He let her go and then sprawled on his belly. Naomi crouched behind him and seized his boots. This close to the ice, Ben could hear it groaning and muttering. It could have been one of us, he thought, and that would have been trouble indeed. He spread his legs out a bit to distribute his weight better, and then grabbed Frisky by the forepaws just below her wide, strong chest. Here you come, girl, Ben grunted. I hope. Then he putted. For a moment, Ben thought that the ice would just go on breaking under Friskys weight as he dragged her forwardfirst he and then Naomi would follow Frisky into the moat. Crossing that moat on his way into the castle to play with his friend Peter on a summers day, with blue sky and white clouds reflecting off its surface, Ben had always thought it beautiful, like a painting. He had never once suspected that he might die in it one black night during a snowstorm. And it smelled very bad. Pull me backward! he grunted. Your damn dog weighs a ton! Dont you say mean things about my dog, Ben Staad! Bens eyes were slitted shut with strain, his lips split open over clenched teeth. A million pardons. And if you dont start pulling me, Im going to be taking a bath, think. Somehow she managed to do it, although Ben and Frisky together must have been three times her own weight. Bens prone, splayed body dug a channel in the new powder; a snow pyramid built up in his crotch, the way it will build up in the angle of a wooden plow. At lastit seemed like at last to Ben and Naomi, although in truth it was probably only a matter of secondsFriskys chest stopped breaking the ice and slid onto it. A moment later, her rear paws were digging for purchase. Then she was up and shaking herself vigorously. Dirty moat water sprayed into Bens face. Pah! he grimaced, wiping it off. Thanks a lot, Frisky! But Frisky paid no attention. She was looking toward the wall of the castle again. Although the ice was already freezing to her pelt in dirty spicules, the scent was what interested her. She had smelled it clearly, above her but not far above her. There was a darkness there. No cold white nosmell stuff there. Ben was getting to his feet, brushing the snow off. Im sorry I yelled like that, Naomi whispered. If it had been any other dog but Frisky . . . do you think I was heard? If youd been heard, wed have been challenged, Ben whispered back. Gods, that was close. Now they could see the open water just in front of the ancient stone wall of Castle Delains outer redan, because they were looking for it. What do we do? We cant go on, Ben whispered, thats obvious. But what did he do, Naomi? Where did he go from here? Maybe he did fly. If we But Naomi never finished the thought, because that was when Frisky took matters into her own paws. All of her ancestors had been famous hunters, and it was in her blood. She had been set upon this exciting, enticing electricblue scent, and she found she could not leave it. So she screwed her haunches down to the ice, tensed her sledtoughened muscles, and leaped into the dark. Her eyes, as Ive said, were the least of her sensory equipment, and her leap really was blind; she could not see the dark hole of the sewer pipe from the edge of the ice. But she had seen it from the water, and even if she hadnt, she had her nose, and she knew it was there. 106 Its Flagg, Denniss sleepfuddled mind thought as that dark shape with the burning eyes swept down on him. Its Flagg, hes found me, and now hell rip my throat out with his teeth He tried to scream, but no sound came out. The mouth of the intruder did open; Dennis saw huge white teeth . . . and then a big warm tongue was lapping his face. Ulf! Dennis said, trying to push the thing away. Paws came up on either shoulder, and Dennis fell back on his mattress of napkins like a pinned wrestler. Laplap, licklick. Ulf! Dennis said again, and the dark, shaggy shape uttered a low, companionable woof, as if to say I know it, Im glad to see you, too. Frisky! a low voice called from the darkness. Stand down, Frisky! No sounds! The dark shape was not Flagg at all; it was an extremely large doga dog which looked too much like a wolf for comfort, Dennis thought. When the girl spoke, it drew away and sat down. It looked happily at Dennis; its tail thumped mutedly on Denniss bed of napkins. Two more shapes in the darkness, one taller than the other. Not Flagg, that much was clear. Castle guards, then. Dennis grabbed his dagger. If the gods were good, he might be able to get rid of both of them. If not, then he would try to die well in the service of his King. The two figures had stopped a little short of him. Come on, Dennis said, and raised his dagger (it was really not much more than a pocketknife, and was rather rusty and quite dull) in a brave gesture. First you two and then your devildog! Dennis? The voice was eerily familiar. Dennis, have we really found you? Dennis started to lower his dagger, then brought it up again. It had to be a trick. Had to be. But the voice sounded so much like Ben? he whispered. Is it Ben Staad? Its Ben, the taller shape confirmed, and gladness filled Denniss heart. The shape began to come forward. Alarmed, Dennis raised his dagger again. Wait! Do you have a light? Flint and steel, yes. Strike it. Aye. A moment later, a big yellow spark, surely dangerous in that room filled with dry cotton napkins, flared in the gloom. Come forward, Ben, Dennis said, reseating his poor excuse for a dagger in its sheath. He got to his feet, trembling with gladness and relief. Ben was here. By what magic Dennis did not knowonty that it had somehow happened. His feet caught in the napkins and he stumbled forward, but there was no danger that he might fall, because Bens arms swept him up in a strong embrace. Ben was here and all would be well, Dennis thought, and it was all he could do to keep from bursting into unmanly tears. 107 There followed a great exchange of storiesI think you have heard most of them, and the parts you havent can be told quickly enough. Friskys leap was a bullseye. She carried straight into the pipe and then turned around to see if Naomi and Ben would follow her. If they hadnt done so, Frisky would have eventually leaped back to the iceshe should have been greatly disappointed to do it, but she would not have left her mistress for the most exciting scent in the world. Frisky knew that; Naomi was less sure. She didnt even dare call Frisky back, for fear of a guards overhearing. She therefore intended to go after the dog. She would not leave Frisky, and if Ben tried to make her, she would deck him with a right hook. She neednt have worried. The minute he spotted the pipe, Ben understood where Dennis had gone. Noble nose, Frisky, he said again. He turned to Naomi. Can you make it? If I draw back and run, I can make it. Dont misjudge where the ice goes rotten or youll take a dunking. And your heavy clothes will drag you down very quickly. I wont misjudge. Let me go first, Ben said. If I have to, maybe I can catch you. He drew back a few paces and jumped so strongly that he almost took off the top of his head on the upper curve of the pipe. Frisky barked once, excitedly. Shut up, dog! Ben said. Naomi drew back to the edge of the moat, stood there for a moment (the snow had by then been coming down so heavily that Ben couldnt see her), and then ran forward. Ben held his breath, hoping she wouldnt misjudge the edge of the good ice. If she ran too far before trying to make her leap, the longest arms in the world wouldnt catch ber. But she timed it perfectly. Ben didnt need to catch her; all he had to do was to get out of her way as she carried into the pipe. She didnt even bump her head, as Ben had done. The worst part of it was the smell, Naomi said as they told their story to a wondering Dennis. How did you stand it? Well, I just kept reminding myself of what would happen to me if I got caught, Dennis said. Every time I did that, the air seemed to smell a little better. Ben laughed at this and nodded, and Dennis looked at him with shining eyes for a moment. Then he looked back at Naomi. It did smell awfully bad, though, he agreed. I remember that it smelled bad when I was a kid, but not that bad. Maybe a kid doesnt really know how bad a smell is. Or something. I guess that could be, Naomi said. Frisky was lying on a pile of royal napkins with her muzzle on her paws, her eyes moving from one person to the next as each spoke. She knew very little of what they were saying, but if she had, and if she could have spoken, she would have told Dennis that his perceptions of what made a really bad smell hadnt changed at all since he was a boy. It had been the last dying remainder of the Dragon Sand they had smelled, of course. The odor had been much stronger to Frisky than to THE GIRL and THE TALLBOY. Denniss scent had still been there, now mostly in splashes and blobs on the curved walls (these were the places Dennis had touched with his hands; the floor of the pipes was covered with a foul warm water that had washed away all scent). It was the same bright electric blue. The other scent was a dull leathery greenFrisky was afraid of it. She knew that some scents could kill, and she knew that, not so long ago, this had been just such a scent. But it was losing its potency now, and in any case, Denniss scent led away from the greater concentrations of it. Not too long before they reached the grating Dennis had used to get out of the sewer system, she began to lose the green smell altogetherand Frisky was never in her whole life so happy to lose a smell. You met no one? No one at all? Dennis asked anxiously. No one, Ben said. I ranged a little bit ahead to keep an eye out. I saw guards several times, but we always had plenty of time to get to some cover before they could see us. In truth, I think we could have come directly here and passed twenty guards and only have been challenged once or twice. Most of them were drunk. Naomi nodded. Guards o the Watch, she said. Drunk. And not drunk out on picket along the northern borders of some pissy little barony no one ever heard of; drunk in the castle. Right in the castle! Dennis, remembering the toneless, noseblowing singer, nodded gloomily. I suppose we should be glad. If the Guard o the Watch was now what it was in Rolands day, wed all be in the Needle along wi Peter. But I cant be glad, somehow. Ill tell you this, Ben said in a soft voice, if I were Thomas, Id quake in my boots every time I looked north, if such as we saw tonight are all he has around him. Naomi looked very troubled at this. Pray the gods it never comes to that, she said. Ben nodded. Dennis reached out and stroked Friskys head. Followed me all the way from Peynas, did you? What a smart dog you are, aye! Frisky thumped her tail happily. Naomi said I would hear this story of the sleepwalking King, Dennis, if you would tell it again. So Dennis told his story, much as he told it to Peyna and as I have told it to you, and they listened as spellbound as children hearing the tale of the talking wolf in the gammers nightcap. 