The Harp of Aleth (2 page)

* * *

Tavia bit her lip hard, letting the pain remind her why she had taken this job.
The High King will have my head if I screw this one up.
She pulled her cloak closer around her to cut the wind’s chill and headed out the gate, looking for a quiet spot.

Tavia pushed her way into the middle of a sheltered copse just outside the gates, and pulled out a silvery crystal cube. She pricked her finger with the point of her dagger and pressed the blood spot to a dimple in one side and whispered the incantation.
“Joran mael.”

The cube spun and rose from her palm.

“Why are you contacting me?”
a man’s voice answered her from inside the cube.

“You were supposed to be in Frazin before us,” Tavia snapped. “Lady Julissa is displeased by your tardiness.”

“I am three hours ride away. Tell the Lady that I will be there by sunset and that I was attacked by Wargs in the foothills of the southern pass from Jinran.”

“We are staying at The Bleeding Heart Inn. It’s in the northern quarter of the town. You will be inconspicuous?” Tavia bit her lip again.

“I have had enough encounters with guards since I crossed into Jinran. I will be fine.”
The mage sounded weary.

“Good.” Tavia closed the connection down and put the cube away.
He’d better be as good as his contact said. I will need back up to complete my mission.
She pushed her way out of the copse and headed back into town.

* * *

Further down the road, hidden by a large bush, Joran watched the Cavalier leave, stroking the nose of his red roan mare to keep her quiet.
I definitely caught a hint of another intention below her public mind.
He frowned.
I hope she isn’t planning to betray the Lady and myself to the Aracan Katuvana, I would have to take steps if she was.
He swung himself up into the saddle, settled his cloak and let his mare meander towards the small town.

The guards on the gate looked at him, but waved him through, despite the symbol on his cloak.
Now that is interesting. Maybe Kaela Mensha
has
been forgotten in these southern kingdoms.

He caught sight of the Cavalier as she entered a blacksmith’s shop.
I’d better avoid her. I want to talk to Lady Julissa before Ser Tavia arrives back at the inn.
He dismounted and accosted a young lad in an Inn Runner tabard.

“Young man, can you direct me to the Bleeding Heart Inn please?”

The boy grinned.

“I can do better than that, Sir, ’tis my Master’s inn and I can lead you there.” He tapped a small pin in the shape of a dripping heart attached to his collar.

Joran smiled. “Thank you. I’ll tip you well, if you can get me there quickly.”

“Of course Sir, come this way.”

The Runner led Joran up several side streets, always moving up the hill and according to Joran’s direction sense, mostly North West.

They came to a large wooden gate where the Runner knocked. A small panel in the gate opened.

“Who be there?”

“Horse Master Franden, ’tis I, Andre,” the boy replied. “I have brought a customer for the Inn.”

A suspicious look melted into a wide smile.

“Good Lad. Give me but a moment, Sir and I shall open the gates.”

Joran hid a smile.
Jinranian Inn Staff get everywhere it seems.

* * *

Julissa’s temper had started deteriorating the moment she walked through the door of the inn and introduced herself. The innkeeper’s thick Jinranian accent meant she had to ask him to repeat everything he said. Eventually, she gave up in disgust and let Qin-Dar do the talking while she sat beside the massive fire and ordered some food from one of the barmaids, who thankfully spoke with the local accent.

Virrinel stood behind her, his hand jumping to his sword hilt every time the door opened.

“Would you calm down, Virri,” she snapped. “No one is going to attack us here.”

“I’m sorry, my Lady. The… structure looming over the town has my nerves on edge,” the autochthon apologised, the tufted ears atop his head folding down in shame.

“Sit down and have something to eat,” Julissa suggested. “You’re probably just hungry.”

Virrinel muttered under his breath, glaring at her.

“I wouldn’t consider it a dereliction of duty, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Julissa smiled.
Since he finished his training in Galivor, Virrinel has been so serious. He’s hardly the same boy I grew up with.

“Thank you, my Lady, but I would rather wait until this mage has arrived and I have been able to quell my misgivings.” Virrinel rotated his shoulders, the muscles cracking.

Qin-Dar returned from her discussion with Master Franden.

“He has upgraded your room to a suite so that Virrinel can be close by, with separate rooms for me, Tavia and this mage.” She sat down across from Julissa.

“So that’s what he was going on about,” Julissa shook her head. “I just couldn’t understand his accent; it was so thick.”

“And you call yourself a bard?” Qin-Dar teased. “I thought all bards could understand and perform in every Quargardian accent.”

“Hah!” Julissa snorted and shifted her clipped Alethdariel accent into a Reldheim one. “Ye get ordained as a cleric and ye think y’know it all, eh? What ye’re referring to is nae j’st a talent, ’tis an art form y’see.”

Qin-Dar giggled and Virrinel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

The door to the stable yard opened.

Qin-Dar gasped.

“What’s the matter, Lady Cleric?” Virrinel turned to look at the door, his sword hand hovering over his hilt. He growled low in his throat, like a cat scenting an enemy.

Julissa frowned, reverting to her normal speech.

“What is wrong with you two now. Have you seen a ghost walk in?”

Qin-Dar shook her head.

“Far worse than the Undead, Lady Julissa.”

“What could be worse than the Undead?”

“One who could command them, for a start!” Virrinel growled, pulling his sword out of its sheath by an inch.

What’s eating them?
Julissa turned around.

Talking to Master Farsheir stood a tall man in a red cloak. His long white-blonde hair had been pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, fastened by a fillet made of a metal that flashed a colour far brighter than silver in the common room’s dim light.

