Harp of Imach Thyssel

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “The Cilhar burn their dead,” Ryl said. “So much, at least, I owed him. Do as you will with the others.”

  The Duke nodded. Emereck climbed to his feet, foreseeing an unpleasant interval of hauling bodies. Then he stopped. The Duke had not moved, but there was a line of concentration between his eyebrows. Behind him, the bodies of Shalarn and her men were sinking into the ground, slowly but steadily. Emereck stared until the surface of the grassy courtyard closed over them and smoothed out into firm, hard ground once more. Only Tammis’s twisted corpse remained to show that anything had happened.

  “Very good, for a beginner,” Welram said. “But what about the last one?”

  Duke Dindran frowned. “I have no desire to allow such as she to remain in my lands, even in death. Yet, I confess I am not certain of the best way to remove her.”

  Welram gave the Duke one of his pointed-tooth grins. “Perhaps Ryl and I can help you. I think it’s safe enough now?” He added the last with a questioning look at Ryl.

  “It is safe, for a little time,” Ryl said. “Come, then.”

  She held out her left hand, and Welram took it in one of his own. With her right, she sketched a figure in the air. “Avoc arat!” she said. Emereck felt the words pull at him, and Tammis’s body vanished.

  “My thanks,” the Duke said, bowing.

  “It is a small enough thing to do for the prince of Castle Windsong,” Ryl replied.

  “I don’t understand,” Liana said. “What did you do?”

  “We sent the body away, to an empty part of the plains on the other side of Minathlan,” Welram said.

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Tammis was a servant of the Shadow-born,” Ryl replied. “All her magic, she learned from them, and much of her power came through the link she carried.”

  “The black crystal!” Emereck said.

  “Yes. She bore the taint of shadow willingly, and even in death it would not leave her. To bury such a one in a place of power would be… unwise, at best.”

  “It could have given the Dark Men a way into Windsong,” Welram said.

  “Or a way to destroy it,” Ryl added. “Windsong has long been a stronghold for the enemies of the Shadow-born.”

  “Then why was it ever abandoned?” Emereck asked.

  Ryl smiled a little sadly. “It was not abandoned, exactly. The princes of Windsong became one with their domains; they are the castle and the lands around it. The last of them merged with the land centuries ago.”

  “I thought they had gone to Minathlan.”

  “Minathlan was settled by a younger son at a time when the family was numerous. There were other such colonies, but they have all died out over the centuries. The Dukes of Minathlan are the last.”

  Liana looked at the Duke. “And you mean to live here, my lord?”

  “To claim it, at least. There appears to be no one else who can do so with any justification.”

  “But Minathlan—”

  “I believe I am sufficiently aware of my responsibilities that you need not remind me of them.”

  “Then what will you do with Windsong?” Liana persisted.

  “As I understand it, the only requirement is that one who is ‘of the blood’ of the Dukes of Minathlan rule here,” the Duke said and paused, looking pointedly at Liana.

  “It would be a good job for Oraven,” Liana said hastily. “He’s needed something to distract him for a long time.”

  The Duke raised an eyebrow. “An excellent suggestion. I do not think he will refuse the offer.”

  Ryl smiled. “Then one good thing, at least, has come of this confusion. It will be good to have Windsong occupied again.”

  “That reminds me.” The Duke turned and looked at Emereck.

  Emereck stiffened. “My lord?”

  “I believe you are in some measure responsible for ‘this confusion.’ Now that things have, er, quieted, perhaps you would be good enough to explain how you happen to be here with my daughter and the Harp of Imach Thyssel.”

  “Of course, my lord. But the story is a long one. Will you be seated first?”

  “When did a minstrel ever tell a story briefly?” But the Duke moved toward the paved terrace at the front of the castle, and the others followed.

