Harp of Imach Thyssel

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Ryl is one of the Five Eleann Guardians,” Kensal began. “I don’t know much about them, but one of their main jobs seems to be keeping an eye on the Shadow-born. Other than that, they don’t meddle much in the affairs of the Four Races.

  “The Harp of Imach Thyssel was one of the exceptions to that rule. Somehow, when Imach Thyssel was destroyed, the Guardians got hold of the harp. They couldn’t or wouldn’t destroy it, so they hid it in Castle Windsong.”

  Emereck made a choking noise. “How do you know about—”

  “I’m telling you. Now, I think I mentioned earlier that the Shadow-born were behind the most recent Lithmern invasion of Alkyra. The Lithmern were looking for a quick way of working sorcery and they released about fifteen of them. They must have thought they had a chance of keeping fifteen under control. The rest—”

  “The rest? How many of these things are there supposed to be? And what does this have to do with the harp?” Emereck said, bewildered.

  “I’ll get to that. There are several hundred Shadow-born, I think. Most of them were bound under Lithra; there are a few others scattered across Lyra in other places. May I go on?”

  Emereck nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Snapping at Kensal again wouldn’t help.

  “The released Shadow-born got out of control rather quickly. For some reason they didn’t unbind the others right away, just weakened their bonds or something. Maybe they didn’t want to share their freedom; maybe that’s just how Shadow-born think. Anyway, they loosened the spells holding the other Shadow-born, then went off to war with Alkyra and got beaten.”

  “How could the Alkyrans defeat those things, if they’re as bad as you say?” Emereck demanded.

  “That’s what the Four Gifts of Alkyra are for,” Kensal said impatiently. “Surely you knew they’d been found again?”

  “Yes.” The tale had been a sixteen-days wonder at the Ciaron Guildhall. “But—”

  “Who’s telling this story? The Alkyrans used the Gifts to bind the fifteen Shadow-born who’d come with the Lithmern army, but they didn’t do anything about all the others under Lithra. I don’t think they guessed there were more. And, after a few years, the Shadow-born in Lithra started working loose, and the Guardians had to go down and stop them.”

  “I still don’t see what this has to do with the harp.”

  “Patience. The Guardians got to Lithra before the Shadow-born had gotten completely free, but they still had a hard time getting the Shadow-born thoroughly bound again.”

  “I don’t see why,” Emereck said sarcastically. “There were five of them and only a hundred or so Shadow-born.”

  Kensal looked at him. “The Guardians are very powerful. Unfortunately, they have to use most of their power to maintain the spells that keep them alive and whole. If they’re distracted too much, or if they’re forced to use a spell that’s too powerful, they… Change. It’s something the Shadow-born did to them a long time ago. They twist and melt and… It’s not pleasant. I think that’s why there are only five of them left, and why they hate Shadow-born.”

  “I can understand it,” Liana said, shivering.

  “You believe this… this fairy-tale?” Emereck demanded. His voice was harsher than he had intended; Kensal’s description reminded him of his nightmares, and he did not want to be reminded.

  Liana looked at him oddly. “I am of the blood of the Dukes of Minathlan. I’ve seen some of their private histories. I’m willing to listen, and I’m surprised that a minstrel isn’t.”

  Emereck felt as if he had been slapped. But Kensal’s tale sounded unreal, like fragments of ancient ballads and songs strung together, a story meant to beguile a minstrel. Couldn’t Liana see that? Still, she was right; he had agreed to listen. He turned to Kensal. “Go on.”

  “The Shadow-born fought back when the Guardians sought to keep them bound. Even though they weren’t wholly free, they were very powerful. And there are quite a few of them. Before the Guardians bound them, the Shadow-born distracted one of them a little too much.”

  “That spell you mentioned?” Liana said.

  “The Change. Yes. To save his life, the other Guardians cast a spell that threw him into a… place where time itself is frozen. He must remain there, like a moth trapped in resin, until the other Guardians find a way to bring him back without letting the Change finish him.” Kensal paused. “His name is Valerin. He is—or was—a good friend to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Liana said softly.