108 By the time he had finished, it was seven oclock. Outside, a dim gray glow had come over Delainthat clotted stormlight was as bright at seven as it would be at noon, for the greatest storm of that winterand perhaps the greatest in historyhad come to Delain. The wind howled around the eaves of the castle like a tribe of banshees. Even down here, the fugitives could hear it. Frisky raised her head and whined uneasily. What do we do now? Dennis asked. Ben, who had gone over Peters brief note again and again, said Until tonight, nothing. The castles awake by now, and theres no way we could get out of here without being seen under any circumstances. We sleep. Get our strength back. And tonight, before midnight Ben spoke briefly. Naomi grinned; Denniss eyes grew bright with excitement. Yes! Dennis said. By the gods! Youre a genius, Ben! Please, I wouldnt go that far, Naomi said, but by then her grin was so broad it seemed in danger of splitting her head in two. She reached over, put her arms around Ben, and kissed him soundly. Ben turned an absolutely alarming shade of red (he looked as if he might be on the verge of bursting his brains, as they said in Delain in those longago days)I must tell you, though, that he also looked delighted. Will Frisky help us? Ben asked when he got his breath back. At the sound of her name, Frisky looked up again. Of course she will. But well need . . . They discussed this new plan for some time longer, and then Bens lower face seemed to almost disappear in a great yawn. Naomi also looked tired out. They had been awake for over twentyfour hours by then, you will remember, and had come a great distance. Enough, Ben said. Its time for sleep. Hooray! Naomi said, beginning to arrange more napkins in a mattress for herself beside Frisky. My legs feel as if Dennis cleared his throat politely. What is it? Ben asked. Dennis looked at their packsBens big one, Naomis slightly smaller one. I dont suppose youve got . . . um, anything to eat in there, do you? Impatiently, Naomi said Of course we do! What do you think Then she remembered that Dennis had left Peynas farmhouse six days ago, and that the butler had been skulking and hiding ever since. He had a pallid, undernourished look, and his face was too narrow and too bony. Oh, Dennis, Im sorry, were idiots! When did you eat last? Dennis thought about this. I cant remember exactly, he said. But the last sitdown meal I had was my lunch, a week ago. Why didnt you say so first thing, you dolt? Ben exclaimed. I guess because I was so excited to see you, Dennis said, and grinned. As he watched the two of them open their packs and begin rooting through the remainder of their supplies, his stomach gurgled noisily. Saliva squirted into his mouth. Then a thought struck him. You didnt bring any turnips, did you? Naomi turned to look at him, puzzled. Turnips? I dont have any. Do you, Ben? No. A gentle and supremely happy smile spread across Denniss face. Good, he said. 109 That was a mighty storm indeed, and its still told of in Detain today. Five feet of new snow had fallen by the time an early, howling dark came down on the castle keep. Five feet of new snow in one day is mighty enough, but the wind made drifts that were much, much bigger. By the time dark fell, the wind was no longer blowing a forcegale; it was blowing a hurricane. In places along the castle walls, snow was piled twentyfive feet deep, and covered the windows of not just first and second floors, but the thirdfloor windows as well. You might think this would have been good for Peters escape plans, and it might have been if the Needle hadnt stood all alone in the Plaza. But it did, and here the wind blew its hardest. A strong man couldnt have stood against that wind; he would have been sent rolling, head over heels, until he crashed against the first stone wall on the far side of the Plaza. And the wind had another effect, as wellit was like a giant broom. As fast as the snow fell, the wind blew it out of the Plaza. By dark there were huge drifts piled against the castle and clogging most of the alleys on the west side of the castle keep, but the Plaza itself was clean as a whistle. There were only the frozen cobbles, waiting to break Peters bones if his rope should break. And I must tell you now that Peters rope was bound to break. When he tested it, it had held his weight . . . but there was one fact about that mystic thing called breaking strain that Peter didnt know. Yosef hadnt known, either. The ox drivers knew it, though, and if Peter had asked them, they would have told him an old axiom, one known to sailors, loggers, seamstresses, and anyone else who works with thread or rope The longer the cord, the sooner the break. Peters short test rope had held him. The rope to which he meant to entrust his lifethe very thin ropewas about two hundred and sixtyfive feet long. It was bound to break, I tell you, and the cobbles below waited to catch him, and break his bones, and bleed away his life. 110 There were many disasters and neardisasters on that long, stormy day, just as there were many acts of heroism, some successful and some doomed to failure. Some farmhouses in the Inner Baronies blew over, as the houses of the indolent pigs were blown over by the wolfs hungry breath in the old story. Some of those who were thus rendered homeless managed to work their way across the white wastes to the castle keep, roped together for safety; others wandered off the Delain Great Road and into the whiteness, where they were losttheir frozen, wolfgnawed bodies wouldnt be found until the spring. But by seven that evening, the snow had finally begun to abate a little, and the wind to fall. The excitement was ending, and the castle went to bed early. There was little else to do. Fires were banked, children tucked in, last cups of fieldtea drunk, prayers said. One by one, the lights went out. The Crier called in his loudest voice, but the wind still tore his voice out of his mouth at eight o the clock and again at nine; it was not until ten that he could be heard again, and by then, most people were asleep. Thomas was also asleepbut his sleep was not easy. There was no Dennis to stay with him and comfort him this night; Dennis was still home ill. Thomas had thought several times of sending a page to check on him (or even to go himself; he liked Dennis very much), but something always seemed to come uppapers to sign . . . petitions to hear . . . and, of course, bottles of wine to be drunk. Thomas hoped Flagg would come and give him a powder to help him sleep . . . but ever since Flaggs useless trip into the north, the magician had been strange and distant. It was as if Flagg knew there was something wrong, but could not quite tell what it was. Thomas hoped the magician would come, but hadnt dared to summon him. As always, the shrieking wind reminded Thomas of the night his father died, and he feared he would have a hard time getting to sleep . . . and that, once he was asleep, horrible nightmares might come, dreams in which his father would scream and rant and finally burst into flames. So Thomas did what he had grown accustomed to doing; he spent the day with a glass of wine always in his hand, and if I told you how many bottles of wine this mere boy consumed before he finally went to bed at ten o the clock, you probably wouldnt believe meso ! I wont say. But it was a lot. Lying there miserably on his sofa, wishing that Dennis was in his accustomed place on the hearth, Thomas thought My head aches and my stomach feels sick . . . Is being King worth all this? I wonder. You might wonder, too . . . but before Thomas himself could wonder anymore, he fell heavily asleep. He slept for almost an hour . . . and then he rose and walked. Out the door he went and down the halls, ghostly in his long white nightshirt. This night a lategoing maid with an armload of sheets saw him, and he looked so much like old Kng Roland that the maid dropped her sheets and fled, screaming. Thomass darkly dreaming mind heard her screams and thought they were his fathers. He walked on, turning into the less used corridor. He paused halfway down and pushed the secret stone. He went into the passageway, closed the door behind him, and walked to the end of the corridor. He pushed aside the panels which were behind Niners glass eyes, and though he was still asleep, he pushed his face up to the holes, as if looking into his dead fathers sitting room. And here we will leave the unfortunate boy for a while, with the smell of wine surrounding him and tears of regret running from his sleeping eyes and down his cheeks. He was sometimes a cruel boy, often a sad boy, this pretend King, and he had almost always been a weak boy . . . but even now I must tell you that I do not believe he was ever really a bad boy. If you hate him because of the things he didand the things he allowed to be doneI will understand; but if you do not pity him a little as well, I will be surprised. 