  Emereck brought the harp with him, and set it close beside himself. When everyone had found a place, he began his tale. For Welram’s benefit, he started with a summary of the fight at Ryl’s inn, the finding of the harp, and the events leading up to Flindaran’s death. He covered his escape from Minathlan and the journey across the plains in greater detail. He was interrupted only once. When he tried to gloss over Liana’s presence, she broke in and pointed out with great firmness that coming with him had been her own idea.

  At last he finished. The Duke looked at him. “Well, minstrel—”

  “My lord,” Liana interrupted. “May I speak?”

  The Duke raised an eyebrow. “I seem unable to prevent you.”

  Liana smiled, completely unabashed. “Thank you, my lord. Emereck does not do himself justice in his account.”

  “I see.” Duke Dindran looked at her. “And what interest do you have in the matter?”

  “I wish to marry him, Father, with your blessing.”

  Emereck’s head jerked toward her, the Duke forgotten. “Liana!”

  Liana raised her chin. “You must have heard me, or you wouldn’t look so shocked.”

  “Liana, this isn’t the time for—”

  “It is, too. If my father agrees.” She looked at the Duke.

  “And if I don’t, you will be sweet and reasonable until I change my mind,” the Duke said. He sighed. “In some ways, you are very like your mother, Liana.”

  Liana rose and curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “My lord, you can’t let her marry me!” Emereck said.

  “Why not?” Liana demanded. “Do stop making objections, Emereck.”

  “Why not, indeed?” murmured the Duke. “It seems… fitting.” He smiled blandly at Emereck’s shocked expression. “After all, I owe you both my life and my daughter’s.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Liana said demurely.

  Emereck looked at Liana, and a crescendo of joy began building within him. “I—I thank you as well, my lord. With all my heart.” He leaned forward, and his hand brushed the harp beside him.

  The joy froze within him. He had played the Harp of Imach Thyssel; now he would have to pay the price. And if Liana’s life became part of that price, he could not bear it.

  “Emereck, what is it?” Liana said.

  “The harp,” Emereck said dully. “There is a price for playing it, and until I have paid it I cannot—”

  “No.” Ryl was shaking her head.

  “What?” Emereck turned to look at her.

  “There is no price. The harp is a tool, no more.”

  “How can you say that?” Emereck demanded. “Everyone who has ever played it has paid! King Loren, and the Prince of the Kulseth…” And Flindaran, he added silently.

  “And Karth of Rathane, and Veleday of Tyrillian before that. But it is not the nature of the harp that extracts a price for its use.”

  “Then what?”

  “It is the nature of men.”

  “How do you know?” Emereck demanded, torn between his desire to believe her and his fear of the consequences if she were wrong.

  “I know the harp.” Ryl smiled. “I played it once, long ago, before the first ancestors of those who built Imach Thyssel walked the ways of Lyra. Before the Shadow-born brought the Change down upon us all.”

  Emereck stared. “Kensal’s tale was true, then. You are one of the Eleann.”

  “Did you doubt it, after what you have seen and done?”

  “I don’t understand,” Emereck said, bewildered.

  “It was the Change itself that you beat back with the music of the harp. Tammis called it down upon me when she realized what I am.” Ryl shook her head. “It was a foolish and dangerous t
hing to do. Once awakened, the spell is impossible to control; it could easily have struck her as well.”

  Welram’s ears twitched. “I doubt that the ones she served would have told her that,” he said dryly. “No matter how well they know it themselves.”

  “The moon exploding, and people melting,” Emereck murmured, and shivered.

  Ryl looked at him sharply. “You have seen visions of the Change?”

  “I thought they were only dreams,” Emereck said. “No, not dreams. Nightmares.”

  “Neither dreams nor nightmares, I think. I should have guessed that the harp might have such an effect on you.”

  “Why?”

  “You are the first true minstrel to hold the harp of Imach Thyssel since Iraman and his friends breached the Valley of Silence. You are suited to it by your profession, and thus more sensitive to its sendings.”

  “Sendings?” Emereck said uneasily.

