The Dark Tower

“Yes, but I need an anchor, even so.Without one I’m apt to start ru

Patrick did so. He rode sitting hunchedforward, with the binoculars pressed against his eyes.

Four

Three hours later, they came to the foot ofa much steeper hill. It was, Roland’s heart told him, the last hill. Can’-Ka NoRey was beyond. At the top, on the right, was a cairn of boulders that had oncebeen a small pyramid. What remained stood about thirty feet high. Roses grewaround its base in a rough crimson ring. Roland set this in his sights and tookthe hill slowly, pulling the cart by its handles. As he climbed, the top of theDark Tower once more appeared. Each step brought a greater length of it intoview. Now he could see the balconies with their waist-high railings. There wasno need of the binoculars; the air was preternaturally clear. He put thedistance remaining at no more than five miles. Perhaps only three. Level afterlevel rose before his not-quite-disbelieving eye.

Just shy of this hill’s top, with thecrumbling rock pyramid twenty paces ahead of them on the right, Roland stopped,bent, and set the handles of the cart on the road for the last time. Everynerve in his body spoke of danger.

“Patrick? Hop down.”

Patrick did so, looking anxiously intoRoland’s face and hooting.

The gunslinger shook his head. “I can’t saywhy just yet. Only it’s not safe.” The voices sang in a great chorus, but theair around them was still. Not a bird soared overhead or sang in the distance.The wandering herds of ba

The two of them walked on together, and asthey did, Roland felt a timid touch against the side of his two-fingered righthand. He looked at Patrick. The mute boy looked anxiously back, trying tosmile. Roland took his hand, and they crested the hill in that fashion.

Below them was a great blanket of red thatstretched to the horizon in every direction. The road cut through it, a dustywhite line perfectly straight and perhaps twelve feet wide. In the middle ofthe rose-field stood the sooty dark gray Tower, just as it had stood in hisdreams; its windows gleamed in the sun. Here the road split and made a perfectwhite circle around the Tower’s base to continue on the other side, in adirection Roland believed was now dead east instead of south-by-east. Anotherroad ran off at right angles to the Tower Road: to the north and south, if hewas right in believing that the points of the compass had been re-established.From above, the Dark Tower would look like the center of a blood-filledgunsight.

“It’s—” Roland began, and then agreat, crazed shriek floated to them on the breeze, weirdly undiminished by thedistance of miles. It comes on the Beam, Roland thought. And it’scarried by the roses.

“GUNSLINGER!” screamed the CrimsonKing. “NOW YOU DIE!”

There was a whistling sound, thin at firstand then growing, cutting through the combined song of the Tower and the roseslike the keenest blade ever ground on a wheel dusted with diamonds. Patrickstood transfixed, peering dumbly at the Tower; he would have been blown out ofhis boots if not for Roland, whose reflexes were as quick as ever. He pulledthe mute boy behind the heaped stone of the pyramid by their joined hands.There were other stones hidden in the high grass of dock and jimson; theystumbled over these and went sprawling. Roland felt the corner of one diggingpainfully into his ribs.

The whistle continued to rise, becoming anearsplitting whine. Roland saw a golden something flash past in theair—one of the sneetches. It struck the cart and it blew up, scatteringtheir gu

Then came high, chattering laughter thatset Roland’s teeth on edge; beside him, Patrick covered his ears. The lunacy inthat laughter was almost unbearable.

“COME OUT!” urged that distant, mad,laughing voice. “COME OUT AND PLAY, ROLAND! COME TO ME! COME TO YOUR TOWER,AFTER ALL THE LONG YEARS WILL YOU NOT?”

Patrick looked at him, his eyes desperate andfrightened. He was holding his drawing pad against his chest like a shield.

Roland peered carefully around the edge ofthe pyramid, and there, on a balcony two levels up from the Tower’s base, hesaw exactly what he had seen in sai Sayre’s painting: one blob of red and threeblobs of white; a face and two upraised hands. But this was no painting, andone of the hands moved rapidly forward in a throwing gesture and there cameanother hellish, rising whine. Roland rolled back against the tumble of the pyramid.There was a pause that seemed endless, and then the sneetch struck thepyramid’s other side and exploded. The concussion threw them forward onto theirfaces. Patrick screamed in terror. Rocks flew to either side in a spray. Someof them rattled down on the road, but Roland saw not a single piece of shrapnelstrike so much as a single rose.

The boy scrambled to his knees and wouldhave run—likely back into the road—but Roland grabbed him by thecollar of his hide coat and yanked him down again.

“We’re safe enough here,” he murmured toPatrick. “Look.” He reached into a hole revealed by the falling rock, knockedon the interior with his knuckles, produced a dull ringing noise, and showedhis teeth in a strained grin. “Steel! Yar! He can hit this thing with a dozenof his flying fireballs and not knock it down. All he can do is blast away therocks and blocks and expose what lies beneath. Ke

Before Patrick could reply, Roland peeredaround the pyramid’s ragged edge once more. He cupped his hands around hismouth and screamed: “TRY AGAIN, SAI! WE’RE STILL HERE, BUT PERHAPS YOUR NEXTTHROW WILL BE LUCKY!”

There was a moment of silence, then aninsane scream: “EEEEEEEEEEE! YOU DON’T DARE MOCK ME! YOU DON’T DARE!EEEEEEEEEEE!”

Now came another of those rising whistles.Roland grabbed Patrick and fell on top of him, behind the pyramid but notagainst it. He was afraid it might vibrate hard enough when the sneetch struckto give them concussion injuries, or turn their soft insides to jelly.

Only this time the sneetch didn’t strikethe pyramid. It flew past it instead, soaring above the road. Roland rolled offPatrick and onto his back. His eyes picked up the golden blur and marked theplace where it buttonhooked back toward its targets. He shot it out of the airlike a clay plate. There was a blinding flash and then it was gone.

“OH DEAR, STILL HERE!” Rolandcalled, striving to put just the right note of mocking amusement into hisvoice. It wasn’t easy when you were screaming at the top of your lungs.

Another crazed scream in response—“EEEEEEEEE!”Roland was amazed that the Red King didn’t split his own head wide open withsuch cries. He reloaded the chamber he’d emptied—he intended to keep afull gun just as long as he could—and this time there was a double whine.Patrick moaned, rolled over onto his belly, and plunged his face into therock-strewn grass, covering his head with his hands. Roland sat with his backagainst the pyramid of rock and steel, the long barrel of his sixgun lying onhis thigh, relaxed and waiting. At the same time he bent all of his willpowertoward one object. His eyes wanted water in response to that high, approachingwhistle, and he must not let them. If he ever needed the preternaturally keeneyesight for which he’d been famous in his time, this was it.