The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel (26 page)

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 they 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?”

“If you trusted him, why didn’t you ever talk to him about the harp? Why didn’t you discuss your plans with him?”

“What makes you think—”

“I heard some of his talks with Talerith. He was worried about you, Emereck.”

Emereck stared. “Worried about me? But he was the one—”

“How do you know?”

“The way he was acting…”

“Was it so different from the way you were acting?”

“He never said anything.”

“Neither did you. That’s what I mean.” Liana shook her head. “You don’t trust anyone when it comes to that Demon-cursed harp.”

Emereck blinked, surprised and hurt by the bitterness in her voice. “I-I trust you, Liana.”

“Do you?” Liana said evenly.

“You’re the only person I
know
doesn’t want the harp.”

“Do you?” she said again. “You haven’t been acting like it.”

“I don’t under—” Emereck stopped, then went on in an altered tone, “I
couldn’t
tell you I had it with me. Surely you see that! It was too dangerous.”

“Was it any less dangerous for me to come with you, not knowing about it?”

“I tried to make you stay in Minathlan!” Emereck responded, stung. “But would you listen? No, you insisted on following me whether I wanted you to or not! You’re stubborner than Flindaran ever was.”

“Probably,” Liana said calmly. “But I wasn’t complaining about the risk. I was simply asking whether this trip would have been any more dangerous for me if you’d told me about the harp that first morning, when I caught up with you.”

“I suppose not,” Emereck said after a moment’s hesitation. “But the harp isn’t…”

Liana made a small, exasperated noise. “If the Harp of Imach Thyssel is too powerful to even
talk
about with anyone else, then it’s too powerful for you to handle alone.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? All I want is to get back to the Guild-Hall in Ciaron and let the Masters have it!”

“And in the meantime you’re going to curl up in a shell, like a garden-snail?”

“The Harp of Imach Thyssel is too important to take chances with.”

“So you trust me as long as it isn’t too important.” Liana stopped and her expression changed. She shook her head in apology. “I’m sorry, Emereck. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I deserve it,” Emereck said. “I wanted to tell you about the harp, but we were still so close to Minathlan… I should have trusted you, but I wouldn’t let myself. I couldn’t take the chance.”

“The way you want to trust Kensal now, and won’t let yourself?” Liana said softly.

“I—” Emereck paused. “I don’t know.” He looked at Liana through the growing gloom. “Do you think I should give the harp to Kensal, then?”

“No. But I think you ought to
think
about it a little more, instead of just rejecting it out of hand.”

Silence fell. Slowly, Emereck finished his meal. Liana made no move to leave; she sat gazing into the deepening twilight with a look of abstraction. Emereck sighed. How could one small woman, hardly more than a girl, make him feel so confused and uncertain? He wanted to shake her; he wanted to shout at her; he wanted to tell her… tell her… he didn’t know what he wanted to tell her.

His eye fell on his harp. Almost without thinking he picked it up and began to play, an old country song from somewhere in the north.

“Oh, where are you going this warm summer day?

How long will you travel alone on your way?

What wish set you walking on what private quest

That keeps you from dancing at home with the rest?

What goal do you look for, that drives you so fast?

And what will you do when you find it at last?

I go where my love goes, I follow her song.

I’ll walk ’til I find her, no matter how long.

I wish for her laughter, the smile she can’t hide

I lost it because of my anger and pride.

My love is my goal, and that we’ll never part

I’ll ask her forgiveness, and offer my heart.”

The last notes of the plaintive melody lingered in the air. Emereck looked up to find Liana watching him with a slight smile. He set the harp carefully aside, as though it was the harp and not the mood that he feared would break. There was a long silence. Finally he took a deep breath. “Liana, I— Well, I’m sorry. About everything—the harp, and Flindaran, and…”

There was a rustle in the darkness as Liana leaned forward. “Hush,” she said, and kissed him.

For a long moment Emereck forgot about Flindaran, the Harp of Imach Thyssel, the Syaski, and everything else. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away. “Liana, I wish— If it weren’t for that blasted harp…”

Liana looked at him. “I don’t see what the harp has to do with it.”

“It has everything to do with it.” Emereck swallowed hard. “I can’t make any promises until this business with the harp is settled, one way or another.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might have to break them, or worse. I’m already responsible for Flindaran’s death—”

“That’s the silliest statement I’ve ever heard. In the first place, it was an accident, and in the second place he was trying to steal your precious harp. If anyone was responsible for his death it was Flindaran himself! And I don’t see what it has to do with kissing me.”

“Will you listen? I’m stuck with the harp. With all the wizards and Syaski and who knows what else looking for it, there’s a good chance I’ll be killed before we get to Ciaron. And even if I make it…”

“Yes?”

Emereck sighed. “I’m a minstrel; music and stories are all I know. After the way I’ve bungled this whole business, I’ll be surprised if the Guild-Masters don’t throw me out.”

“You’ve done the best you could. They’ll know that.”

“Maybe. And maybe not. But either way, I can’t make promises, or ask for them, until… until I know whether I have anything to offer.”

Liana looked at him until he was forced to meet her eyes. “I don’t need promises, Emereck,” she said softly.

“I do,” Emereck whispered.

Liana was silent. Then she said slowly, “I think I understand. I don’t know whether you’re right or not, but I think I understand.” She lifted her head and smiled at him, then leaned forward and kissed him again. “I’ll wait.”

Before Emereck could think of an adequate reply, she rose to her feet, picked up the bowl, and went down the hill toward the camp. Emereck sat looking after her for a long time.

N
EXT MORNING,
E
MERECK HAD
more difficulty in facing Liana than Kensal. The need to keep her at a distance angered and frustrated him. He took refuge in irritability, but Liana did not seem to notice. Eventually, their casual conversation coaxed him out of his dark mood, and by the time they reached the outskirts of the forest he had pushed the problem to the back of his mind.

Once they were past the bushy growth at the forest’s edge, Emereck relaxed at last. He had not realized how nervous the wide openness of the plains had made him until he left it behind. His troubles were far from over, he knew, but at least there would not be a repeat of the hopeless flight from Lanyk, with nowhere to run or hide.

Kensal took the lead for the afternoon’s ride, and for once Emereck was pleased to let him. His own skills as a woodsman were adequate to the needs of a wandering minstrel, but no more. The Cilhar’s expertise was obvious, and the small group of almost-fugitives might need every advantage they could get.

Next morning, they continued west. The trees were large, and their heavy canopy of leaves hid the sun almost completely. At first Emereck enjoyed the shade, but after a while he became uneasy. He felt eyes on his back, watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He tried to dismiss the feeling, but it would not go away.

“Is something wrong?” Liana asked, after he had looked over his shoulder for the fourth time in as many minutes.

“I don’t think so,” Emereck said apologetically. “These woods just make me nervous.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was the plains that bothered you.”