  “The harp was made before the Change. Among its powers is that of holding and amplifying the emotions of the one who plays it. The Change was… an extremely emotional time. It does not surprise me that the shadow of that event engraved itself on the harp. As long as the Change spell lingers, those emotions will resonate in the harp, sometimes more strongly, sometimes less so. When they were strong, you had your dreams.”

  “As long as the Change lingers?” Liana said. “I thought that was over centuries ago!”

  “No,” Ryl said. “The Change was not so simple a spell. It still endures. Even now, the few Eleann who are left must be constantly on guard against it. If we turn too much of our power away from the spells that protect us from it, we… change. As you saw.” She paused. “Valerin was distracted. We… sent him away, to save him.”

  “And the Harp of Imach Thyssel is the only way to bring him back safely,” Emereck finished, remembering the story Kensal had told them.

  “Yes. And I have little time left. If I do not return with the harp today, or tomorrow, it will be too late.”

  “How many Eleann are there?” Liana asked softly.

  “There are only five of us left now, of all the Eleann.” Ryl looked at Emereck. “Only four, if you will not give me the harp.”

  Emereck hesitated. Welram put a hand to his bow. Emereck’s lips tightened. “I seem to have little choice.”

  Ryl shot a glance at the Wyrd. “No. I will not have it taken from you. Speak your will, and we shall abide by it.”

  Emereck thought fleetingly of the Guild-Masters, men set the thought aside. This decision was his alone. He looked down at the harp. He had lost his fear of it, and he no longer desired its power, but he wanted it now more than ever. Not because of its magic, but because it was an unsurpassable instrument. He remembered the feel of the strings beneath his hands, warm and alive with music.

  He looked at Ryl. “Take it.”

  Ryl smiled and rose to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, and the joyous relief in her voice made Emereck forget to worry about what he was going to tell the Guild-Masters.

  She came forward. Emereck picked up the harp and rose to meet her. He held out the harp, and Ryl took it from him. As the weight of the instrument passed to her hands, her form shimmered and grew. Emereck cried out, remembering his nightmares and all Ryl’s warnings about the Change, but almost before he could begin to worry the shape before him solidified. Emereck looked up in awe.

  She was tall, nearly seven feet. Her skin was a transparent gold; her long hair was the color of mead. Her brown eyes slanted slightly upward above a straight nose and small mouth. She wore a loose robe of dark green trimmed in pale silver. Her hands on the Harp of Imach Thyssel were graceful and long-fingered; good hands for a musician, Emereck thought.

  “Rylorien,” Welram said, and bowed.

  Rylorien smiled at him. “I thank you for your help; without it I could not have held off the Change so long as I did.”

  “Any of us would have done the same.”

  “Still, I was grateful for it. And for your help, Lord Dindran, as well. I am glad of your friendship.”

  “And I of yours,” the Duke replied.

  “Liana.” Rylorien looked at her and smiled. “I wish you well with your minstrel.”

  Liana curtsied without speaking, and Rylorien turned to Emereck. “Again, I thank you, minstrel. Do not worry about the Masters of your Guild; we have some little influence among them.”

  Emereck nodded and bowed, hardly realizing what he was doing. He was too dazed by the rapid turn of events.

  Rylorien’s smile broadened, but it was not unkind. “Fare you well, my friends.” She set her hands to the harpstrings and began to play. Emereck was immediately absorbed in the music, though he could never after remember it. A bright haze grew around her. Through it Emereck caught a glimpse of a slender bridge of silver-edged crystal arcing across a sea of mist, and a castle shining amid the gardens beyond. Then the haze grew too bright to look at. A moment later it was gone, and Rylorien and the Harp of Imach Thyssel with it.

  Emereck stood blinking at the empty air. “I wonder whether the harp will actually do what they want it to,” he said at last.

  Liana smiled and came over to his side. “I think she’ll find a way to let us know,” she said.

  “I, for one, have no intention of standing here waiting for it,” said the Duke. “It seems we shall be spending the night here, and as the castle does not appear to be habitable as yet, I think it would be wise to set up some sort of camp.”

