The Eyes of the Dragon

64

Thomas had been crowned near the end of along, bitter winter. On the fifteenth day of his reign, the last of that season’s great storms fell on Delain. Snow fell fast and thick, and long after dark the wind continued to scream, building drifts like sand dunes.

At nine o’clock on that bitter night, long after anyone sensible should have been out, there was a fist began to fall on the front door of the Staad house. It was not light or timid, that fist; it hammered rapidly and heavily on the stout oak. Answer me and be quick, it said. I haven’t all night.

Andrew and Ben sat before the fire, reading. Susan Staad, wife of Andrew and mother of Ben, sat between them, working at a sampler which would read GODS BLESS OUR KING when finished. Emmaline had long since been put to bed. The three of them looked up at the knock, then around at each other. There was only curiosity in Ben’s eyes, but both Andrew and Susan were instantly, instinctively afraid.

Andrew rose, putting his reading glasses in his pocket.

“Da’?” Ben asked.

“I’ll go,” Andrew said.

Let it only be some traveler, lost in the dark and seeking shelter, he hoped, but when he opened the door a soldier of the King stood there on the stoop, stolid and broad-shouldered. A leather hel-met-the helmet of a fighting man-clung to his head. There was a shortsword in his belt, near to hand.

“Your son,” he said, and Andrew felt his knees buckle.

“Why do you want him?”

“I come from Peyna,” the soldier said, and Andrew under-stood that this was all the answer he was to have.

“Da’?” Ben asked from behind him.

No, Andrew thought miserably, please, this is too much bad luck, not my son, not my son-

“Is that the boy?”

Before Andrew could say no-useless as that would have been-Ben had stepped forward.

“I am Ben Staad,” he said. “What do you want with me?”

“You must come with me,” the soldier said.

“Where?”

“To the house of Anders Peyna.”

“No!” his mother cried from the doorway of their small living room. “No, it’s late, it’s cold, the roads are full of snow-”

“I have a sleigh,” the soldier said inexorably, and Andrew Staad saw the man’s hand drop to the shaft of his shortsword.

“I’ll come,” Ben said, getting his coat.

“Ben-” Andrew began, thinking: We’ll never see him again, he’s to be taken away from us because he knew the prince.

“It will be all right, Da’, “Ben said, and hugged him. And when Andrew felt that young strength embracing him, he could almost believe it. But, he thought, his son had not learned fear yet. He had not learned how cruel the world could be.

Andrew Staad held his wife. The two of them stood in the doorway and watched Ben and the soldier break their way through the drifts toward the sleigh, which was only a shadow in the dark with lanterns glowing eerily on either side. Neither of them spoke as Ben climbed up on one side, the soldier on the other.

Only one soldier, Andrew thought, that’s something. Maybe it’s only for questioning that they want him. Pray it’s only for questioning that they want my son!

The Staads stood in silence, membranes of snow blowing around their ankles, as the sleigh pulled away from the house, the flames in the lanterns jiggling, the sleigh bells jingling.

When they were gone, Susan burst into tears.

“We’ll never see him again,” she sobbed. “Never, never! They’ve taken him! Damn Peter! Damn him for what he’s brought my son to! Damn him! Damn him!”

“Shh, mother, “Andrew said, holding her tightly. “Shh. Shh. We’ll see him before morning. By noon at the latest.”

But she heard the quiver in his voice and cried all the harder. She cried so hard she woke little Emmaline up (or maybe it was the draft from the open door), and it was a very long time before Emmaline would go back to sleep. At last Susan slept with her, the two of them in the big bed.

Andy Staad did not sleep all that night.

He sat up by the fire, hoping against hope, but in his heart, he believed he would never see his son again.