111 At quarter past eleven on that momentous night, the storm breathed its last gasp. A tremendous cold gust of wind swept down on the castle. It ran in excess of a hundred miles an hour. It tore the thinning clouds overhead apart like the swipe of a great hand. Cold, watery moonlight shone through. In the Third Eastard Alley was a squat stone tower called the Church of the Great Gods; it had stood there since time out of mind. Many people worshipped there, but it was empty now. A good thing, too. The tower was not very tallnowhere near the height of the Needlebut it nevertheless stood high above the neighboring buildings in the Third Eastard Alley, and all day long it had been punished by the unbroken force of the storm wind. This final gust was too much for it. The top thirty feetall stonesimply blew off, as a hat might fly off a scarecrow in a high gale. Part landed in the alley; part hit the neighboring buildings. There was a tremendous crash. Most of the populace of the castle keep, wearied by the excitement of the storm and already sleeping deeply, took no mind of the fall of the Church of the Great Gods (although they would wonder greatly over the snowcovered wreckage in the morning). Most simply muttered, turned over, and went back to sleep. Some Guards of the Watchthose not too drunk to careheard it, of course, and ran to see what had happened. Other than by these few, the fall of the tower went mostly unremarked when it happened . . . but there were a few others who heard it, and by now you know them all. Ben, Dennis, and Naomi, who were getting ready for their attempt to rescue the rightful King, heard it in the napkin storeroom, and looked around at each other with wide eyes. Never mind, Ben said, after a moment. I dont know what it was, but it doesnt matter. Lets get on with it. Beson and the Lesser Warders, all of them drunk, didnt hear the Church of the Great Gods fall down, but Peter did. He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, carefully pulling his woven rope through his fingers, looking anxiously for weak points. He raised his head at the snowmuted thunder of falling stones, and went rapidly to the window. He could see nothing ; whatever had fallen was on the Needles far side. After several considering moments, he went back to his rope. Midnight was close now, and he had come to much the same conclusion as his friend Ben. It didnt matter. The dice had been thrown. Now he must go on. Deep in the darkness of the secret passage, Thomas heard the muffled thunderthud of the falling tower and woke up. He heard the muffled barking of dogs below him and realized in horror where he was. And one other who had been sleeping lightly and dreaming troubled dreams awoke at the fall of the tower. He woke even though he was deep in the bowels of the castle. Disaster! one of the parrots two heads screamed. Fire, flood, and escape! the other screamed. Flagg had awakened. I have told you that evil is sometimes strangely blind, and so it is. Sometimes evil is lulled with no reason, and sleeps. But now Flagg had awakened. 112 Flagg had come back from his trip into the north with a bit of a fever, a heavy cold, and a troubled mind. Something wrong, something wrong. The very stones of the castle seemed to whisper it to him . . . but Flagg was damned if he knew what it was. All he knew for sure was that unknown something wrong had sharp teeth. It felt like a ferret running around in his brain, taking a bite here and a bite there. He knew exactly when that animal had begun to run and gnaw while he was coming back from the fruitless expedition in search of the rebels. Because . . . because . . . Because the rebels should have been there! They hadnt been, and Flagg hated to be fooled. Worse, he hated feeling that he might have made a mistake. If he had made a mistake about where the rebels were to be found, then perhaps he had made mistakes about other things. What other things? He didnt know. But his dreams were bad. That small, badtempered animal ran around in his head, worrying him, insisting that he had forgotten things, that other things were going on behind his back. It raced, it gnawed, it ruined his sleep. Flagg had medicines that would rid him of his cold, but none that would touch that growing ferret in his brain. What could possibly be wrong? He asked himself this question over and over again, and in truth it seemedon the surface, at leastthat nothing could be. For many centuries, the old dark chaos inside him had hated the love and light and order of Detain, and he had worked hard to destroy all thatto knock it down as that last cold gust of storm had knocked down the Church of the Great Gods. Always, something had interfered with his plansa Kyla the Good, a Sasha, someone, something. But now he saw no possible interference, no matter where he looked. Thomas was totally his creature; if Flagg told him to step off the highest parapet of the castle, the fool would want to know only at which oclock he should do it. The farmers were groaning under the weight of the killing taxes Flagg had persuaded Thomas to impose. Yosef had told Peter there was a breaking strain on people as well as on ropes and chains, and so there isthe farmers and the merchants of Detain had nearly reached theirs. The rope by which the great blocks of taxes are attached to any citizenry is simple loyaltyloyalty to King, to country, to government. Flagg knew that if he made the taxblocks big enough, all the ropes would snap, and the stupid oxenfor that was really how he saw the people of Detainwould stampede, knocking down everything in their path. The first of the oxen had already broken free and had gathered in the north. They called themselves exiles now, but Flagg knew they would call themselves rebels soon enough. Peyna had been driven away and Peter was locked in the Needle. So what could be wrong? Nothing! Damn it, nothing! But the ferret ran and squirmed and gnawed and twisted. Many times over the last three or four weeks he had awakened in a cold sweat, not because of his recurring fever but because he had had some horrible dream. What was the substance of this dream? He could never remember. He only knew that he woke from it with his left hand pressed to his left eye, as if he had been wounded thereand that eye would burn, although he could find nothing wrong with it. 113 On this night, Flagg awoke with his dream fresh in his mind, because he was awakened before it was over. It was, of course, the fall of the Church of the Great Gods which woke him. Huh! Flagg cried, sitting bolt upright in his chair. His eyes were wide and staring, his white cheeks damp and shiny with sweat. Disaster! one of the parrots heads screamed. Fire, flood, and escape! the other screamed. Escape, Flagg thought. Yesthats whats been on my mind all this time, thats whats been gnawing at me. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were trembling. This infuriated him, and he sprang out of his chair. He means to escape, he muttered, running his hands through his hair. He means to try, anyway. But how? How? Whats his Plan? Who helped him? Theyll pay with their heads, I promise that . . . and they wont come off all in a chop, no! Theyll come off an inch . . . a haftinch . . . a quarterinch . . . at a time. Theyll be driven insane with the agony long before they die . . . Insane! one of the parrot heads shrieked. Agony! the other shrieked back. Will you shut up and let me think! Flagg howled. He seized a jar filled with murky brown fluid from a nearby table and threw it at the parrots cage. It struck and shattered; there was a flash of bright, heatless light. The parrots two heads squawked in terror; it fell off its perch and lay stunned at the bottom of its cage until morning. Flagg began to pace rapidly back and forth. His teeth were bared. His hands worked together restlessly, the fingers of one warring with the fingers of the other. His boots struck up greenish sparks from the nitercaked stones of his laboratory floor; these sparks smelled like summer lightning. How? When? Who helped? He could not remember. Already the dream was fading. But . . . I have to know! he whispered. I have to know! Because it would be soon; he sensed that much. It would be very, very soon. He found his keyring and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out a box made of finely carved ironwood, opened it, and drew out a leather bag. He opened the bags drawstring top and carefully took out a chunk of rock that seemed to glow with its own inner light. This rock was as milky as an old mans blind eye. It looked like a piece of soapstone, but was in fact a crystalFlaggs magic crystal. He circled his room, turning down the lamps and capping the candles. Soon his apartment was in absolute darkness. Dark or not, Flagg returned to his desk with quick confidence, passing easily around objects that you or I would have barked our shins on or fallen over. The dark was nothing to the Kings magician; he liked the dark, and he could see in it like a cat. He sat down and touched the stone. He slipped his palms down its sides, feeling its ragged edges and angles. Show me, he murmured. This is my command. At first, nothing. Then, little by little, the crystal began to glow from within. There was only a tiny light at first, diffuse and pallid. Flagg touched the crystal again, this time with the tips of his fingers. It had grown warm. Show me Peter. This is my command. Show me the whelp that dares put himself in my way, and show me what he plans to do. The light grew brighter . . . brighter . . . brighter. Eyes glittering, cruel thin lips parted to show his teeth, Flagg bent over his crystal. Now Peter, Ben, Dennis, and Naomi would have recognized their dreamand they would have recognized the glow which lit the magicians face, the glow which was not a candle. The crystals milky cast suddenly disappeared, drawing into the brightening glow. Now Flagg could see into its heart. His eyes widened . . . then narrowed in bewilderment. It was Sasha, very pregnant, sitting at a little boys bed. The little boy was holding a slate. On it were written two words GOD and