  “I’ll join you,” Welram said, with a glance at Emereck and Liana. Wyrd and Duke set off into the gardens. As soon as they were out of sight, Emereck took Liana in his arms and kissed her.

  “Much better,” Liana said breathlessly a few moments later. “I take it you’re willing to marry me after all?”

  “Willing!” Emereck provided her with another demonstration of his enthusiasm.

  “How soon can we be married?” Liana asked a long time later.

  “As soon as we can get a minstrel here from Kith Alunel to perform the ceremony,” Emereck said, grinning.

  Liana smiled back at him. “And where do we go then?”

  “Back to Ciaron, I think. I owe the Master Minstrels some explanations, even if Ryl thinks she can make everything right with them.” Emereck’s smile faded, and he stared off into the setting sun. “So much has happened.”

  Liana looked up at him, then snuggled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “Yes, it has. It will make a wonderful song.”

  Emereck blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him, but Liana was absolutely right. He would make it a memorial for Flindaran and Kensal. How should he start it? Long was the road to the castle gate, Wherein the harp did lie…

  He felt Liana smile against his chest, and realized he had spoken aloud. He tightened his hold on her. “It will be a wonderful song,” he said. “It certainly will.”

  A Biography of Patricia C. Wrede

  For more than twenty years, Patricia Collins Wrede (b. 1953) has expanded the boundaries of fantasy writing. Born in Chicago to a large, literary family, Wrede spent her childhood immersed in the Chronicles of Narnia, classic fairy tales, and L. Frank Baum’s Land of Oz—a foundation in imagined worlds that paved the way for her future career.

  After receiving a degree in biology from Carleton College in 1974, Wrede completed an MBA at the University of Minnesota, and began working as a financial analyst in the late 1970s. In her spare time, Wrede wrote fantasy stories in the vein of the classic novels she read as a child. Her love of fantasy even fueled an interest in tabletop role-playing games: Lyra, the first gaming world that Wrede invented, was based on the unpublished work-in-progress that would become Shadow Magic. In 1980 she became a founding member of a group of Minneapolis-based, fantasy-fiction authors known as the Interstate Writers’ Workshop, or Scribblies, with whom she later worked on the critically acclaimed Liavek shared-world anthology series.

  That same year, Wrede sold her first novel, Shadow Magic, which was publ
ished in 1982. It was the public debut of Lyra, a magical world shared by four races whose cultural differences see them constantly at odds. Wrede used Lyra as the setting for four more novels: Daughter of Witches (1984), The Harp of Imach Thyssel (1985), Caught in Crystal (1987), and The Raven Ring (1994). Wrede’s strong prose, sense of humor, and powerful female leads drew special attention to her early novels. Her quick success allowed her to begin writing fulltime.

  Though the Lyra novels found popularity with audiences of all ages, Wrede aims her more recent work at young-adult readers, beginning with her four-book Enchanted Forest Chronicles, which follow the adventures of a young princess who becomes apprenticed to a dragon. Her other fantasy series include the Cecelia and Kate novels, cowritten with Caroline Stevermer and set in Regency England; the Mairelon books, which also take place in Regency England; and the Frontier Magic trilogy, based on Old West pioneers.

  Wrede lives and works in Minnesota.

  Patricia Collins’s baby photo, taken around 1955 when the family lived in Maywood, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago.

  Patricia playing piano in her family’s living room in Hinsdale, Illinois (another Chicago suburb).

  Patricia (the tallest) with her four siblings (from left: Susan, David, Carol, and Peg) in Tulsa around 1968.

  Patricia’s senior yearbook photo at Hinsdale Township High School Central in Hinsdale, Illinois.

  Patricia’s high-school commencement photo, 1970.

  Patricia and her father, David M. Collins, outside her dorm at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota. The photo was taken at the beginning of her freshman year, in 1970.

  Patricia’s wedding in July 1976 to James M. Wrede.

  An outline of the Wyrd government, as Patricia was developing Shadow Magic in the late 1970s.