The Eyes of the Dragon

106

It’s Flagg, Dennis’s sleep-fuddled mind thought as that dark shape with the burning eyes swept down on him. It’s Flagg, he’s found me, and now he’ll rip my throat out with his teeth

He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

The mouth of the intruder did open; Dennis saw huge white teeth… and then a big warm tongue was lapping his face.

“Ulf!” Dennis said, trying to push the thing away. Paws came up on either shoulder, and Dennis fell back on his mattress of napkins like a pinned wrestler. Lap-lap, lick-lick. “Ulf!” Dennis said again, and the dark, shaggy shape uttered a low, companionable woof, as if to say I know it, I’m glad to see you, too.

“Frisky!” a low voice called from the darkness. “Stand down, Frisky! No sounds!”

The dark shape was not Flagg at all; it was an extremely large dog-a dog which looked too much like a wolf for comfort, Dennis thought. When the girl spoke, it drew away and sat down. It looked happily at Dennis; its tail thumped mutedly on Dennis’s bed of napkins.

Two more shapes in the darkness, one taller than the other. Not Flagg, that much was clear. Castle guards, then. Dennis grabbed his dagger. If the gods were good, he might be able to get rid of both of them. If not, then he would try to die well in the service of his King.

The two figures had stopped a little short of him.

“Come on,” Dennis said, and raised his dagger (it was really not much more than a pocketknife, and was rather rusty and quite dull) in a brave gesture. “First you two and then your devil-dog!”

“Dennis?” The voice was eerily familiar. “Dennis, have we really found you?”

Dennis started to lower his dagger, then brought it up again.

It had to be a trick. Had to be. But the voice sounded so much like

“Ben?” he whispered. “Is it Ben Staad?”

“It’s Ben,” the taller shape confirmed, and gladness filled Dennis’s heart. The shape began to come forward. Alarmed, Dennis raised his dagger again.

“Wait! Do you have a light?”

“Flint and steel, yes.”

“Strike it.” Aye.

A moment later, a big yellow spark, surely dangerous in that room filled with dry cotton napkins, flared in the gloom.

“Come forward, Ben,” Dennis said, reseating his poor excuse for a dagger in its sheath. He got to his feet, trembling with gladness and relief. Ben was here. By what magic Dennis did not know-only that it had somehow happened. His feet caught in the napkins and he stumbled forward, but there was no danger that he might fall, because Ben’s arms swept him up in a strong embrace. Ben was here and all would be well, Dennis thought, and it was all he could do to keep from bursting into unmanly tears.