The Dark Tower

May I not die screaming, the formerAustin Cornwell thought. At least grant me that much, you gods that be. MayI not die screaming in the arms of yonder monstrosity.

“You know what’s happened here, young sai.It’s in my mind, and so it’s in yours. Why not take the mess in thatbasket—the snakes, too, do ya like em—and leave an old man to whatlittle life he has left? For your father’s sake, if not your own. I served himwell, even at the end. I could have simply hunkered in the castle and let themgo their course. But I didn’t. I tried.”

“You had no choice,” Mordred replied fromhis end of the bridge. Not knowing if it was true or not. Nor caring. Deadflesh was only nourishment. Living flesh and blood still rich with the air of aman’s last breath… ah, that was something else. That was fine dining!“Did he leave me a message?”

“Aye, you know he did.”

“Tell me.”

“Why don’t you just pick it out of mymind?”

Again there came that fluttering, momentarychange. For a moment it was neither a boy nor a boy-sized spider standing onthe far end of the bridge but something that was both at the same time. SaiThoughtful’s mouth went dry even while the drool that had escaped during hisnap still gleamed on his chin. Then the boy-version of Mordred solidified againinside his torn and rotting coat.

“Because it pleases me to hear it from yourdrooping old stew-hole,” he told Thoughtful.

The old man licked his lips. “All right;may it do ya fine. He said that he’s crafty while you’re young and without somuch as a sip of guile. He said that if you don’t stay back where you belong,he’ll have your head off your shoulders. He said he’d like to hold it up toyour Red Father as he stands trapped upon his balcony.”

This was quite a bit more than Rolandactually said (as we should know, having been there), and more than enough forMordred.

Yet not enough for Rando Thoughtful.Perhaps only ten days before it would have accomplished the old man’s purpose,which was to goad the boy into killing him quickly. But Mordred had seasoned ina hurry, and now withstood his first impulse to simply bolt across the bridgeinto the castle courtyard, changing as he charged, and tearing RandoThoughtful’s head from his body with the swipe of one barbed leg.

Instead he peered up at therooks—hundreds of them, now—and they peered back at him, as intentas pupils in a classroom. The boy made a fluttering gesture with his arms, thenpointed at the old man. The air was at once filled with the rising whir of wings.The King’s Minister turned to flee, but before he’d gotten a single step, therooks descended on him in an inky cloud. He threw his arms up to protect hisface as they lit on his head and shoulders, turning him into a scarecrow. Thisinstinctive gesture did no good; more of them alit on his upraised arms untilthe very weight of the birds forced them down. Bills nipped and needled at theold man’s face, drawing blood in tiny tattoo stipples.

“No!” Mordred shouted. “Save theskin for me… but you may have his eyes.”

It was then, as the eager rooks tore RandoThoughtful’s eyes from their living sockets, that the ex-Minister of Stateuttered the rising howl Roland and Susa

The man floated to his fate, shrieking andeyeless. He thrust his hands out in front of him, making warding-off gestures,and the spider’s front legs seized one of them, guided it into the bristlingmaw of its mouth, and bit it off with a candy-cane crunch.

Sweet!

Eight

That night, beyond the last of the oddly narrow,oddly unpleasant townhouses, Roland stopped in front of what had probably beena smallhold farm. He stood facing the ruin of the main building, sniffing.

“What, Roland? What?”

“Can you smell the wood of that place,Susa

She sniffed. “I can, as a matter offact—what of it?”

He turned to her, smiling. “If we can smellit, we can burn it.”

This turned out to be correct. They hadtrouble kindling the fire, even aided by Roland’s slyest tricks of trailcraftand half a can of Sterno, but in the end they succeeded. Susa

“Can you stand one or two more nights ofcold?” he asked her at last.

She nodded. “If I have to.”

“Once we start climbing toward thesnowlands, it will be really cold,” he said. “And while I can’t promiseyou we’ll have to go fireless for only a single night, I don’t believe it’ll beany longer than two.”

“You think it’ll be easier to take game ifwe don’t build a fire, don’t you?”

Roland nodded and began putting his gunsback together.

“Will there be game as early as day aftertomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

He considered this, then shook his head. “Ican’t say—but I do.”

“Can you smell it?”

“No.”

“Touch their minds?”

“It’s not that, either.”

She let it go. “Roland, what if Mordredsends the birds against us tonight?”

He smiled and pointed to the flames. Belowthem, a deepening bed of bright red coals waxed and waned like dragon’s breath.“They’ll not come close to thy bonfire.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we’ll be further from Le CasseRoi Russe than even Mordred can persuade them to go.”

“And how do you know that?”

He shook his head yet again, although hethought he knew the answer to her question. What he knew came from the Tower.He could feel the pulse of it awakening in his head. It was like green comingout of a dry seed. But it was too early to say so.

“Lie down, Susa

“So now we keep a watch,” she said.

He nodded.

“Is he watching us?”

Roland wasn’t sure, but thought thatMordred was. What his imagination saw was a ski

“It’s likely,” he said.