Barbara Hambly - 01 THE TIME OF THE DARK

"How deep is the gorge at that point?" Gil asked, squinting through the blurring gusts of snow.

"About forty feet. It's a difficult climb down the side and up again, but the water itself isn't very deep. As you can see, they've swum most of the stock."

Ingold pointed to where three men were driving a small herd of pigs up the trail. "From what you told me of your dream, it would seem that the Dark weakened the central pillars of the bridge, so that they gave way under the weight of the wagons-as pretty an attempt at murder as you're likely to see. And even though the attempt failed, Prince Tir is stranded in camp on the banks of the river tonight, cut off from most of the convoy, with the camp in confusion. Either way, the Dark could hardly have missed."

Leaning on his staff, he started down the steep slope toward the fires.

Rudy met them on the outskirts of camp. "What did you find?" he asked them.

As they made their way through the dark chaos toward Alwir's massive tent, Gil filled him in on the valley of the Dark, Renweth, the Keep, and what Tomec Tirkenson had said. In the end, she asked, "Why wasn't Alde in her wagon?"

"I talked her out of it," Rudy said. "I had a bad feeling they'd try something tonight, but I never thought about anything happening by daylight. We were only a couple feet in front of the section of the bridge that went."

"And you still believe in coincidence," Ingold chided reprovingly. "I'm surprised at you."

"Well," Rudy admitted, "not as much as I used to."

Alwir's was one of the few tents left in the tram. It was pitched in the lee of some trees, out of the wind; in the darkening of the late afternoon, yellow lights could already be seen glowing within. Gil could make out a confusion of voices coming from it, Bishop Govannin's harsh halfwhisper, and now and then Bektis' light, mellifluous tenor.

"... full ferocity of the storm is by no means upon us," the sorcerer was saying sententiously. "Nor will it be, for I will turn its force aside and keep it over the mountains to the north until such time as we can come to the Keep."

"Turn it aside?" Govannin rasped. "Have you been to the camp across the river, my lord wizard? They are half-buried in the snow there and freezing."

"Yet we cannot go on tonight," Alwir said and added, with smooth malice, "We have too few carts and horses to make good speed. What must be carried, must be carried on the backs of men. And if they will not rid themselves of what is useless... "

"Useless!" the Bishop spat. "Useless to those who would dispose of all precedents for the legal position of the Church, perhaps. Mere technicalities to those who would rather forget their existence."

Alwir protested, as sanctimonious as a preacher, "God's Church is more than a pile of mildewed paper, my lady. It lies in the hearts of men."

"And in the hearts of the faithful it will always remain," she agreed dryly. "But memory does not lie in the heart, nor does law. Men and women have fought and died for the rights of the Church, and the only record of those rights, the only fruit of those spent lives, is in those wagons. I will not leave that to perish in the snow at the mere word of a baby King's running-dog."

Ingold pushed aside the flap of the tent. Beyond him, Gil saw Alwir's face change and stiffen into a mask of silver, barred and streaked with ugly shadow, the mouth made of iron. The Chancellor lurched to his feet, his head brushing the bottom of the single hanging lamp, towering over the slight scarlet figure of the Bishop with clenched fist; for a moment it seemed that he might strike her where she sat. But she only looked up at him with flat black eyes, emotionless as a shark's, and waited in triumph for the blow to fall.

"My lord Alwir!" Hoarse and unmistakable, the voice cut like a referee's whistle between them, breaking the tension with an almost audible snap. They both turned, and Ingold inclined his head respectfully. "My lady Bishop," he finished his greeting.

Just perceptibly, the Bishop's taut body settled back into her chair. Alwir placed his fist upon his hip, rather than visibly unclench it at another man's word. "So you decided to come back," the Chancellor said.

"Why did you make camp?" Ingold asked without preamble.

"My dear Ingold," the Chancellor soothed, "as you can see, it has begun to grow dark... "

"That," Ingold said acidly, "is what I mean. You could have pushed on, to reach the Keep sometime tonight, or gone back across the river, to be with the main body of the convoy. Isolated on this side of the river, you're nothing but bait."

Patiently, Alwir said, "We have, as you may have noticed, a temporary bridge, across which we are slowly bringing the rest of the convoy, as well as sufficient troops to deal with any emergency that may arise in the night."

"You think the Dark couldn't deal with that as easily as they deal with solid oak doors? As easily as they dealt with the stone pillars of the original bridge?"

"The Dark had nothing to do with that," Alwir said rather sharply.

"You think not?"

Bektis' long fingers toyed with a huge solitaire cat's-eye he wore on his left hand. "You cannot pretend it anymore," he said rather pettishly. "You are not the only mage in the train, my lord Ingold, and I, too, have cast my powers of far-seeing here and there in the mountains. The only Nest that was ever in these parts was blocked with stone long ago, and you yourself know that we have felt no threat of the Dark since we have come to the high country." He raised heavy white lids and stared from under them at Ingold, defiance, resentment, and spite mingling in his dark, burning eyes.

"So they have made it appear," Ingold replied slowly. "But I have come from that Nest and I tell you that it lies open."

"And is this another of those things," the Bishop asked dryly, folding her fingers before her on the table, like a little pile of ivory spindles, "for which yours is the only word?"

Lamplight glittered in the melting snow on his shoulders as he turned toward her. "It is. But there are things, like the commandments of God, which we must all take upon trust, my lady. Surely you yourself know that we have only one man's word on the true means of salvation and that those means are not what a reasonable man would logically conclude. For now mine-and, incidentally, Gil's-must be the only word you have that the Dark are in that valley, that they have held back from the train deliberately, and that they have broken the bridge in order to kill the Prince or isolate him on this side of the river."

Govannin opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again thoughtfully.

Ingold went on. "They will never allow Tir, with what he could become and the secrets he may hold, to reach the Keep. The storm has given us our chance, and I suggest that we take it and push on now, tonight, under its cover to the Keep."

"Cover?" Alwir swung around to face him, his voice jeering. "Shroud, you mean. We'll freeze to death... "

"You'll freeze just as quickly here," Ingold pointed out.

Piqued, Bektis announced primly, "I am quite capable of holding off such a storm as this... "

"And the Dark as well?" Ingold retorted.

The sorcerer stared at him for a moment, hatred in his narrow face, and a watery flush of red crept up under his white cheeks.

Without waiting for his reply, Ingold said, "Nor could I. There are limits to all power."

"And to all endurance," the Bishop said imperturbably. "And I for one will not be stampeded by fear, like a sheep into the shambles. We can weather this storm and push on in the daylight."

"And if the storm does not break until this time tomorrow?"

Alwir leaned a kid-gloved hand on the back of his carved chair. "Don't you think you're putting too much importance on this storm? I am agreeable to whatever may be voted, provided I can find cartage for the effects of the government... "