94
On Saturday night, as Dennis was standing in the horror of that wolf’s howl and feeling the shade of Flagg’s thought pass over him, Ben Staad and Naomi Reechul were encamped in a snowy hollow thirty miles north of Peyna’s farm… or what had been Peyna’s farm before Dennis showed up with his story of a King who walked and talked in his sleep.
They had made the sort of rough camp people make when they mean to spend only a few hours and then push on. Naomi had seen to her beloved huskies while Ben put up a small tent and built a roaring fire.
Shortly, Naomi joined him at the fire and cooked deer meat. They ate in silence, and then Naomi went to check the dogs again. All were sleeping except for Frisky, her favorite. Frisky looked at her with almost human eyes, and licked her hand.
“A good pull today, m’dear,” Naomi said. “Sleep, now. Catch a moon rabbit.”
Frisky obediently put her head down on her paws. Naomi smiled and went back to the fire. Ben sat before it, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms around them. His face was somber and thoughtful.
“Snow’s coming.”
“I can read the clouds as well as you, Ben Staad. And the fairies have made a ring around Prince Ailon’s head.”
Ben glanced at the moon and nodded. Then he looked back at the fire. “I’m worried. I’ve had dreams of… well, dreams of one it’s better not to name.”
She lit a cigar. She offered the little package, which was wrapped in muslin to prevent drying, to Ben, who shook his head.
“I’ve had the same dreams, I think,” she said. She tried to make her voice casual, but was betrayed by a slight tremor.
He stared around at her, eyes wide.
“Aye,” she said, as if he had asked. “In them, he looks into some bright glowing thing and speaks Peter’s name. I’ve never been one of your skittish little girls who screeches at the sight of a mouse or a spider in its web, but I wake from that dream wanting to scream aloud.”
She looked both ashamed and defiant.
“How many nights have you had it?”
“Two.”
“I’ve had it four a-running. Mine’s just the same as yours. And you needn’t look like I’m going to laugh at you or call you Little Nell Weeping at the Well. I also wake up wanting to scream.
“This bright thing… at the end of my dreams, he seems to blow it out. Is it a candle, do you think?”
“No. You know it’s not.”
She nodded.
Ben considered. “Something far more dangerous than a can-dle, I think… I’ll take that cigar you offered, if I may.”
She gave him one. He lit it from the fire. They sat a while in silence, watching the sparks rise toward the dark wind which trawled nets of powdery field snow through the sky. Like the light in the dream they’d shared, the sparks blew out. The night seemed very black. Ben could smell snow in that wind. A great deal of snow, he thought.
Naomi seemed to read his thought. “I think such a storm as the old folks tell about may be on the way. What do you think?”
“The same.”
With a hesitation utterly unlike her usual forthright manner, Naomi asked: “What does the dream mean, Ben?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell. Danger to Peter, that much is clear. If it means anything else-anything I can ken-it’s that we must hurry.” He looked at her with an urgent directness that made her heart speed up. “Can we reach Peyna’s farm tomorrow, do you think?”
“We should be able to. No one but the gods can say that a dog won’t break a leg or that a killer bear who can’t sleep his winter sleep won’t come out of the woods and kill us all, but aye… we should be able to. I exchanged all the dogs I used on the run up, except for Frisky, and Frisky’s almost tireless. If the snow comes early it’ll slow us down, but I think it will hold off… and off… and for every hour it does, it’ll be that much worse when it finally comes. Or so I think. But if it does hold off, and if we take turns jumping off the sledge and running alongside, I think we can make it. But what can we do except sit there, unless your friend the butler returns?”
“I don’t know.” Ben sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. What good, indeed? Whatever it was the dreams foretold, it would happen at the castle, not at the farm. Peyna had sent Dennis to the castle, but how did Dennis mean to get in? Ben didn’t know, because Dennis hadn’t told Peyna. And if Dennis did gain entry undetected, where would he hide? There were a thousand possible places. Except…
“Bent”
“What?” Jerked out of his thoughts, he turned to her.
“What did you think of just now?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, something. Your eyes gleamed.”
“Did they? I must have been thinking of pies. It’s time you and I turned in. We’ll want to be off at first light.”
But in the tent, Ben Staad lay awake long after Naomi had gone to sleep. There were a thousand places in the castle to hide, yes. But he could think of two rather special ones. He thought he might well find Dennis in one… or the other.
At last he fell asleep…
… and dreamed of Flagg.
95
Teter began that Sunday as he always did, with his exercises and a prayer.
He had awakened feeling fresh and ready. After a quick look at the sky to gauge the progress of the coming storm, he ate his breakfast.
And, of course, he used his napkin.
By Sunday noon, everyone in Delain had come out of his or her house at least once to look worriedly toward the north. Everyone agreed that the storm, when it came, would be one to tell stories about in later years. The clouds rolling in were a dull gray, the color of wolf pelts. Temperatures rose until the icicles hanging beneath the eaves of the alleys began to drip for the first time in weeks, but the old-timers told each other (and anyone else who would listen) that they were not fooled. The temperature would plummet quickly, and hours later-perhaps two, perhaps four-the snow would begin. And, they said, it might fall for days.
By three o’clock that afternoon, those farmers of the Inner Baronies fortunate enough to still have livestock to watch out for had gotten their animals into the barns. The cows went mooing their displeasure; the snow had melted enough for them to crop last fall’s dry grasses for the first time in months. Yosef, older, grayer, but still lively enough at seventy-two, saw that all the King’s horses were stabled. Presumably there was some-one else to take care of all the King’s men. Wives took advantage of the mild temperatures to attempt to dry sheets which oth-erwise simply would have frozen on the lines, and then took them in as the daylight lowered toward an early, storm-colored dark. They were disappointed; their washing had not dried. There was too much moisture in the air.
Animals were skittish. People were nervous. Wise meadhouse keepers would not open their doors. They had observed the falling mercury in their barometric glasses, and long experience had taught them that low air pressure makes men quick to fight.
Delain battened down for the coming storm, and everyone waited.
Ben and Naomi took turns running beside the sledge. They reached the Peyna farm at two o’clock that Sunday after-noon-at about the same time Dennis was stirring awake on his mattress of royal napkins and Peter was beginning his meager lunch.
Naomi looked beautiful indeed-the flush of her exercise had colored her tanned cheeks the pretty dusky red of autumn roses. As the sledge pulled into Peyna’s yard, the dogs barking wildly, she turned her laughing face to Ben.
“A record run, by the gods!” she cried. “We’ve made it three-no, four!-hours earlier than I would have believed when we left! And not one dog has burst its heart! Aiy, Frisky! Aiy! Good dog!”
Frisky, a huge black-and-white Anduan husky with gray-green eyes, was at the head of the tether. She was jumping in the air, straining against the traces. Naomi unhooked her and danced with her in the snow. It was a curious waltz, both graceful and barbaric. Dog and mistress seemed to laugh at each other in a powerful shared affection. Some of the other dogs were lying down on their sides now, panting hard, obviously exhausted, but neither Frisky nor Naomi seemed even slightly winded.