"What?" Rudy whispered, after a long, uncomprehending silence. Then understanding penetrated to his brain, and a feeling like an electrical shock to all the cells in his body.
"My children," Ingold continued, "walk very carefully. You still flirt with scandal -perhaps you will do so all your lives. But, by the laws of the Realm, there is nothing illegal in your union, no matter that Alwir may have said..."
His words purled over Rudy's consciousness like the unintelligible voice of a river, barely audible through what felt like a fountain of blazing joy welling up from the depths of his being. He wanted to whoop, to dance, to sing songs and embrace everybody in sight; but as it was, his hand only tightened on Aide's.
Looking across at her, he saw answering oceans of happiness in her quiet face.
Ingold's voice went on about Church law, the position of the individual Bishops, the need for utterly circumspect behavior, and the mutability of all human conditions, but to them it was like the voice of a lawyer reading the fine print on a contract already signed in blood and galactic dust. Through the whirling vortex of his thoughts, Rudy was conscious only that he had never been so absolutely happy since he was a very small child; he was wishing illogically that he were Fred Astaire, so that he could swing this woman who held his hand so tightly through all sorts of crazy, improbable dance steps up and down the walls and over the furniture of the dark, shabby common room.
The old man seemed to realize how little he was being attended, for he smiled and withdrew, leaving them to their unspeakable joy.
Ten minutes later Gil emerged from the corridor that led to her own tiny cubicle, carrying a couple of wax note tablets and wearing an abstracted expression that turned to sudden and appalled guilt at the sight of the lovers embracing before the hearth.
"Oh, hell, Rudy, I'm sorry," she said, to the back of his head and to Aide's white hands that grasped his shoulders so fervidly. "I got tied up in my research. Was your flame thrower demonstration to be this afternoon, or was it yesterday and I missed it?"
She could not understand why, at her words, the two lovers broke apart and collapsed into whooping paroxysms of laughter.
CHAPTER TEN
"The old King is dead And he's lying on his bed, And the snow is a-falling all around..."
The voices of the Keep children drifted through the corridors, blithe as the sound of sleigh bells. From her seat by the hearth of the common room fire, Gil heard them, and in spite of her exhaustion-grated nerves and her oft-declared detestation of the young of the species, she smiled. Every child in the place had been pelting around in a state of self-induced frenzy for the last two days.
Tomorrow was the Winter Feast.
The gay carol faded into the winding distance of the maze. Gil's hand strayed to the parchment roll of notes that lay on the bricks at her side. Then she leaned her head against the stone of the chimney and closed her eyes. This time tomorrow , she told herself tiredly, I will be back at the simulated-ivory towers of UCLA, explaining - or trying to explain - how come I left without notice in the second week of Fall Quarter and where I've been since .
Tomorrow.
Other voices echoed in the hall outside. Vair na Chandros, his tone harsh and acid, demanded, "What do you mean, missing?"
The light, fluent voice of Bektis replied, "He set out from the caves before I did, my lord. Surely he would not have strayed from the road. If the Dark Ones have taken to moving about in the dusk, before full darkness falls..."
"That's ridiculous," the Alketch Commander rasped. "For one thing, my lord Stiarth had a talisman that protected him, in some measure, from the notice of the Dark. He boasted of it to me."
The Court Mage's tones were apologetic. "True, the Rune of the Veil is a general protective device, but hardly guarantees..."
"Gil?" There was a rustle of robes in the shadows beside her and the smell of herbs and woodsmoke. "Not sad?"
She shook her head without looking at him. After a moment's silence, Ingold's light, strong hands touched her shoulders and drew her back into the comforting circle of his arm.
"It will all be a tremendous mess when you get back, won't it?" he asked quietly. "Another black mark to me. Will they believe you if you tell them that you were spirited away by gypsies?"
In spite of herself, Gil laughed. "I'll tell them I was doing research at the bottom of the Hollow Hills," she murmured. She leaned her head back against the strength of his shoulder. "That's even the truth. I said once I was going to do my Ph.D. thesis on the coming of the Dark. And there it is." She moved her fingers toward the rolled parchment with its long columns of dates and years. "It was a scholar's answer, wasn't it?"
"Indeed," Ingold whispered, and his arm tightened around her shoulders. "Gil..."
She opened her eyes and looked up to see the struggle in that lined, nondescript face and the naked unhappiness of his eyes. Then he sighed, as if he were putting away some impossible dream, and said, "Be happy."
"Will you?"
"I shall be happy," Ingold said quietly, "knowing that you are safe."
Light began to stir in the room as the other mages came in, a clear, sourceless brightness that sparkled like unfamiliar dawn over the familiar furnishings. The members of the Wizards' Corps began to take their places around the long central table. Dakis the Minstrel flirted outrageously with the weatherwitches Grey and Nila; the haughty Shadow of the Moon was discussing astronomy with the diffident Ungolard. The gaggle of the younger mages down at the far end of the table-not all of whom were young in years by any means-kept a wary eye out for Thoth, who had taken it upon himself to act as their tutor. Brother Wend came in, worn and hagridden, like a man being eaten from within by slow cancer. As Ingold handed her to her feet, Gil saw that Kta had been in the commons all the time, dozing in his nook by the fire.
Rudy and Alde appeared, handfast like children, as if they still could not believe their good fortune. They almost sparkled with happiness, and Gil had to smile.
Here are two, at least, who have gotten what they wanted, even if they are stuck in a world without hope.
Then Bektis entered, still stroking his milk-white beard, nattering on about the mislayment of the Imperial Nephew; and behind him came Alwir, kingly in his dark velvet, telling Bektis in a rich, melodious voice to shut his blithering mouth. The Chancellor stopped before Ingold, and there was a bleak and ugly hatred in his handsome, sensual face.
"I hope, my lord wizard, that this is not another piece of your-renegotiation-of the terms of the alliance. The armies are, after all, departing the day after tomorrow-if it pleases you," he added sarcastically.
"I am afraid," Ingold said, "that that is what we must discuss." He led Gil to one end of the long table and seated her to the right of his own place at its head. She put down her things-the roll of parchment, two or three wax note tablets, and a small wash-leather bag-and turned back, to see the Chancellor's face darken with anger.
"Really...!"
"Perhaps, my lord," Ingold continued in his mildest tones, "you had best sit down."
Two of the junior wizards brought up the carved chair that was usually reserved for Thoth and put it at the far end of the table. Alwir seated himself in it stiffly, the folds of his black velvet cloak spreading about him like a royal robe, suspicion as visible as a back brace in every line of his big, powerful body.