The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel (25 page)

“No one’s seen a Shee or Neira or Wyrd for centuries!” Emereck said, feeling more confused by the minute.

Liana looked as if she were about to say something, then changed her mind. Kensal shrugged. “Shee and Wyrds and Neira are just as real as Shadow-born. And it’s not true that no one has seen them for centuries; they’ve been all over Alkyra for the last four years, and there are always a few on the Island of the Moon in the south.”

“I—” Emereck shook his head. He knew there were Guild-Halls that considered the songs of the Pallersi Cycle to be literally true, but he himself had always thought that the songs and stories of the Wars of Binding were half poetry and half myth. Oh, there had certainly been some great magical conflict, but most of the Master Minstrels of Ciaron felt that it must have been an interracial war. Hadn’t the three non-human races—the Shee, the Wyrds, and the Neira—withdrawn from humans after the war? The “shadow-born,” according to this interpretation, referred to those members of the Four Races whose hatred had begun the war. Some of the Masters even regarded the three non-human races as myths, though there were Alkyran records barely two hundred years old that mentioned Shee and Wyrds. “I would have heard of it in Ciaron if what you say is true!”

Kensal shrugged. “Talk to the Alkyrans. Talk to the minstrels who were there during the invasion. Your Grand Master himself crowned the new Queen of Alkyra. Talk to him!”

“I know, but…” Emereck’s objection trailed off. If Shadow-born were real beings, not metaphor…

“But what are they, really?” Liana asked. “These Shadow-born?”

“Powerful, ambitious, and dangerous,” Kensal replied promptly. “I don’t know much more than that, and I don’t want to.”

“And you think they’re following us?” Liana persisted.

“The Shadow-born? No. One of their servants, perhaps. But that could be almost as bad.”

“How do you know all this?” Emereck asked suspiciously. “You said yourself, you’re a fighter, not a wizard.”

“Ryl told me when she asked me to help her get the Harp of Imach Thyssel.”

Emereck’s head snapped in Kensal’s direction. For a moment he simply stared, absorbing the implications of Kensal’s statement. He and Ryl were working together, and they were after the harp. But why had Kensal admitted it? He must have known how Emereck would react. It might be a sincere demonstration of good faith; but then again, he might be trying to fool Emereck into believing he was sincere. “Please, explain,” Emereck said at last.

“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 what 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.

T
HEY 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.