As he turned, Julissa felt her heart jump and she felt a fluttering begin in her stomach. He had dark skin and even at that distance, she was drawn to his green-grey eyes like a moth to a lantern.
He’s stunning. Far better looking than my Vrenstalliren ever was.
She swallowed against the tears that pricked her eyes at that thought, and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself as the newcomer finished talking to the Innkeeper and turned towards their table.

As the man took his first few steps toward them, Virrinel’s rumble became an obvious growl and Qin-Dar’s face fell.

“What is with you two?” Julissa whispered. “He may be Drow, but that doesn’t mean he’s evil. There are plenty of Drow in Alethdariel, Viraldin and Elysia.”

“It is not his race that is the problem,” Virrinel said, clearly holding his instincts in check.

“He’s wearing the symbol of Kaela Mensha,” Qin-Dar hissed back.

The Dark God of Battle.
Julissa remembered.
He must be Elysian then. That’s the only place outside of I’Mor Barad that one of his race would bear that symbol.

The Drow stopped in front of their table.

“Lady Julissa of Alethdan?” His soft accent confirmed her assumption, as did the embroidered dragon climbing the arm of his red tunic. “I am the Mage Lord Joran of Nor. Ser Tavia engaged my services for your expedition.”

Julissa slipped into her court manner, noting his first class insignia above the Kaela Mensha symbol.

“Lord Joran, welcome to Franier.” She stood and extended her right hand.

He dropped to his left knee and took her hand.

“I vow my service to you for as long as you have need of me.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, just above her signet ring.

Virrinel snarled. “Get your filthy hands off my Lady.” He pushed himself between them, forcing Joran to move back so fast he stumbled.

“Ser Virrinel! That is enough,” Julissa snapped.

“But, he’s—”

“Lord Joran is a gentleman and a mage,” Julissa interrupted. “He will not harm us.”

Qin-Dar snorted. “As if an Adherent of Kaela Mensha would cause harm.”

Julissa heaved a sigh at the cleric’s sarcasm.
I hope she doesn’t offend him.

Joran smiled. “You’re the first person to recognise the symbol, Lady Cleric. But, I need to correct your assumption, if I may. In my order we do not hurt anyone.”

“Please do tell us more about yourself, Lord Joran.” Julissa found it difficult to breathe as he turned his smile on her. “We should discuss the expedition, after all.”

Joran sat down beside her.

“Of course, my Lady. Call me Joran if you would.”

“Then you should call me Julissa.” That came out a little more breathlessly than she would have liked. She could feel the heat from his leg on her knee.
Goddess! Why am I reacting like this?

Joran caught her eyes. “I am honoured, my Lady.”

They stared at each other.

Virrinel rumbled. “Get on with it.”

Joran looked up at him.

“Will you not join us and relax your vigil a little?”

“Yes, Virrinel. Sit down.” Julissa added a note of command to her voice and the autochthon reluctantly took the seat across from Joran.

* * *

The Lych Mistress smiled and casually slapped the gremlin in front of her across the head.

“Excellent work. Now Wortarin is safe and I can get on with the business of sorting out the dungeon.”

The gremlin bowed and grinned, his luminous green eyes whirling.

“Go and gather a work party,” she told him. “The Graveyard walls need fortifying.”

The gremlin bowed again, spun on the spot and disappeared.

The Lych Mistress examined the pedestal that the Trolls had fabricated.

“Excellent work indeed,” she murmured as she found the Tower & Eye symbol etched into the side.

She pressed on the symbol and the pedestal slid aside, carrying the entombed Custodian Wortarin with it and revealing a tunnel entrance door. The Lych Mistress checked the spells on the metal door.

“Perfect. Now I can deal with Julissa and her little group.”

She touched the symbol again and the pedestal slid back into place. Wortarin’s terrified eyes, the only part he could move, followed her movements.

“What do you think Wortarin? It’s always good to have an escape route and should, by some small chance, you and your dungeon crystal survive, and you’ll have a direct link with the Under City.” She laughed and looked into the eyes of the entombed custodian. “Not that I think your dungeon will survive, that is. I will, however, save your magical item collection and best minions for my own personal use. Rest easy, Wortarin.”

The Lych Mistress patted the stone body of the custodian intimately and left the Dais room.

* * *

Tavia entered the tavern just after sunset to find Lady Julissa sitting by the fire, singing. Gazing at the beautiful elven bard from a seat nearby was a Drow in Blood Mage robes.
He came straight here. I thought he’d meet me at the gate first! Damn him to the Tower.

She wove her way through the crowd surrounding Julissa, scanning for the other two members of the party.
Where are the cat-man and that unicorn cleric? I got the impression that the cat-man would never leave Julissa alone in a room.

“Ah, Ser Tavia. Be welcome once more to my Inn,” Master Farsheir said in her ear, making her jump.

She turned to face the diminutive Innkeeper.

“Yes, thank you. Is everything all right, Master Farsheir?”

“Oh yes. The Lady said she would perform this evening and I have reduced the amount that she will need to pay for the rooms, as I usually do for Bards.” He paused. “I have overheard news that disturbs me much.”

“And what was that?”

He lowered his voice.

“The Lady and her party were discussing an expedition into the dungeon under the mines.”

“Is this a problem?” Tavia found her gaze returning to fix upon Joran.
If I’d known he was this pretty, I wouldn’t have agreed when Harradine suggested him.
She bit her lip.

“The locals, they do not like strangers poking their noses into the mines, and you will find a modicum of resistance if you should venture in that direction.” The innkeeper looked concerned. “I would not like it if one of my royal guests came to harm whilst within my walls.”