01 THE TIME OF THE DARK d-1

by Barbara Hambly

  "Well, you may stay here, of course," the old man agreed magnanimously.

  "Thanks a lot."

  The rising moon edged the hills in a thin flame of silver as they moved off, the shadows of the rolling land profound and terrible in the icy night. Ingold's dark mantle whispered like a ghost across the silver grass.

  "Uh, Ingold?" Rudy said hesitantly as they started down the long slope of the land. "I'm sorry I said you were a nut."

  Ingold glanced back at him, a glint of the old mischief in his eyes. Gravely, he said, "Apology accepted, Rudy. I'm only pleased we were able to convince you-"

  "Hey- " Rudy bristled, and the wizard laughed softly.

  "I admit it was not a very likely story. Another time I shall do better."

  Rudy picked his way down the stony trail after him, dusting black crud off the gaudy sleeves of his patched jacket. "I hope you don't plan to do much of this," he said. "It's too damn hard on your friends."

  They were on the move until just before dawn. Though the night was profoundly silent and cold, nothing worse was seen or heard. If the Dark Ones hunted, they did not hunt these hills.

  After several miles Ingold left the wind-combed silver slopes of the foothills, and they began working their way up a steep wooded valley that seemed to lead straight back into the heart of the mountains, with the scent of the crackling mat of autumn leaves under their feet and from somewhere the far-off trickling sounds of water. Only once in the woods did Ingold break the silence, to say, "I'm avoiding the main road up from the plains and leading you into Karst by the back way. The road would make walking easier, but it will be crowded with refugees and consequently in greater danger from the Dark Ones. I personally have no desire for further swordplay tonight."

  Gil, weary already from stumbling over broken ground with fifteen pounds of sleeping infant in her arms, wondered how Ingold had managed this far, after the original battle at the Palace of Gae, no sleep, and the fight with the Dark in the isolated shack in the orange groves. Did all wizards have that kind of reserve strength to draw on, she wondered, or was Ingold simply incredibly tough and enduring? In the shadows of his hood, his face was white and tired, his eyes circled by dark smudges of weariness. Red welts marked where the thing's whiplike tail had cut his face, and the shoulders of his mantle were scattered with spark-holes; dappled with the wan starlight, he moved through the darkness of the woods as straight and serene as some old gentleman out for an afternoon promenade in the park.

  They stepped from the dark beneath the trees into the clearer area of second growth along the stream, and the music of the water grew suddenly louder to their ears. After the darkness of the woods, even the shifting moonlight seemed bright. It illuminated a ghostly dreamscape of black and pewter, of deep patches of river sand and water-smoothed rocks. Before them, up the stream bed, loomed the black wall of the mountain's flank, featureless against the muted glow of the sky, save for one spot of orange, a distant glimmer of fire in the night.

  "There," Ingold said, pointing. "That will be Karst. There we should find what is left of the government of the Realm of Darwath."

  Karst, when they reached the town, reminded Gil of every wealthy mountain resort town she had ever seen, beautiful with a self-consciously rustic elegance of roomy, splendid houses mingled with ancient trees. As they passed the dark mansions, locked up tight in leafy shadows, she could make out variations of the architecture which she had never before seen, but which were eerily familiar to her-the clusters of smooth, narrow pilasters, the twining plant motifs of the capitals, and, here and there, pierced stone molding in an elaborate geometrical design. As they came toward the center of town she saw sheep and cows tethered or in folds close around some of the buildings, their staring eyes gleaming in fright in the darkness. As they passed out of the woods, the path they walked turned to cobblestones, the mossy pavement down the center of the lane sporting a thin, silver trickle of water. For a moment, walls enclosed them in sinister shadow; then they emerged into firelight as brilliant as day.

  The town square was deserted. Huge bonfires had been kindled there, the flames reaching fifteen feet toward the cool, watching stars, the light gleaming redly on the black waters of the great town fountain with its wide lichen-rimmed bowl and dark, obscure statuary. In the flickering shadows surrounding the square, Gil could distinguish the walls and turrets of several opulent villas, the fortress-like towers of what she guessed was a church, and the massive foursquare bulk of what was undoubtedly the Grand Market and Town Hall, three and a half storeys of gemlike half-timbering, like black and white lace in the dark. It was for this edifice that Ingold made.