  “The Harp of Imach Thyssel is the only way the Guardians have of freeing Valerin safely. Ryl asked me to help her retrieve it. If it hadn’t been for those Lithmern at the inn, we’d have been at Castle Windsong before you, and none of this would have happened.”

  “I wish it hadn’t,” Emereck said bitterly, thinking of Flindaran.

  “Then you’ll give us the harp?”

  “No!”

  “I’m going too fast for you, I see. My apologies.”

  “Emereck…” Liana said.

  “I won’t do it,” Emereck said flatly. Liana looked hurt, but he did not try to explain. He was not really certain he could. He had been almost forced to accept responsibility for the harp; having done so, he could not simply relinquish it to a person he barely knew on the basis of a story he only half believed. The real problem was that he was beginning to like Kensal. He wanted to trust the Cilhar, but he did not dare. He had trusted Flindaran… “If it’s Ryl who wants the harp, why isn’t she here?”

  “Ryl stayed behind to talk to the Duke; I assume she’ll be following us later. She sent me after you because she feared you were in danger. I think circumstances have shown that she was right.” Kensal paused, frowning. “I wish there were some way of warning her.”

  “Warning her?” Liana asked.

  “About that shadow-crystal. She could be terribly vulnerable, if one of their servants finds out who and what she is.”

  Emereck was silent for a moment, then he said, “Why didn’t you come to me in Minathlan and tell me all this?”

  “What did we know of you? You arrived at the inn just before the Lithmern attacked. You lied about who you were, or at least, one of you did. And you went straight to Castle Windsong and took the harp. Would you have trusted us, if that were all you knew?”

  “No,” Emereck admitted. “But in that case, why are you here now?”

  “There was no other choice,” Kensal said simply.

  “You could have stolen it.”

  “Ryl knows more of the Harp of Imach Thyssel than anyone. And she claims force and trickery are difficult and… unwise ways to try to take it. After what I’ve seen, I believe her.”

  Emereck looked at him sharply, then realized he was referring to the dead Syaski, not to Flindaran. “In that case, why did she send you after us?”

  “I said it was difficult to take the harp by force, not that it was impossible.”

  “Oh.” Emereck frowned, digesting that.

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

  “No,” Emereck said sharply. He saw Liana looking at him, and said, more to her than to Kensal, “I need time to think.”

  Liana smiled, and Kensal nodded. For a time the conversation lagged. Emereck’s horse drifted a little away from the others, and he made no move to stop it. Kensal’s talk of Shadow-born and Guardians had confused and frightened him. These were matters for the Guild-Masters, even the Grand Master himself, not for a mere wandering minstrel barely out of his journeyman’s rank. Emereck could hardly believe it was true. Yet if the legendary Harp of Imach Thyssel were real, why not other things from the ancient songs as well?

  The thought shattered the last remnant of Emereck’s composure. His thoughts ran in endless circles, and reached no conclusion. What conclusion could there be? Against the power of the Shadow-born wizards, he would be helpless. No, not helpless, for he had the Harp of Imach Thyssel. But could he bring himself to use the harp, even in a time of need? Would he dare not to use it? And w
hat of the price the harp would demand? He shook his head, and Flindaran’s voice sounded suddenly in his memory: “It might be worth it.”

  Emereck swallowed a lump in his throat and glanced over his shoulder toward the harp. It made such an ordinary lump hanging from his saddle. Yet it had cost so much already. He scowled at it, wondering how much of what had happened was the harp’s doing. He was beginning to think of it almost as a person, he realized. He snorted, and turned back to his horse and his brooding.

  Liana glanced over at him several times, but Emereck deliberately showed no response. Finally, she started a conversation with Kensal about life in the Mountains of Morravik, and soon she was laughing at some comment the Cilhar had made. Kensal certainly seemed to be popular with one of them, Emereck thought sourly. He turned away. Liana could afford to trust Kensal. The harp wasn’t her responsibility. She—

  “Emereck,” Liana’s voice said beside him.