DOG. Impatiently, Flagg passed his hands over the crystal, which now gave off waves of heat. Show me what I need to know! This is my command! The crystal cleared again. It was Peter, playing with his dead mothers do house, pretending the house and the family inside were being attacked by Indians . . . or dragons . . . or some foolish thing. The old King stood in the corner, watching his son, wanting to join in . . . Bah! Flagg cried, waving his hands over the crystal again. Why do you show me these old, meaningless stories? I need to know how he plans to escape . . . and when! Now show me! This is my command!. The crystal had grown hotter and hotter. If he did not allow it to go dark soon, it would split apart forever, Flagg knew, and magic crystals were not easy to come byit had taken thirty years of searching to find this one. But he would see it broken into a billion pieces before he gave up. This is my command! he repeated again, and for the third time, the milkiness of the crystal drew inward. Flagg bent over it until its heat made his eyes water and gush tears. He slitted them . . . and then, in spite of the heat, they flew open wide in shock and fury. It was Peter. Peter was slowly descending the side of the Needle. Surely this was some treacherous magic, because, although he was making handoverhand motions, there was no rope to be seen Or . . . was there? Flagg waved a hand in front of his face, dissipating the heat for a moment. A rope? Not exactly. But there was something . . . something as gossamer as a strand of spiderweb . . . and yet it bore his weight. Peter, Flagg breathed, and at the sound of his voice, the tiny figure looked around.


Flagg blew on the crystal and its bright, wavering light went out. He saw its afterglow in front of his eyes as he sat in the dark. Peter. Escaping. When? It had been night in the crystal, and Flagg had seen errant, gritty sheaves of snow blowing past the tiny figure working its way down the rounded wall. Was it to be later tonight? Tomorrow night? Sometime next week? Or Flagg pushed back from his desk and stood up with a lurch. His eyes filled with fire as he looked around his dark and stinking basement rooms. or had it happened already? Enough, he breathed. By all the gods that ever were and ever will be, this is enough. He strode across the darkened room and seized a huge weapon that hung on the wall. It was clumsy, but he held it with ease and familiarity. Familiar with it? Yes, of course he was! He had swung it many times when he had lived here and done business as Bill Hinch, the most feared executioner Delain had ever known. This terrible blade had bitten through hundreds of necks. Above the blades, which were of twiceforged Anduan steel, was Flaggs own modificationa spiked iron ball. Each spike had been tipped with poison. ENOUGH! Flagg screamed again in a fury of rage and frustration and fear. The twoheaded parrot, even in the depths of its unconsciousness, moaned at that sound. Flagg pulled his cloak from the hook by the door, swept it over his shoulders, and fastened the claspa hammeredsilver scarab beetleat his throat. It was enough. This time his plans would not be thwarted, certainly not by one hateful boy. Roland was dead, Peyna unbenched, the nobles driven into exile. There was no one to raise an outcry over one dead prince . . . especially one who had murdered his own father. If you have not escaped, my fine prince, you never willand something tells me youre still in the coop. But part of you WILL leave tonight, I promise you thatthat part I intend to carry out by the hair. As he strode down the corridor toward the Dungeon Gate, Flagg began to laugh . . . a sound which would have given a stone statue bad dreams. 114 Elaggs intuition was right. Peter had finished going over his rope of twisted linen fibers, but he was still in his tower room, awaiting the Criers announcement of midnight, when Flagg burst out of the Dungeon Gate and began to cross the Plaza of the Needle. The Church of the Great Gods had fallen at quarter past eleven; it was quarter of twelve when the crystal showed Flagg what he wanted to know (and perhaps youll agree with my idea that it tried to show him the truth in two other ways at first), and when Flagg started across the Plaza, it was still lacking ten minutes of midnight. The Dungeon Gate was on the northeast side of the Needle. On the southwest side was a little castle entrance known as the Peddlers Gate. A straight diagonal line could have been drawn between the Dungeon Gate and the Peddlers Gate. At the exact midpoint of that line was the Needle itself, of course. At almost the same time that Flagg came out of the Dungeon Gate, Ben, Naomi, Dennis, and Frisky came out of the Peddlers Gate. They approached each other without knowing it. The Needle was between them, but the wind had dropped, and Bens party should have heard the clangrasp of Flaggs bootheels against the cobbles; Flagg should have heard the faint squeak of an ungreased wheel. But all of them, including Frisky (who was back to her old job of pulling again), were lost in their own thoughts. Ben and his party reached the Needle first. Now Ben began, and at that moment, from the other side, less than forty paces around the outside perimeter from where they now stood, Flagg began to hammer on the triplebolted Warders Door. Open! Flagg screamed. Open in the name of the King! What Dennis began, and then Naomi clamped a hand like steel over his mouth and looked at Ben with frightened eyes. 115 The voice came spiraling up to Peter on the cold poststorm air. It was faint, that voice, but perfectly clear. Open in the name of the King! Open in the name of hell, you mean, Peter thought. The good brave boy had become a good brave man, but when he heard that hoarse voice and remembered that narrow white face and those reddish eyes, always shadowed by the hood of his robe, Peters bones turned to ice and his stomach to fire. His mouth went as dry as a wood chip. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His hair stood on end. If someone has ever told you that being good and being brave means you will never be afraid, what that someone told you is not so. At that moment, Peter had never been so afraid in his whole life. Its Flagg, and hes come for me. Peter got up and, for a moment, he thought he was going to simply fall over as his legs buckled under him. Doom was down there, hammering at the Warders Door to be let in. Open up! On your feet, you licey drunken buggers! Beson, you son of a sot! Dont hurry, Peter told himself. If you hurry youll make a mistake and do his work for him. No ones come to let him in yet. Besons drunkhe was tiddly at supper and probably paralyzed by the time he got to bed. Flagg hasnt a key or he wouldnt be wasting time knocking. So . . . one step at a time. Just as you planned it. Hes got to get in, and then climb those stairsall three hundred of them. You may beat him yet. He went into his bedroom and pulled out the rough iron cotter pins that held the crude bedframe together. The bed collapsed. Peter grabbed one of the iron sidebars and carried it back into the sitting room. He had measured this bar carefully and knew it was wider than his window, and while its outer surface was rusted, he thought it was strong yet through the middle. It had better be, he thought. It would be a bitter joke indeed if my rope held but my anchor broke. He looked out briefly. He could see no one now, but he had observed three figures crossing the Plaza toward the Needle shortly before Flaggs wild pounding had begun. Dennis had recruited friends, then. Had one of them been Ben? Peter hoped so, but did not dare to really believe it. Who was the third? And why the wagon? They were questions he had no time for now. Oh, you dogs! Open this door! Open it in the Kings name! Open it in the name of FLAGG! Open the door! Open In the stillness of almost midnight, Peter heard the rattlethud of the wristthick iron bolts far below being drawn back. He supposed the door opened, but he didnt hear that. Silence . . . . . . and then a gurgling, choked scream. 116 The unfortunate Lesser Warder who finally answered Flaggs summons lived less than four seconds after drawing the third bolt on the Warders Door. He caught a nightmare glimpse of a white face, glaring red eyes, and a black cloak that blew backward in the dying breeze like the wings of a raven. He screamed. Then the air was filled with a dry whooshing sound. The Lesser Warder, who was still half drunk, looked up just as Flaggs battleaxe split his head in two. Next time someone knocks in the name of the King, bestir yourselves and you wont have a mess to clean up in the morning! Flagg bellowed. Then, laughing wildly, he kicked aside the body and strode up the corridor toward the stairs. Things were still all right. He had awakened to the danger in time. He knew it. He felt it. He opened a door on the right and stepped into the main corridor leading away from the courtroom where Anders Peyna had once dispensed justice. At the end of that corridor, the stairs began. He looked up, grinning his dreadful, sharklike grin. Here I come, Peter! he cried happily, his voice echoing and rebounding, spiraling up and up and up to where Peter stood preparing to tie his thin rope to the bar he had taken from the bed. Here I come, dear Peter, to do what I should have done a long, long time ago! Flaggs grin broadened and now he looked terrible indeedhe looked like a demon which might have climbed lately from some reeking pit in the earth. He raised the executioners axe; drops of the slain warders blood fell onto his face and ran down his cheeks like tears. Here I come, dear Peter, to chop off your head! Flagg screamed and began to run up the stairs. One. Three. Six. Ten. 117 Peters shaking hands went wrong somehow. A knot he had made easily a thousand times before now fell apart and he had to start over again. Dont let him scare you. That was idiotic. He was scared, all right; scared green. Thomas would have been astounded to know that Peter had always been frightened of Flagg; Peter had just hid it better. If hes going to kill you, make HIM do it! Dont do it for him! The thought came from inside his own head . . . but it sounded like his mothers voice. Peters hands steadied a bit, and he began to knot the end of his rope to his anchor again. 