  The double doors of the hall were ten feet high and wide enough to admit a cart and team, with a little man-size postern door cut in one corner. Ingold tested it; it was bolted from within. Since his body interposed between them and the door, Gil didn't see what he did, but a moment later he pushed it open and slipped through into the light and the clamoring noise beyond.

  The entire lower floor of the building, one immense pillared market hall, was jammed to bursting with people. It was deafening with the unceasing chaos of voices, rank with grease and urine and unwashed bodies, smelly clothes and fried fish. A blue fog of wood-smoke hid the groined ceiling, stung the eyes, and limited visibility to a few yards in any direction. It must have been close to five in the morning, but people wandered around, talking, arguing, fetching water from a couple of half-empty butts over in one corner of the room. Children dashed aimlessly between the serried pillars and endless jumbled mounds of personal belongings; men stood in clusters, gesturing, cursing, sharpening swords. Mothers called to children; grandmothers and grandfathers huddled next to pitiful bundles of possessions, elbow to elbow with one another in hopeless confusion. Some people had brought crated ducks, chickens, and geese; the gabble of fowl and stink of guano mingled with the rest of the sensory onslaught. Gil glimpsed a girl of about ten in the homespun dress of a peasant, sitting on a pile of bedding, cradling a sleek brown cat in her arms; somewhere else, a woman in yellow satin, her elaborately coiffed hair falling in haglike disarray around her face, rocked back and forth on her heels next to a chicken crate and prayed at the top of her voice. The firelight threw a glaring orange cast over everything, turning the crowd and enclosure into a scene from the anteroom of Hell.

  Smoke stung Gil's eyes and made them water as she picked her way in Ingold's wake through the close-packed ranks of people, sidestepping pots, pans, water buckets, bundles of clothes and bedding, small children and men's feet, heading toward the massive stairway that curved upward from the room's center to the floor above, and the table at the foot of those stairs.

  Someone recognized Ingold and called out in surprise. His name was repeated, back and back, washing like ripples of meaningless sound to the far corners of that shadow-muffled room. And that sound was of awe and wonder and fear. People edged away from the wizard's feet to let him pass by. Someone snatched a sleeping child back; someone else raked a bundle of clothes and a money-bag out of his path. Magically, an aisle opened before him, an aisle lined with obscure forms and the glitter of watching eyes, a path to the table at the foot of the stairs and the small group of people assembled about it.

  Except for the soft clucking of some chickens and one infant crying, the hall had fallen silent. Expectant eyes pinned them, the hooded form of the wizard in his singed brown robe, the man and woman, strangers in outlandish garb of scuffed blue denim, the bundle of dirty black blankets the woman carried in her arms. Gil had never felt so conspicuous in her life.

  "Ingold!" A big man in the black uniform Gil recognized at once from her dreams came striding from the group to meet them, caught Ingold, and crushed him in a bear-hug that could easily have broken ribs. "We gave you up for dead, man!"

  "Giving me up for dead is always unwise, Janus," Ingold replied a little breathlessly. "Especially when... "

  But the big man's eyes had already shifted past him, taking in Rudy, G
il, and the grimy bundle in Gil's arms, the grubby gold of the emblems embroidered there. His expression changed from delight and relief to a kind of awe-struck wonder, and he released the wizard numbly, as if he had half-forgotten him. "You saved him," he whispered. "You saved him after all."

  Ingold nodded. Janus looked from the child back to the sturdy old man at his side, as if he expected Ingold to vanish or change shape before his eyes. The murmuring voices of the multitude swelled again, like the swell of the sea, and washed to the far corners of the crowded room. But around the table, there was still that island of silence.

  Into that silence Ingold said, perfectly calmly, "This is Gil, and this is Rudy. They were kind enough to aid me in the Prince's rescue. They are strangers from another land and know nothing of the Realm or its customs, but they are both loyal and valiant."

  Rudy ducked his head, embarrassed at the description. Gil, for her part, had subconsciously avoided thinking anything positive about herself for the last fifteen years and blushed hotly. Undisturbed, Ingold continued. "Gil, Rudy-Janus of Weg, Commander of the City Guards of Gae." His gesture included the two still seated at the table. "Bektis, Court Wizard of the House of Dare; Govannin Narmenlion, Bishop of Gae."

