01 THE TIME OF THE DARK

"But Ingold had his-purposes," she continued quietly. "If he saved Tir, it was because of the-the inherited memories of the Kings of Darwath, the store of knowledge within him that may one day be used against the Dark. Not because Tir was only a child, helpless and in danger." Her eyes were down, considering the bent head of the child nuzzling around on the bearskin before her. Her voice was shaky.

She really cares for Pugsley, Rudy thought suddenly. Hell, since Queens-at least in his muzzy democratic understanding of the matter-don't take care of their own babies, she probably raised the little rug-rat. She wouldn't see him as a Prince-or even as King of Darwath, since Eldor had died-but only as a child she loved, as Rudy loved his baby brother. It changed her in his eyes.

"You really believe that?" he asked softly. She didn't answer, nor did she look at him. "Hell, when you come right down to it, it's his job. If he's the resident wizard, he's got to do stuff like that. But I think you're wrong."

For a time she didn't speak, and the silence came over the garden again, a contented silence, bred of the long afternoon light and what might be the last golden day of autumn. The sun had already slipped through a milky film of cloud on the western peaks; the blue shadow of the villa marked off the cracks in the terrace pavement like a sundial, creeping steadily up on the bearskin and its three occupants. Looking out over the austere brown and pewter patchwork of the frost-rusted garden beds, Rudy felt the peace of the place stealing over his spirit, an archaic, heartbreaking beauty, a silence of old stone and sunlight, of something seen long ago and far away, like a lost memory of what had never been, something as distant as the reflections in still water, yet clear, clear as crystal. Every pale stone of the terrace, every silken grass blade thrust between them and turned gold now with the year's turning, contained and preserved that magic light like the final echo of dying music. It was a world that yesterday he had never known and, after tomorrow, would never see again, but the present moment seemed to have been waiting for him since the day of his birth.

"Alde!" A sharp voice cut that silver peace, and the girl whirled, startled and guilty as a child with her hand in the cookies. The fat woman in red stood in the doorway, hands on her broad hips fisted and face lumpy and red with annoyance. Rudy scrambled to his feet as she bawled out, "Sitting on the cold pavement! You'll catch your death! And his Little Majesty, to be sure!" She came bustling out, clucking and scolding like a mother hen with one chick. "Take him inside, child, and yourself-the air's grown nippy... "

But for all that she flustered around him as if he weren't there, Rudy knew the real problem was that Alde wasn't supposed to be wasting her time talking with some stranger instead of watching the baby as she was supposed to. The girl gave him a helpless, half-amused shrug of her eyebrows, and Rudy gallantly stooped to gather the bearskin in his arms. The thing weighed a ton.

"What's she think I'm gonna do, kidnap him?" he asked in a whisper as the older nurse waddled back into the house, baby in arms.

Alde smiled ruefully. "She worries," she explained unnecessarily. She bent to retrieve the motorcycle keys, which had fallen from the folds of the rug. She wiped the slobber off them with a corner of her skirt and tucked them back in his pocket for him.

"She boss you around like that all the time?" he asked. "I thought for a minute she was gonna spank you."

Alde's smile widened, and she ducked her head. She was laughing. "Medda just thinks of Tir as her baby. Nobody can look after him the way she can, not even his own mother."

Rudy had to smile, too. "Yeah, my aunt Felice is like that. To hear her carry on with my mother, you'd never think Mom had raised seven kids all by herself. But you just got to let them do it."

"Well, you certainly can't change them," Alde agreed. "Here-I can take that rug. Medda would faint if you came inside. She knows what's due to the House of Bes... No, it's all right, I've got it."

They paused, arms mutually entwined in the moth-eaten red fur. "Your name's Alde?" he asked.

She nodded. "Short for Minalde," she explained. "Someone told me yours. If... "

"Alde!" Medda's shout came from within the villa.

"Take care of yourself," Rudy whispered. "And Pugsley."

She smiled at the nickname and ducked her head again as if to hide the smile. "You also." Then she turned and hurried through the great doors, the claws of the bearskin clinking softly on the polished floor.