118 Ill carry your head on my saddle horn for a thousand years! Flagg screamed. Up and up, around and around. Oh, what a pretty trophy youll make! Twenty. Thirty. Forty. His bootheels struck green fire from the stones. His eyes glared. His grin was poison. HERE I COME, PETER! Seventytwo hundred and thirty steps to go. 119 If you have ever awakened in a strange place in the middle of the night, youll know that just to be alone in the dark can be frightening enough; now try to imagine waking in a secret passage, looking through concealed eyeholes into the room where you saw your own father murdered! Thomas shrieked. No one heard him (unless the dogs below did, and I doubt thatthey were old, deaf, and making too much noise themselves). Now, there was an idea about sleepwalking in Delainone that has also been commonly held as the truth in our world. This idea is that if a sleep . walker wakes up before returning to his or her bed, he or she will go mad. Thomas might have heard this tale. If so, he could attest that it wasnt true at all. Hed had a bad scare, and he had screamed, but he did not come even close to going mad. In fact, his initial fright passed rather quicklymore quickly than some of you might thinkand he looked back into the peepholes again. This may strike some of you as strange, but you have to remember that, before the terrible night when Flagg had come with his own glass of wine after Peter left, Thomas had spent some pleasant times in this dark passageway. The pleasantness had a sour undertone of guilt, but he had also felt close to his father. Now, being back here, he felt a queer sense of nostalgia. He saw that the room had hardly changed at all. The stuffed heads were still thereBonsey the elk, Craker the lynx, Snapper the great white bear from the north. And, of course, Niner the dragon, which he now looked through, with Rolands bow and the arrow FoeHammer mounted above it. Bonsey . . . Craker . . . Snapper . . . Niner. I remember all their names, Thomas thought with some wonder. And I remember you, Dad. I wish you were alive now and that Peter was free, even if it meant no one even knew I was alive. At least I could sleep at night. Some of the furniture had been covered with white dustsheets, but most had not. The fireplace was cold and dark, but a fire had been laid. Thomas saw with mounting wonder that even his fathers old robe was still there, hung in its accustomed place on the hook by the bathroom door. The fireplace was cold, but it wanted only a match struck and held to the kindling to bring it alive, roaring and warm; the room wanted only his father to do the same for it. Suddenly Thomas became aware of a strange, almost eerie desire in himself; he wanted to go into that room. He wanted to light the fire. He wanted to put on his fathers robe. He wanted to drink a glass of his fathers mead. He would drink it even if it had gone bad and bitter. He thought . . . he thought he might be able to sleep in there. A wan, tired smile dawned on the boys face, and he decided to do it. He wasnt even afraid of his fathers ghost. He almost hoped it would come. If it did, he could tell his father something. He could tell his father he was sorry. 120 GOMING, PETER! Flagg shrieked, grinning. He smelled like blood and doom; his eyes were deadly fire. The headsmans axe swished and whickered, and a last few drops of blood flew from the blade and splashed on the walls. COMING NOW! COMING FOR YOUR HEAD! Up and around, up and around, higher and higher. He was a devil with murder on his mind. A hundred. A hundred and twentyfive. 121 Easter, Ben Staad panted to Dennis and Naomi. The temperature had begun to fall again, but all three of them were sweating. Some of the sweat came from exertionthey were working very hard. But much of their sweat had been caused by fear. They could hear Flagg shrieking. Even Frisky, with her brave heart, felt afraid. She had withdrawn a little and huddled on her haunches, whimpering. 122 COMING, YOU LITTLE WHELP! Closer nowhis voice was flatter, with less echo. COMING TO DO WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE A LONG TIME AGO! The twin blades swished and whickered. 123 This time the knot held. Gods help me, Peter thought, and looked back once more toward the sound of Flaggs rising, shrieking voice. Gods help me now. Peter threw one leg out the window. Now he sat astride the sill as if it were Peonys saddle, one leg on the stone floor of his sitting room, the other dangling over the drop. He held the heap of his rope and the iron bar from his bed in his lap. He tossed the rope out the window, watching as it fell. It tangled and bound up halfway down, and he had to spend more time shaking the rope like a fishline before it would drop free again. Then, uttering one final prayer, he grasped the iron bar and pulled it against the window. His rope hung down from the middle. Peter slipped the leg that was inside over the sill, twisted around at the waist, holding on to the bar for dear life. Now only his bottom was on the sill. He made a halfturn so that the cold outer edge of the sill was pressed against his belly instead of his butt. His legs hung down. The iron bar was seated firmly across the window. Peter let go of it with his left hand and caught hold of his narrow napkin rope. For a moment he paused, battling his fear. Then he closed his eyes and let go of the bar with his right hand. His whole weight was on the rope now. He was committed. For better or worse his life now depended on the napkins. Peter began to lower himself. 124 COMING Two hundred. FOR YOUR HEAD Two hundred and fifty. MY DEAR PRINCE! Two hundred and seventyfive. 125 Ben, Dennis, and Naomi could see Peter, a dark manshape against the curved wall of the Needle, high above their headshigher than even the bravest acrobat would dare to go. Faster, Ben pantedalmost moaned. For your lives . . . for his life! They went about emptying the cart even faster . . . but in truth, all they could do was almost done. 126 Flagg raced up the stairs, his hood falling back, his lank dark hair flying off his waxy brow. Almost there nowalmost there. 127 The wind was light now, but very cold. It blew against Peters bare cheeks and bare hands, numbing them. Slowly, slowly, he descended, moving with careful deliberation. He knew that if he let his descent get out of hand, he would fall. In front of him, the great mortared stone blocks rolled steadily upwardvery soon he came to feel that he was remaining still and it was the Needle itself which was moving. His breath came in tight gasps. Cold dry snow rattled on his face. The rope was thinif his hands grew much number, he wouldnt be able to feel it at all. How far had he come? He didnt dare look down and see. Above him, individual strands of thread, cunningly woven together as a woman might braid a rug, had begun to pop threads. Peter did not know this, which was probably just as well. The breaking strain had nearly been reached. 128 Easter, King Peter! Dennis whispered. The three of them had finished emptying the cart; now they could only watch. Peter had descended perhaps half of the distance. Hes so high, Naomi moaned. If he falls If he falls, hell be killed, Ben said with a flat and toneless finality that silenced them all. 129 Flagg reached the top of the stairs and ran down the corridor, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. Sweat stood out all over his face. His grin was huge, horrible. He put his great axe down and pulled the first of the three bolts on the door to Peters quarters. He pulled the second . . . and paused. It would not be smart to simply go rushing in, oh no, not smart at all. The caged bird might be trying to fly the coop right this moment, but he might also be standing to one side of the door, ready to brain Flagg with something the moment he rushed in. When he opened the spyhole in the middle of the door and saw the bar from Peters bed placed across the window, he understood everything and roared with rage. Not so easy as that, my young bird! howled Flagg. Lets see how you fly with your rope cut, shall we? Flagg yanked the third bolt and charged into Peters room with his axe held high over his head. After one quick look out the window, his grin resurfaced. He decided not to cut the rope, after all. 130 Down and down Peter went. His arm muscles trembled with exhaustion. His mouth was dry; he couldnt remember ever wanting a drink as badly as he did right now. It seemed that he had been on this rope for a very, very long time, and a queer certainty had stolen into his hearthe would never get the drink of water he wanted. He was meant to die after all, and that wasnt even the worst of it. He was going to die thirsty. Right now that seemed the worst of it. He still did not dare look down, but he felt a queer compulsionevery bit as strong as his brothers compulsion to go into their fathers sitting roomto look up. He obeyed itand some two hundred feet above, he saw Flaggs white, murderous face grinning down at him. Hello, my little bird, Flagg called down cheerfully. Ive an axe, but I really dont think Ill need to use it after all. Ive put it aside, see? And the magician held out his bare hands. All the strength was trying to run out of Peters arms and handsjust the sight of Flaggs hateful face had done that. He concentrated on holding on. He couldnt feel the thin rope at all anymorehe knew he still had it because he could see it coming out of his fists, but that was all. His breath rasped in and out of his throat in hot gasps. Now he looked down . . . and saw the white, upturned circles of three faces. Those circles were very, very smallhe was not twenty feet above the frozen cobbles, or even forty feet; he was still a hundred feet up, as high as the fourth floor of one of our buildings. He tried to move and found he could notif he moved, he would fall. So he hung there against the side of the building. Cold, gritty snow blew in his face, and from the prison above, Flagg began to laugh. 