  Startled that Ingold did not hold the title, Gil looked at Bektis, a self-consciously haughty man with the signs of the Zodiac worked into the borders of his gray velvet cloak. Because of the shaven head that gave the Bishop of Gae the look of some ancient Egyptian scribe, and because of the voluminous scarlet robes that hid the thin, straight body, it took Gil a moment to realize that this was a woman, but there was not a second of doubt that she was a Bishop. That harsh ascetic face would tolerate nothing less than spiritual command and would trust no one else to guard sufficiently the honor of her God.

  As proper acknowledgments were made and the Bishop extended her dark amethyst ring to be kissed, Gil heard behind her the low murmur of Janus' deep voice speaking to Ingold. "... fight in the hall," he was saying. "Alwir's set up refugee camps here... sent patrols into the city... convoying food... bringing people to safety here... "

  "My lord Alwir has taken command, then?" Ingold asked sharply.

  Janus nodded. "He is the Chancellor of the Realm, and the Queen's brother."

  "And Eldor?"

  Janus sighed and shook his head. "Ingold, it was like a slaughterhouse. We reached Gae just before dawn. The ashes were still hot-parts of the Palace were still in flames. It was burned-"

  "I know," Ingold said quietly.

  "I'm sorry. I forgot you were there. The roof of the hall had caved in. The place was like a furnace. Bones and bodies were buried under the rubble. It was too hot to do much searching. But we found this, back by the door of that little retiring room behind the throne. It was in the hand of a skeleton, buried under the fallen rafters." He pointed to something on the table.

  With the practiced grip of one long accustomed to handling such things, the Bishop picked up the long, straight, two-handed sword and offered it hilt-first to Ingold. Though it was badly fire-blackened, Gil could recognize the pattern of rubies on the hilt. Once in a dream, she'd seen those gems gleam in lamplight with the movement of the breath of the man who'd worn them. Ingold sighed, and bowed his head.

  "I'm sorry," Janus said again. His tough, square face was marked with weariness and grief under the reddish stubble of beard; he had lost a friend he valued, as well as a King. Gil remembered a lamplit room, a tall man in black saying, "... as your friend, I ask you... " She grieved with the old man's grief.

  "And the Queen?" The tone of his voice indicated that Ingold knew what answer to expect.

  "Oh," Janus said, startled, raising his head. "She was taken prisoner."

  Ingold started, shocked. "Prisoner?" Shaggy eyebrows drew down over his nose. "Then I was right."

  Janus nodded. "We finally caught them at it. They can carry weight; those tails of theirs are like cable. The Icefalcon and a dozen of the boys were trapped in the main vault. They'd been guarding the Stair since the slab was broken-"

  "Yes, yes," Ingold said impatiently. "I thought they were killed in the first rush. I discounted them. It doesn't do," he added, with the quick ghost of a grin, "to discount the Icefalcon-but go on."

  "Well, the fire in the hall spread throughout the Palace-anyone who was trapped anywhere started burning things for the light. The Dark Ones came back down to the vaults like a river of night, dragging what must have been half a hundred captives, mostly women and some of the dooic slaves, yammering and screaming like beasts. The Icefalcon and the boys had the sense not to fire the vault and they put up a hell of a fight. In the end, half the prisoners got left aboveground, and the Dark fled back down the Stair. Five of the women and some of the dooic died, of shock, we think-"

  "And the Queen?"

  Janus shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, his eyes troubled. "She was-badly shocked."

  The wizard regarded him narrowly for a moment, sifting the sound of his voice, the evasion of his stance. "Has she spoken?"

  Bektis the Court Wizard broke in officiously, his voice low. "It is my own fear that the Dark Ones devoured her mind, as so often happens to their victims. She has lain raving in a kind of madness, and with all the arts at my command I have been unable to summon her back."

  "Has she spoken?" Ingold repeated, glancing from Janus to Bektis, seeking something; Gil could not tell what.

  "She called for her brother," Janus said quietly. "He arrived with his men and a great part of the Army a few hours after daylight."

  Ingold nodded, and seemed satisfied. "And this?" He gestured around him, at the silent sea of people crowded in the smoky hall.

