The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel by Patricia Collins Wrede Page B

listened without comment, his expression unreadable. When Flindaran finished, the Duke inclined his head. “I am compelled to confess that for once you have surprised me, Flindaran.”
    “It was not my intention, sir.”
    “Nonetheless, you have succeeded admirably. I make you my apologies; you were indeed justified in coming directly here.”
    “Thank you.”
    The Duke nodded in acknowledgment, then looked at Emereck. “And I commend your discretion, minstrel.”
    “I fear I do not understand you, my lord,” Emereck replied.
    “It appears from my son’s narrative that the Harp of Imach Thyssel has not yet been played. Knowing him, I infer that yours was the restraining hand. Consequently, I applaud your prudence.”
    “My lord is too kind.”
    A gleam of amusement crossed Lord Dindran’s face, so swiftly that Emereck wondered whether he had imagined it. Then the Duke leaned back and said, “Just so. Now tell me, what are your plans for this impressive instrument?”
    “My intention is to bear it to the Guildhall in Ciaron without delay, my lord,” Emereck said firmly. Somehow, Lord Dindran’s presence made him more uneasily aware than ever that he had neither the experience nor the knowledge to deal with the harp alone.
    “I regret that such a journey is not now possible.” The Duke sounded only mildly apologetic.
    Emereck stiffened. Flindaran frowned and said, “Why not, sir? From my experience with you, I expect you have some reason.”
    “You are correct. Your little encounter with the Syaski is only one of many that have occurred recently. Though I appreciate your desire to turn this harp over to the Masters of your Guild, I cannot look with pleasure on the possibility of Syaskor obtaining it.”
    “Sir, the men we met were Lithmern, not Syaski,” Flindaran said.
    “That is one of the things that makes your tale so fascinating.”
    “Then you think the Syaski are involved as well?” Flindaran leaned forward eagerly. “That they’re getting ready for something?”
    “There are indications of it.”
    “Sir, if—”
    “I do not believe I have indicated a wish to begin a discussion of the Syaski before I have finished my discussion of this harp of yours.”
    “Again I beg your pardon, sir,” Flindaran said, clenching his teeth.
    “Quite so.” The Duke studied him. “If you are determined to discuss Syaskor with someone, I suggest you seek your brother Gendron. He returned from Syaskor barely two days ago. No doubt he will be willing to indulge your curiosity.”
    Flindaran bit his lip and nodded. Lord Dindran smiled sweetly at his son, then turned to Emereck as though nothing had happened. “You see why I must advise against your immediate departure.”
    Emereck hesitated. “I share your concern about Syaskor, my lord. But I do not like waiting here with no sure course before me. If the western way is barred, perhaps I may go north into Alkyra, or south to Kith Alunel.”
    “I am afraid the northern roads will be washed out at this time of year,” Lord Dindran said apologetically. “And I doubt that Kith Alunel is a better choice than Syaskor at the moment.”
    “Why do you say that, my lord? The Guildhall there has a good reputation.”
    “Unfortunately, the Guildhall in Kith Alunel is temporarily empty. A week ago King Birn banned all minstrels from the city.”
    “ What ?” Emereck could not suppress the shocked exclamation. Beside him, Flindaran stared at his father in surprise.
    The Duke smiled. “Some trifling disagreement regarding a satiric verse, I believe.”
    “A week ago, sir?” Flindaran eyed his father with respectful skepticism. “Kith Alunel is two weeks’ ride from here, at least.”
    “How perceptive of you to realize that,” the Duke said in a gentle tone that sent chills down Emereck’s back. “I do not, however, choose to enlighten you as to the source of my information. You will have to take my word that minstrels have indeed been banned from the