  He turned, startled, and saw that Liana had pulled her horse over to his. “Yes?”

  “I said, isn’t it a lovely day.” There were lines of suppressed laughter around her mouth.

  Emereck blinked. “We’re out in the middle of the plains with nowhere to hide and we’re being looked for by Syaski, Lithmern, and possibly Shadow-born, all of whom probably want to kill us. You think that’s lovely?”

  “Well, no, it isn’t. But it has nothing to do with how lovely the day is, either.” She grinned at him. “And since we can’t do anything about any of it anyway, we may as well enjoy the weather. So—isn’t it a lovely day?”

  Reluctantly, Emereck smiled back. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Then stop sulking and come tell Kensal the name of that song you sang at Talerith’s party. The one about the dragon and the blacksmith. He says it sounds like something he heard once in Col Sador, but I don’t think it can be.” She smiled again, and Emereck put aside his worrying for the moment, and joined her.

  Chapter 20

  THEY RODE UNTIL LATE in the evening, pushing the horses as hard as they dared. Emereck felt exposed on the plains, and he was anxious to reach the cover the forest would provide. He also had a feeble hope that Kensal would leave them once they gained the woods. He appreciated the Cilhar’s protection, but he could not rid himself of a certain uneasiness about the man.

  When they stopped at last, it was Kensal who chose their camping-place. It was a small hollow formed at the base of three hills, out of the wind and partially hidden from view. It was a good spot, but Emereck was irked by Kensal’s casual assumption of command. He did not say so; the journey was uncomfortable enough without adding to the friction between himself and the Cilhar.

  They took turns watching that night. Liana took the first watch and Emereck, the last. His dreams were chaotic and unpleasant, but the recurring nightmare of the melting city had not yet begun when Kensal woke him. Emereck breathed a quiet sigh of relief and rose to take his watch. The thought of explaining the dream to the imperturbable Cilhar had not appealed to him at all.

  He climbed the nearest of the hills and settled down to his vigil. The stars were bright above him; the waning half-circle of Elewyth was low on the western horizon, with Kaldarin’s dull red crescent lagging reluctantly behind. A warm breeze rippled the grass, tossing it like the waves of the Melyranne Sea in the moonlight. Emereck felt small and insignificant surrounded by so much space, yet curiously peaceful as well. Whatever happened to himself and his friends, whatever happened to the Harp of Imach Thyssel, the stars and the night and the whispering wind would still be here, unchanged.

  Emereck leaned back and stared out across the waving grass. Flindaran had loved these plains. The unbidden thought brought with it a sudden, vivid impression of Flindaran’s presence. Emereck found himself looking over his shoulder, half-expecting to see his friend climbing up the hill toward him, calling some remark about dreamers with their heads in a fog. There was only the wind and the darkness, and again Emereck felt a dull ache of loss.

  He rose to his feet and scanned the plains, half-hoping to see something that would distract him from his thoughts. There was nothing, but the action itself helped. Slowly, he turned and climbed down his hill and up the next, watching the moonlit grass. The light was fading now, as Elewyth set, and the night seemed colder as well as darker.

  At the top of the hill Emereck stopped and turned in a full circle, peering uneasily out across the plain. Still he saw nothing. His discomfort grew as the silver-green moon sank lower, and he remained standing. As the last sliver of Elewyth vanished below the horizon, leaving Kaldarin alone in the sky, Emereck saw the city.

  It stood, impossibly, where there had been nothing but grass a moment before. The graceful spires seemed made of crystal mist; even in the dim light, he could see the grass waving through the walls. With a shock of fear, he recognized it. It was the city of his nightmares. He stood paralyzed, wondering if he were going mad, as the sequence of the dream played itself out before him. The graceful people of the city appeared: tall, transparent images sketched in starlight. Then the explosion, and the images began to writhe and melt, their mouths open wide in silent screams. With a moan, Emereck closed his eyes to shut out the sight. When he opened them, the city had vanished.