  Janus shook his head wearily. "They've been coming up the mountain all day," he said. "A great train of them formed around us when we left the Palace. They've been pouring up the road ever since. And three-quarters of them are without food. It isn't entirely fear of the Dark that makes them leave Gae-even with all the Guards and Alwir's regiments, Gae is broken. There's a madness in the town, even by daylight. All law is gone. We rode in just after dawn, to the relief of the Palace, and people were already looting it. Every farm within ten miles of the city has been abandoned-harvests rotting in the fields while refugees starve on the roads. Karst's a small town, and they're fighting over food here already, and over water, and for space in every building. We may be safe here from the Dark, but by tomorrow I'll wager we're not safe from one another."

  "And what," Ingold asked quietly, "makes you think you're safe here from the Dark?"

  Shocked, the big man started to protest, then fell silent. The Bishop slid her eyes sideways at Ingold, like a cat, and purred, "And what, my lord Ingold, know you of the Dark?"

  "Only what we all know," a new voice said. Such was the quality of it, deep and regal, like a fine-tuned woodwind played by a master, that all eyes turned toward the speaker, the man who stood like a dark king, gilded by the glare of the torches. His shadow rippled down before him like water as he descended; like a second shadow, the wings of his black velvet cloak belled behind him. His pale face was coldly handsome, the regular fleshly features marked with thought and wisdom as with a carefully wielded graving tool. The wavy raven-black hair that framed his face half-obscured the chain of gold and sapphires that glittered over his shoulders and breast like a ring of cold blue eyes. "There is a certain amount of profit and prestige attendant upon warnings of disaster, as we all have seen."

  "There is profit only for those who will heed them, my lord Alwir," Ingold replied mildly, and his gesture took in the smoke-fouled shadows of the room behind them, the grubby mob that had for the most part gone back to chattering among themselves, chasing children, arguing over space and water. "And sometimes even that is not enough."

  "As my lord Eldor found." The Chancellor Alwir stood for a moment, his height and elegance dominating the small, shabby form of the wizard. His face, naturally rather sensual, was controlled into a cool mask of immobility, but Gil sensed in
the posture of his big, powerful body the tension and distrust between the two men that looked to be of long standing. Alwir was annoyed, Ingold wary. "Indeed," the Chancellor went on, "his warning was the first; the stirring of the memories of the House of Dare long buried in his family. Yet that did not save him. We surmised that you had taken the Prince and fled the battle, when we did not find your sword in the rubble of the hall-though indeed there were enough of the fighters, toward the end, who snatched up the weapons of the fallen to make that not a sure clue. Was it possible, then, for you to assume the form of the Dark and so escape their notice?"

  "No," Ingold replied, without elaboration. But a murmuring went through those nearest the table-for the hall was crowded to the bursting-point, and the conference between wizard and Chancellor, though conducted in low tones, had at least two hundred onlookers besides the five who stood closest to them. Gil, standing half-forgotten with the sleeping child in her arms and her back to the monstrous newel post of the granite stair, could see the glances men gave to Ingold. Fear, awe, and distrust; he was uncanny, an alien even in the Realm. A maverick-wizard, she realized suddenly, and subject to neither king nor law. People could believe of him, and evidently did, that he could take the form of the Dark,

  "And yet you contrived it somehow," Alwir went on. "And for that we thank you. Will you be remaining in Karst?"

  "Why did you leave Gae?"

  Dark, graceful brows lifted, startled and amused at the question. "My dear Ingold, had you been there-"

  "I was there," Ingold said quietly. "In Gae at least there was water, food, and buildings in which to hide sufficient for all. At least there one could be reasonably safe from one's fellow man."

  "Karst is certainly smaller," Alwir conceded, glancing deprecatingly about him at the jammed, airless cavern of the smoky hall. "But my men and the City Guards under the able leadership of Commander Janus can control the people more easily than in that crazy half-burned labyrinth that is all that remains of the most beautiful city in the West of the World. The Dark haunt the river valleys," he went on, "like the marsh sickness of the south; but, like the marsh sickness, they shun the high ground. It may be possible to make a pact with them, such as the mountain sheep make with the lions of the plain. To avoid the lion, one stays clear of his runs."