131 Why doesnt he move? Naomi cried, digging one mittened hand into Bens shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on Peters twisting form. The way it hung there, slowly turning, made it look dreadfully like the body of a man who had been hanged. Whats wrong with him? I dont Above them, Flaggs chilly laughter abruptly stopped. Who goes there? he called. His voice was like thunder, like doom. Answer me, if you want to keep your heads! Who goes there? Frisky whined and shrank against Naomis side. Oh gods, now youve done it, Dennis said. What do we do, Ben? Wait, Ben said grimly. And if the magician comes down, fight. We wait for what happens next. We But that was all the waiting any of them had to do, for in the next few seconds, muchnot all, but a great deatwas resolved. 132 Flagg had seen the thinness of Peters rope, its whitenessand in a trice he understood everything, from beginning to endthe napkins and the dollhouse as well. Peters means of escape had been under his nose the whole time, and he had very nearly missed it. But . . . he saw something else as well. Little pops of fiber where the strands were giving way, some fifteen feet down the taut length of rope. Flagg could have turned the iron bar he was resting his hand on and sent Peter plummeting that way, with the anchor trailing after to perhaps bash his head in when he struck bottom. He could have swung the battleaxe and parted the fragile rope. But he preferred to let matters take their course, and a moment after he had challenged the voices, matters did take their course. The ropes breaking strain was reached. It parted with a twang like a lute string that has been wound too far on its peg. Goodbye, birdie, Flagg cried happily, leaning far out to watch Peters fall. He was laughing. Goodb Then his voice ceased and his eyes widened as they had when he looked into the crystal and saw the tiny figure descending the side of the Needle. He opened his mouth and screamed with rage. That awful cry woke up more people in Delain than the fall of the Tower. 133 Peter heard that twanging sound, felt the rope part. Cold wind rushed up past his face. He tried to steel himself for the crash, knowing it would come in less than a second. The pain if he didnt die instantly would be the worst. And that was when Peter struck the thick, deep drift of royal napkins which Frisky had hauled out of the castle and across the Plaza in a stolen cartthe royal napkins which Ben, Dennis, and Naomi had worked so feverishly to pile up. The size of that pileit looked like a whitewashed haystackwas never really known, because Ben, Dennis, and Naomi all had different estimates on the subject. Perhaps Peters own idea was the best, since he was the one who fell squarely into the middle of ithe believed that messy, lovely, lifesaving pile of napkins must have been at least twenty feet high, and for all I know, he may have been right. 134 He fell squarely into the middle, as I have said, making a crater. Then he fell over on his back and lay still. Far above, Ben heard Flagg howl with rage and he thought You dont need to do that, everythings going to be just fine for you, magician. He has died anyway, in spite of all we could do. Then Peter sat up. He looked dazed but very much alive. In spite of Flagg, in spite of the fact that there might be Guards of the Watch racing toward them at that moment, Ben Staad whooped. It was a sound of pure triumph. He grabbed Naomi and kissed her. Hoorah! Dennis cried, grinning dizzily. Hoorah for the King! Then Flagg screeched again far above themthe sound of a devilbird cheated of its prey. The whooping, the kissing, and the hoorahing all stopped right then. Youll pay with your heads! Flagg shrieked. He was insane with rage. Youll pay with your heads, all of you! Guards of the Watch, to the Needle! To the Needle! The regicide has escaped! To the Needle! Kill the murdering prince! Kill his gang! Kill them all! And in the castle that surrounded the Plaza of the Needle on all four sides, windows began to be lit . . . and from two sides came the sound of running feet and the clash of metal as swords were drawn. Kill the prince! Flagg shrieked hellishly from the top of the Needle. Kill his gang! KILL THEM ALL! Peter tried to get up, floundered, and fell over again. Part of his mind was crying out urgently that he must get on his feet, that they must be away or they would be killed . . . but another part insisted that he was already dead, or severely wounded, and all of this was only a dream of his perishing mind. He seemed to have landed in a bed of the very napkins which had occupied so much of his mind over the last five years . . . and how could that be anything but a dream? Bens strong hand gripped his upper arm, and he knew it was all real, all happening. Peter, are you all right? Are you really all right? Not hurt a bit, Peter said. We have to get away from here. My King! Dennis cried, falling on his knees before the dazed Peter and grinning the same dizzy, foolish grin. My oath of fealty forever! I swear my Swear later! Peter cried, laughing in spite of himself. As Ben had pulled him to his feet, so Peter now pulled Dennis to his. Lets get out of here! Which gate? Ben asked. He knewas Peter did himselfthat Flagg would already be on his way back down. They come from all sides, by the sound. In truth, Ben thought any direction would do for the battle which would surely come, and result in their eventual slaughter. But, dazed or not, Peter knew perfectly well where he wanted to go. The West Gate, he said, and quickly! Run! The four of them ran, Frisky at their heels. 135 Still fifty yards from the West Gate, Peters band met a party of seven sleepy, confused guards. Most of them had sheltered from the storm in one of the warm Lower Kitchens of the castle, drinking mead and exclaiming to one another that they would have something to tell their grandchildren about. They did not know the half of what they would have to tell their grandchildren about, as it happened. Their leader was a manboy of just twenty, and only a goshawk . . . what we would call a corporal, I suppose. Still, he hadnt had anything to drink and was reasonably alert. And he was determined to do his duty. Halt in the name of the King! he called out as Peters group closed with his slightly larger one. He tried to thunder this command, but a storyteller should tell as much of the truth as he can, and I must tell you that the goshawks voice was more squeak than thunder. Peter was unarmed, of course, but Ben and Naomi both carried shortswords, and Dennis had his rusty dagger. All three of them at once pushed in front of Peter. Bens and Naomis hands went to their hilts. Dennis had already pulled his dagger. Stop! Peter cried; his voice was thunder. You must not draw! Surprisedshocked, evenBen threw a glance at Peter. Peter stepped to the fore. He stood with his eyes flashing moonlight and his beard riffling in the light, chilledged wind. He was dressed in the rough clothes of a prisoner, but his face was commanding and regal. Halt in the name of the King, you say, Peter said. He stepped calmly toward the terrified goshawk until the two of them were almost chest to chestless than six inches separated them. The guard fell back a step in spite of his own drawn sword and the fact that Peters hands were empty. And yet I tell you, goshawk I am the King. The guard licked his lips. He looked around at his men. But . . . he began. You . . . What is your name? Peter asked quietly. The goshawk gaped. He could have run Peter through in a second, but he only gaped helplessly, like a fish drawn from water. Your name, goshawk? My Lord . . . I mean . . . prisoner . . . you . . . I . . . The young soldier fumbled once more and then said helplessly, My name is Galen. And do you know who I am? Yes, one of the others growled. We know you, murderer. I did not murder my father, Peter said quietly. It was the Kings magician who did that. He is hot behind us now, and I advise youvery strongly, I advise youto ware of him. Soon he will trouble Delain no more; I promise this on my fathers name. But for now you must let me pass. There was a long moment of silence. Galen held his sword up again as if to run Peter through. Peter did not flinch. He owed the gods a death; it was a debt he had owed ever since he had come a shrieking, naked baby from his mothers belly. It was a debt every man and woman in creation owed. If he was to pay that debt now, let it be so . . . but he was the rightful King, not a rebel, not a usurper, and he would not run, or stand aside, or let his friends hurt this lad. The sword wavered. Then Galen let it fall until the tip of the blade touched the frozen cobbles. Let em pass, he muttered. Mayhap he murdered, mayhap he didntall I know is that its royal muck and Ill not step into it, lest I drown in a quicksand of Kings and princes. You had a wise mother, goshawk, Ben Staad said grimly. Yes, let im pass, a second voice said unexpectedly. By gods, Ill not strike my blade at suchfrom the look of im, it would burn off my hand when it went in. You will be remembered, Peter said. He looked around at his friends. Follow me now, he said, and be quick. I know what I must have, and I know where to oet it. At that moment Flagg burst from the base of the Needle, and such a howl of rage and fury rose in the night that the young guards quailed before it. They backed up, turned, and ran, scattering to the four pegs of the compass. Come on, Peter said. Follow me. The West Gate! 136 Flagg ran as he had never run before. He sensed the oncoming ruin of all his plans now, at what was practically the last moment. It must not happen! And he knew as well as Peter where all of this must end. He passed the cowering guards without looking around. They sighed with relief, thinking he must not have seen them . . . but Flagg did. He saw them all, and marked each; after Peter died, their heads would decorate the tower walls for a year and a day, he thought. As for the brat in charge of their patrolhe would die a thousand deaths in the dungeon first. He ran under the arch of the West Gate, and down the Main Western Gallery into the castle itself. Sleepy folk, who had come out in their nightclothes to see what all this row was about, cowered before his whitely burning face and fell aside, forking their first and last fingers at him to ward off evil . . . for now Flagg looked like what Flagg really was a demon. He vaulted over the banister of the first staircase he came to, landed on his feet (the iron on his heels flashed green fire like the eyes of lynxes), and ran on. On toward Rolands apartments. 