you like.”
Liana’s arms were beginning to tremble from the strain of keeping the bow drawn. Emereck sighed. “Swear.”
“I swear before the Mother of Mountains that I will not take the Harp of Imach Thyssel from you unless you give it to me freely and in full knowledge. Is that sufficient?”
Emereck nodded, and Liana lowered her bow with a sigh of relief. Kensal smiled, then bent and picked up his sword. He wiped it carefully before sheathing it. Then he looked up. “I suggest we clean up a bit and then find a place to sit down and be comfortable. I think we have a lot to discuss.”
Chapter 18
KENSAL BEGAN HIS “CLEANING UP” by retrieving his dagger, wiping it carefully, and returning it to its sheath. Then he crossed to the nearest body and removed the spiked throwing weapon.
“What are those things?” Emereck said.
“They’re called raven’s-feet.” Kensal plucked another of the black spiky-looking things from the next Syask’s throat and held it out for Emereck’s inspection.
Emereck swallowed and took it. It was deceptively simple. A small steel ball formed the center from which four slender spikes protruded, each as long as Emereck’s middle finger. The spikes were arranged so that no matter how the thing was dropped, it would rest on three of them with the fourth pointing straight up. One of the spikes was wet with blood. Hastily, Emereck handed it back, and Kensal went on with his task.
“Do you want your arrow?” Kensal asked Liana when he had collected his arsenal.
“No,” Liana said. “I never want to see it again.”
Kensal turned and studied her. “It’s not the fault of the arrow that the man is dead.”
“I know.” Liana still looked rather white. “But I-I’ve never killed a person before. I’d rather not be reminded.”
“These,” Kensal pointed out, “are Syaski.”
Liana turned away. Emereck glared at Kensal. “You could at least try to understand, Cilhar.”
Kensal shrugged. “I understand that they would have killed you if I hadn’t been here. Don’t ask a Cilhar to grieve for Syaski; we have seven centuries of reasons not to.”
“It’s all right, Emereck,” Liana said hastily. “I mean, it’s too late to change now, so there’s no point in my fretting about it.”
“You’re sure?” Emereck said.
“Yes.” Liana straightened her shoulders and looked at Kensal. “And I’ll take my arrow back.”
Kensal smiled and handed it to her. “And perhaps you would be kind enough to retrieve your horses.” He waved at the Syaski mounts, which had scattered during the fight. Liana looked at him without moving. Kensal sighed. “Someone must do it, and I don’t know which horses are yours. We’ll be on our way more quickly if you collect them while your friend and I take care of the bodies.”
Liana bit her lip. “All right, then.”
“What’s your hurry?” Emereck asked Kensal as Liana started off toward the horses.
Kensal gave him a look. “If you think Prince Lanyk was wandering around this far from home with only six guards and no luggage to speak of, you don’t know much about rulers.”
“You mean there are likely to be more of them?” Emereck said.
“It’s not likely, it’s certain.
Come help me with these.” Kensal bent over the nearest body and began dragging it toward one side of the trampled circle.
Reluctantly, Emereck moved to help with the unpleasant task. They piled up the bodies and covered them with the cloaks the Syaski had been wearing. It was all they could do; there was no time to dig a grave or build a cairn, and no wood for a pyre. By the time they finished, Emereck was feeling queasy. He also had a vivid understanding of why most heroic ballads stopped with the hero victorious on the field of battle, without detailing the aftermath.
“Whew,” Kensal said when they finished. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing.” He sat down and began cleaning the raven’s-feet. Emereck turned to gathering up the belongings the Syaski had scattered over the ground. He was nearly finished when he ran across the small box Lanyk had used to identify the harp. He picked it up, wondering whether he should keep it or destroy it. As he hesitated, Kensal looked up. “Found something?”
“In a way,” Emereck said, and held up the box. “Lanyk seemed to be using this to track us.”
“Interesting,” Kensal said. “May I see it?”
Emereck hesitated, then handed it over. Kensal held the lid shut and turned the box over in his hands. “The style of carving is Lithran,” he said, frowning. “I don’t like this.”
“Lithmern are no worse than Syaski,” Emereck said.
“If you’d said ‘no better’ I’d have agreed. Or don’t you believe what your Guild Masters tell you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Kensal did not seem to hear. “Well, no sense waiting,” he muttered, and flipped open the lid of the box. He glanced inside, and his expression hardened. “Shadow-scum!” he snarled. In one fluid movement, he dropped the box and rose to his feet. Before Emereck could protest, he crushed box and contents together beneath the heel of his boot.
“What—”
“Look there,” Kensal said, indicating the shattered remains on the ground. Emereck leaned forward. Amid the splinters of the box were several shards of smoky black crystal. He reached out to pick one up, and Kensal knocked his hand away. “Don’t touch it!”
The Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 18
