The Eyes of the Dragon: A Story by By Stephen King;; Illustrations by David Palladini

Author:By Stephen King;; Illustrations by David Palladini
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy - General, Fantasy fiction, Horror, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy, Horror & Ghost Stories, Fantastic fiction, Thrillers, General
ISBN: 9780451166586
Publisher: New York, NY : Penguin, 1988, c1987.
Published: 1988-02-15T07:07:27+00:00

"It is from Prince Peter," Beson said. "If you close this door, you will hear hard things later from your master, thinks"

Arlen hesitated again, torn between closing the door against the ghoul and the power the name of Prince Peter still held. If this man came from Peter, he must be the Needle's Chief Warder. Ye "You don't look like Beson," he said.

"You don't look like your father, neither, Arlen, and it's made me wonder more than once where your mother may have been," the lumpish ghoul retorted rudely, and stuck a smudged envelope through the crack still open in the door. "Here take it to ' im. I'll wait. Close the door if you want, although it's devilish cold out here."

Arlen didn't care if it was twenty below. He didn't intend to have the horrible-looking fellow toasting his feet in front of the fire in the servants' kitchen. He snatched the envelope, shut the door, bolted it, started away then returned and double- bolted it.

Peyna was in his study, staring into the fire and thinking long thoughts. When Thomas had been crowned the moon had been new; it was not yet at the half, and already he did not like the way things were going. Flagg-that was the worst. Flagg. The magician already wielded more power than in the days of Roland's reign. Roland had at least been a man, full of years, no matter how slow his thinking might have been. Thomas was only a boy, and Peyna feared that Flagg might soon control all Delain in Thomas's name. That would be bad for the Kingdom and bad for Anders Peyna, who had never concealed his dislike of Flagg.

It was pleasant here in the study, before the crackling fire, but Peyna thought he nonetheless felt a cold wind around his ankles. It was a wind which might rise and blow away everything.

Why, Peter? Why, oh why? Why couldn't you wait? And why did you have to seem so perfect on the outside, like a rose-red apple in autumn, and be so rotten below the skin? Why?

Peyna didn't know and would not admit to himself, even now, that doubts as to whether or not Peter really had been rotten were beginning to nibble at his heart.

There was a knock at the door.

Peyna roused himself, looked around, and called out impatiently: "Come! And it better be damned good!"

Arlen came in, looking ruffled and confused. He held an envelope in one hand.

"Well?"

"My Lord there's a man at the door at least, he looks like a man that is, his face is most awfully puffed and swelled, as if he had gotten a terrible beating or " Arlen's voice trailed away.

"What's that to do with me? You know I don't receive this late. Tell him to go away. Tell him to go to the devil!"

"He says he's Beson, my Lord," Arlen said, more flustered than ever. He raised the smudged envelope, as if to use it as a shield. "He brought this. He says it's a message from Prince Peter.

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