137 The locket, Peter panted to Dennis as they ran. Do you still have the locket I threw down? Dennis clutched at his throat, and found the golden heartPeters own blood dried on the tipand nodded. Give it to me. Dennis passed it to him as they ran. Peter did not put the chain over his neck, but looped it in his fist so that the heart bounced and spun as he ran, flashing redgold in the light of the wall sconces. Soon, my friends, Peter panted. They turned a corner. Ahead Peter saw the door to his fathers apartments. It was here that he had last seen Roland. He had been a King, responsible for the lives and welfare of thousands; he had also been an old man grateful for a warming glass of wine and a few minutes of talk with his son. It was here that it would end. Once upon a time, his father had slain a dragon with an arrow called FoeHammer. Now, Peter thought, as blood pounded in his temples and his heart raced hotly in his chest, I must try to slay another dragona much greater onewith that same arrow. 138 Thomas lit the fire, donned his dead fathers robe, and drew Rolands chair close to the hearth. He felt that he would soon fall soundly asleep, and that was very good. But as he sat there, owlishly nodding, looking around at the trophies mounted on the walls with their glassy eyes sparkling eerily in the flames, it occurred to him that he wanted two more thingsthings that were almost sacred, things he would certainly never have dared touch when his father was alive. But Roland was dead, so Thomas had taken another chair to stand on, and from the wall he had taken down his fathers bow and his fathers great arrow, FoeHammer, from their places on the wall above Niners head. For a moment he stared directly into one of the dragons greenamber eyes. He had seen much through these eyes, but now, looking into them, he saw nothing but his own pallid face, like the face of a prisoner looking out of a cell. Although everything in the room had been numbingly cold (the fire would warm things up, at least around the fireplace, but it would take a while), he thought that the arrow was strangely warm. He vaguely remembered an old tale he had heard as a small childaccording to this tale, a weapon used to slay a dragon never lost the dragons heat. It seems that tale was true, Thomas thought sleepily. But there was nothing scary about the arrows heat; in fact, it seemed comforting.


Thomas sat down with the bow clutched loosely in one hand and FoeHammer with its strange, sleeping warmth clutched in the other, never realizing that his brother was now coming in search of this very weapon, and that Flaggthe author of his birth and the Chief Warder of his lifewas hot on Peters heels. 139 Thomas hadnt stopped to consider what he would do if the door to his fathers rooms had been locked, and Peter never did, eitherin the old days it never had been, and as things turned out, the door wasnt locked now. Peter had to do no more than lift the latch. He burst in, the others hot on his heels. Frisky was barking wildly, all of her fur standing on end. Frisky understood the true nature of things better, Ill warrant. Something was coming, something with a black scent like the poison fumes that sometimes killed the coal miners of the Eastern Barony when their tunnels went too deep. Frisky would fight the owner of that scent if she had to; fight and even die. But if she could have spoken, Frisky would have told them that the black scent approaching them from behind did not belong to a man; it was a monster chasing them, some horrible It. Peter, what Ben began, but Peter ignored him. He knew what he must have. He rushed across the room on his exhausted, trembling legs, looked up at the head of Niner, and reached for the bow and the arrow that had always hung above that head. Then his hand faltered. Both were gone. Dennis, the last one in, had closed the door behind him and shot the bolt. Now a single great blow fell on that door. The stout hardwood panels, reinforced with bands of iron, boomed. Peter looked over his shoulder, eyes widening. Dennis and Naomi cringed backward. Frisky stood before her mistress, snarling. Her graygreen eyes showed the whites all around. Let me pass! Flagg roared. Let me pass the door! Peter! Ben shouted, and drew his sword. Stand away! Peter shouted back. If you value your lives stand away! All of you, stand away! They scattered back just as Flaggs fist, now glowing with blue fire, slammed down against the door again. Hinges, bolt, and iron bands all burst at the same time with the noise of an exploding cannon. Blue fire spoked through the cracks between the boards in narrow rays. Then the stout planks burst apart. Shattered chunks of wood flew in a spray. The ragged remains of the door stood for a moment longer and then fell inward with a handclap sound. Flagg stood in the corridor, his hood fallen back. His face was waxen white. His lips were strips of liver drawn back to show his teeth. His eyes flared with furnace fire. In his hand he grasped his heavy executioners axe. He stood there a moment longer and then stepped inside. He looked left and saw Dennis. He looked right, and saw Ben and Naomi, with Frisky hunched, snarling, at her feet. His eyes marked them . . . catalogued them for future reference . . . and dismissed them. He strode through the remains of the door, now looking only at Peter. You fell but you did not die, he said. You may think your God was kind. But I tell you, my own gods were saving you for me. Pray to your God now that your heart should burst apart in your chest. Fall on your knees and pray for that, because I tell you that my death will be much worse than any you can imagine. Peter stood where he was, between Flagg and his fathers chair, where Thomas sat, as yet unseen by all the others. Peter met Flaggs infernal gaze, unafraid. For a moment Flagg seemed to flinch under that firm gaze, and then his inhuman grin blazed forth. You and your friends have caused me great trouble, my prince, Flagg whispered. Great trouble. I should have ended your miserable life long ago. But now all troubles will end. I know you, Peter replied. Although he was unarmed, his voice was steady and unafraid. I think my father knew you, too, although he was weak. Now I assume my kingship, and I command you, demon! Peter drew himself up to his full height. The flames in the fireplace reflected from his eyes, making them blaze. In that moment, Peter was every inch Delains King. Get you gone from here. Leave Delain behind, now and forever. You are cast out. GET YOU GONE! Peter thundered this last in a voice which was greater than his own; he thundered in a voice that was many voicesall the Kings and Queens there had ever been in Delain, stretching back to the time when the castle had been little more than a collection of mud huts and people had drawn together in terror around their fires during the darks of winter as the wolves howled and the trolls gobbled and screamed in the Great Forests of Yestertime. Flagg seemed to flinch again . . . almost to cringe. Then he came forwardslowly, very slowly. His huge axe swung in his left hand. You may command in the next world, he whispered. By escaping, youve played into my hands. If Id thought of itand in time I should haveI would have engineered a trumped up escape myself! Oh, Peter, your head will roll into the fire and youll smell your hair burning before your brain knows youre dead. Youll burn as your father burned . . . and theyll give me a medal for it in the Plaza! For did you not murder your own father for the crown? You murdered him, Peter said. Flagg laughed. I? I? Youve gone insane in the Needle, my boy. Flagg sobered. His eyes glittered. But supposejust for an instantsuppose I did? Who would believe it? Peter still held the chain of the locket looped over his right hand. Now he held that hand out and the locket hung below it, swinging hypnotical, raying flashes of ruddy light on the wall. At the sight of it, Flaggs eyes widened and Peter thought He recognizes it! By all the Gods, he recognizes it! You killed my father, and it wasnt the first time youd arranged things in the same way. You had forgotten, hadnt you? I see it in your eyes. When Leven Valera stood in your way during the evil days of Alan II, his wife was found poisoned. Circumstances made Valeras guilt seem without question . . . as they made my guilt seem without question. Where did you find that, you little bastard? Flagg whispered, and Naomi gasped. Yes, you forgot, Peter repeated. I think that, sooner or later, things like you always begin to repeat themselves, because things like you know only a very few simple tricks. After a while, someone always sees through them. I think that is all that saves us, ever. The locket hung and swung in the firelight. Who would care now? Peter asked. Who would believe? Many. If they believed nothing else, they would believe you are as old as their hearts tell them you are, monster. Give it to me! You killed Eleanor Valera, and you killed my father. Yes, I brought him the wine, Flagg said, his eyes blazing, and I laughed when his guts burned, and I laughed harder when you were taken up the stairs to the top of the Needle. But those who hear me say so in this room will all soon be dead, and no one saw me bring wine to these rooms! They only saw you! And then, from behind Peter, a new voice spoke. It was not strong, that voice; it was so low it could scarcely be heard, and it trembled. But it struck all of themFlagg includeddumb with wonder. There was one other who saw, Peters brother, Thomas, said from the shadowed depths of his fathers chair. I saw you, magician. 