  Shaken, Emereck stared at the empty plain. Had it been a vision, or a kind of waking dream, or was he going mad? And what could he do about it in any case? Demons take the Harp of Imach Thyssel and all its works! Why was it doing this to him?

  He discovered that he was trembling and sat down abruptly. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe in long, slow breaths until the shaking stopped. Then he opened his eyes and sat scowling at the night.

  The city he had seen wasn’t Imach Thyssel, he was sure. The bits of description in “King Loren’s Lay” did not fit the dream-city at all. The people, too, were unfamiliar in appearance. Their height and slightly slanted eyes fit descriptions of the Shee, but their coloring did not. Neira, then? But that was no underwater city he had seen. And three moons in the sky… Emereck wished fervently that he had listened more closely when the occasional adept of the Temple of the Third Moon had stopped at the Guild-Hall.

  He wracked his brain for hours, but he could find no clue to the meaning of the dreams. The only thing that fit at all were the scraps of information Kensal had dropped about the Guardians and the “change.” Emereck grimaced. He might have to tell Kensal about the dreams after all. Perhaps the Cilhar could give him a clue as to what was happening to him and why. Emereck resolved to try, come morning.

  When morning came, however, Kensal was very little help. He listened to Emereck’s tale with no comment and an increasingly worried expression. “Ryl said nothing of this to me,” he said when Emereck finished. “And I am afraid I have already told you as much as I know of the Guardians and the Change. I am sorry.”

  “Perhaps we should wait here for Ryl, then,” Liana suggested.

  “No,” Emereck and Kensal said together.

  Emereck looked at Kensal in surprise, and the Cilhar smiled slightly. “Ryl will catch up with us when she chooses,” he explained. “Right now it is far more important for us to avoid the rest of Lanyk’s men.”

  Emereck nodded. His own reasons for wanting to postpone an encounter with the innkeeper-sorceress-Guardian were less practical and more emotional. He had expected to meet people who would try to take the Harp of Imach Thyssel from him by force or trickery before he reached the Guild-Hall, and he had been prepared to guard the harp from them, as well as he was able. He had not expected to be asked, calmly and politely, to give the harp away. That decision was for the Guild-Masters to make. Yet if Kensal’s tale were even partly true, Ryl was the rightful guardian of the harp, and Emereck had no right to keep it from her. And that was a dilemma Emereck did not want to face just yet.

  The memory of his waking nightmare stayed with Emereck through the day’s ride, making him tense and irritable. His training enabled him to maintain a civil manner, but as soon as t
hey finished making camp that night he picked up his harp and left, muttering something about needing practice.

  The familiar routine of tuning the harp relaxed him. He set his hands to the strings and let his fingers wander. He was halfway through the second verse when he realized that he had unconsciously begun with one of the ballads Flindaran had hated most, as he always did when his friend was not present to be irritated by them. His hands faltered, and then the rhythm firmed and the notes flowed on. But as soon as he finished the verse, he stopped and began a different tune.

  Some time later, in the middle of a complicated sequence from “The Song of Gassinel,” he heard a rustling behind him. He muted the harpstrings and turned. Liana stood behind him, holding a battered tin bowl. “I thought you might want something to eat,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Emereck replied. He set his harp aside and took the bowl from her. She stood watching him as he began to eat, then dropped to sit in the grass beside him.

  “Emereck…” she started, then hesitated. He looked at her inquiringly, and she said, “Why are you so unfriendly with Kensal?”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

  “It is to me. You aren’t still worried that he’ll try to steal the harp from you, are you?”

  “Not exactly. But he still wants it, and he expects to get it. He’s too sure of himself.”

  “Emereck, no Cilhar would break an oath on the Mother of Mountains! Can’t you trust him a little?”

  “I trusted your brother—” The words were out before Emereck thought. He cut himself off in mid-sentence, appalled by what he had just said.

  Liana stared at him. “No,” she said slowly, “you didn’t trust Flindaran. That was part of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”