“I must make fire,” she said, hoping they might understand. “I can’t see to do such fine work. It’s almost dark, and there are four more of these to fit, and then the strings. Must I go there by night? Is that what you mean?”

The only answer was wordless, incomprehensible. One of the sea women held the frame upright, two others were still fashioning strings, and there were two down on the sand now, crouching over something they were making. Nessa fitted the next peg.

“You should tell me the truth,” she said, fumbling to find another of the tiny bones, to trim the end narrower while she could still see. “If I don’t get there before morning, will Eyvind die? How can I get there? How can I go up this path in the dark, with—” She looked at the thing she had made, so delicate, so fragile. She looked at the wolfskin, bulky, heavy, but not to be left behind. Guard whimpered in his sleep; he was exhausted and hurt. “I don’t think I can do it,” Nessa whispered. Oh, Eyvi, how can I do it? She reached to slip the peg into place, but it was too wide and would not fit, and now the sun sank abruptly, and all at once it was too dark to see, too dark to calculate the fine adjustment necessary, to shave off the smallest fragment of bone so this could fit snugly but still be turned. I can’t do it.

The sea woman suddenly let go of the harp, and Nessa’s hands shot out to keep it from falling. A thrill ran through her, a ripple of power that made every corner of her body tingle with a terrible awareness. In that moment, she felt what this was. As yet it had no strings, no voice, yet she sensed the magic hidden in the graceful frame, the energy concealed in the elegant small shape. I am…I am… Its voice hovered on the edge of hearing, urgent to come forth. Oh, it would speak all right; it would tell a tale to freeze men’s hearts and set tears of shame in their eyes, it would make them shiver and quail with its song. This harp would bring truth to the tyrant’s hall. It would save the Folk. It would save Eyvind, if only she could bear it forth in time.

There was a certain amount of dispute as to where Eyvind might be held securely until all was prepared for a formal hearing. Erlend and Holgar recommended some form of shackles, and a bolted door. Somerled thought such precautions unnecessary. After all, Eyvind had demanded a fair hearing. Now that he was getting one, why would he take the trouble to escape? Hadn’t he given himself up with no more than a token struggle?