140 Peter drew aside and made a halfturn, the hand with the locket hanging from it still outstretched. Thomas! he tried to say, but he could not speak, so struck was he by wonder and horror at the changes in his brother. He had grown fat and somehow old. He had always looked more like Roland than Peter had, and now the resemblance was so great it was eerie. Thomas! he tried to say again, and realized why the bow and arrow were no longer in their places above the head of Niner. The bow was in Thomass lap, and the arrow was nocked in the gut string. It was then that Flagg shrieked and threw himself forward, raising the great executioners axe over his head. 141 It was not a shriek of rage but of terror. Flaggs white face was drawn; his hair stood on end. His mouth trembled loosely. Peter had been surprised by the resemblance but knew his brother; Flagg was fooled completely by the flickering fire and the deep shadows cast by the wings of the chair in which Thomas sat. He forgot Peter. It was the figure in the chair he charged with the axe. He had killed the old man once by poison, and yet here he was again, sitting in his smelly meadsoaked robe, sitting with his bow and arrow in his hands, looking at Flagg with haggard, accusing eyes. Ghost! Flagg shrieked. Ghost or demon from hell, I care not! I killed you once! I can kill you again! Aiiiiyyyyyyyyeeeeee! Thomas had always excelled at archery. Although he rarely hunted, he had gone often to the archery ranges during the years of Peters imprisonment, and, drunk or sober, he had his fathers eye. He had a fine yew bow, but he had never drawn one like this. It was light and limber, and yet he felt an amazing strength in its lancewood bolt. It was a huge but graceful weapon, eight feet from end to end, and he did not have room to draw fully while sitting down; yet he pulled its ninetypound draw with no strain at all. FoeHammer was perhaps the greatest arrow ever made, its bolt of sandalwood, its three feathers honed from the wing of an Anduan peregrine, its tip of flashed steel. It grew hot at the draw; he felt its heat bake his face like an open furnace. You told me only lies, magician, Thomas said softly. He released. The arrow flew from the bow. As it crossed the room, it passed directly through the center of Leven Valeras locket, which still dangled from the stunned Peters outstretched fist. The gold chain parted with a tiny chink! sound. As I have told you, ever since that night in the north forests when he and the troop he had commanded had camped following their fruitless expedition in search of the exiles, Flagg had been plagued by a dream he couldnt remember. He always awoke from it with his hand pressed to his left eye, as if he had been wounded there. The eye would burn for minutes after he awoke, although he could find nothing wrong with it. Now the arrow of Roland, bearing the heartshaped locket of Valera on its tip, flew across Rolands sitting room and plunged into that eye. Flagg screamed. The twobladed axe dropped from his hands, and the haft of that bloodsoaked weapon shattered apart once and for all when it struck the floor. He staggered backward, one eye glaring at Thomas. The other had been replaced by a golden heart with Peters blood drying at the tip. From around the edges of that heart, some stinking black fluidit was most assuredly not blooddribbled out. Flagg shrieked again, dropped to his knees and suddenly he was gone. Peters eyes widened. Ben Staad cried out. For a moment Flaggs clothes held his shape; for a moment the arrow hung in empty air with the pierced heart dangling from it. Then the clothes crumpled and FoeHammer clattered to the cobbles. Its steel tip was smoking. So it had smoked, long ago, when Roland pulled it from the dragons throat. The heart glowed a dull red for a moment, and forever after its shape was branded into the stones where it fell when the magician disappeared. Peter turned to his brother. Thomass unearthly calm broke apart. No longer did he look like Roland; he looked like a scared and horribly tired little boy. Peter, Im sorry, he said, and he began to cry. I am sorrier than you will ever know. Youll kill me now, I guess, and I deserve to be killedyes, I know I dobut before you do, Ill tell you something Ive paid. Yes, I have. Paid and paid and paid. Now kill me, if such is your pleasure. Thomas raised his throat and closed his eyes. Peter walked toward him. The others held their breaths, their eyes wide and round. Gently, then, Peter pulled his brother from his fathers chair and embraced him. Peter held his brother until the storm of his weeping had passed, and told him that he loved him and would always love him; then both wept, there below the dragons head with their fathers bow at their feet; and at some point, the others stole from the room and left the two brothers alone. 142 Did they all live happily ever after? They did not. No one ever does, in spite of what the stories may say. They had their good days, as you do, and they had their bad days, and you know about those. They had their victories, as you do, and they had their defeats, and you know about those, too. There were times when they felt ashamed of themselves, knowing that they had not done their best, and there were times when they knew they had stood where their God had meant them to stand. All Im trying to say is that they lived as well as they could, each and every one of them; some lived longer than others, but all lived well, and bravely, and I love them all, and am not ashamed of my love. Thomas and Peter went to Delains new JudgeGeneral together, and Peter was taken back into custody. His second stint as a prisoner of the Kingdom was much shorter than the firstonly two hours. It took Thomas fifteen minutes to tell his tale, and the JudgeGeneral, who had been appointed with Flaggs approval and who was a timid little creature, took another hour and threequarters to verify that the terrible magician was really gone. Then all charges were overturned. That evening all of themPeter, Thomas, Ben, Naomi, Dennis, and even Friskymet in Peters old rooms. Peter poured wine all around, even giving Frisky some in a little dish. Only Thomas declined the vintage. Peter wanted Thomas to stay with him, but Thomas insistedrightly, I thinkthat if he stayed, the citizens would tear him apart for what he had allowed to happen. You were only a child, Peter said, controlled by a powerful creature who terrified you. With a sad grin, Thomas replied That is partly true, but people would not remember that, Pete. Theyd remember Tommy TaxBringer, and come for me. Theyd tear through stone to get to me, I think. Flaggs gone, but Im here. My head is a silly thing, but Ive decided Id like to keep it on my shoulders a while longer. He paused, seemed to debate, and then went on. And Im best away. My hate and jealousy were like a fever. Its now gone, but after a few years of being in your shadow as you ruled, I might relapse. Ive come to know myself a little bit, you see. Yesa little bit. No; I must leave, Peter, and tonight. The sooner the better. But . . . where will you go? On a quest, Thomas said simply. To the south, I think. You may see me again, but you may not. Ill go south on a quest. . . . I have many things on my conscience, and much to atone for. What quest? Ben asked. To find Flagg, Thomas replied. Hes out there, somewhere. In this world or in some other, hes out there. I know it; I feel his poison in the wind. He got away from us at the last second. You all know it, and I do, too. I would find him and kill him. I would avenge our father and make up for my own great sin. And I would go into the south first, for I sense him there. Peter said, But wholl go with you? I canttheres too much to do here. But I wont just allow you to go alone! He looked very concerned, and if you had seen a map of those days, you would have understood his expression, for the south was nothing but a great white space on the maps. Surprising all of them, Dennis said I would go, my Lord King. Both brothers looked toward him, surprised. Ben and Naomi also turned, and Frisky looked up from her wine, which she was lapping with cheerful enthusiasm (she liked the smell, which was a cool, velvety purple; not as good as the taste, but almost). Dennis blushed mightily, but he didnt sit down. You were always a good master, Thomas, andbeggin your pardon, King Petersomething inside me says youre my master still. And since I was the one to find that mouse and send you to the Needle, my King Bosh! Peter said. Thats all forgotten. Not by me, it aint, Dennis said stubbornly. You could say I was young, too, and didnt know no better, but maybe Ive my own mistakes to atone for. He looked at Thomas, shyly. I would come with you, Lord Thomas, if you would have me; I would be at your side in your quest. On the verge of tears, Thomas said I will have you and welcome, good old Dennis. I only hope you can cook better than can. They left that very night, under cover of darknesstwo figures on foot, their packs heavy with supplies, wending their way into the night. They looked back once and waved. All three of them waved back. Peter was weeping as if his heart would break; indeed, he thought it might. Ill never see him again, Peter thought. Ah, wellperhaps he did, and perhaps he didnt; but I rather think he did, you know. All I can tell you is that Ben and Naomi were eventually married, that Peter ruled long and well, and that Thomas and Dennis had many and strange adventures, and that they did see Flagg again, and confronted him. But now the hour is late, and all of that is another tale, for another day.