15. TIME to Go!

"HARRY!"

I was given little time to look at him right then. Of more concern to me was the blood that was flowing from what seemed to be a rather deep wound on the boy .. No, the young man's shoulder.

"Sir," he panted. "I need help. I think Ganelon might be in trouble, too."

I did not even take time to change my clothes but plucked Greyswandir from beside the bed where I had decided to keep it while in Amber. Otherwise, the only thing I took was my deck of Trumps.

"Hold out your hand," I told him. Harry did as I instructed and I grasped the hand, stepping forward.

I stood beside my son in a small yet modest apartment tastefully decorated in muted blues and greens. Little more did I take in before my attention was once more called to the severity of our situation as the door to the room shuddered before flying open.

There were three of them, each deeply hooded with nothing visible but the glimmer of three sets of malevolent eyes. They looked somewhat familiar to me as they advanced upon us, but I was given little time to figure out why that was. I saw the glint of metal in their hands, and swore viciously. Each was carrying guns. Luckily, my reflexes were still up to the task. Even as my brain took in the sight of firearms appearing in the assassins' hands, I had automatically unsheathed Greyswandir and, as the distance was too great for slashing, I hurled it the length of the room like a javelin. The blade somersaulted twice before coming to rest quivering in the chest of the first assailant. I followed the blade across the room knowing that I would not be fast enough to reach the remaining two. Even as the next attacker raised his weapon, a shot rang out behind me. He flew backward as blood fountained from his chest, and his deadly descent took him right into the path of the bullet from the third man. The blood from his chest was joined by a similar display this time pouring from his head. The third man pushed the dead body off of him and made to stand, but another report was heard and he slumped back down, never to rise again.

I mechanically retrieved my blade and, wiping it on the body of its victim, proceeded to replace it in its sheath. The whole time I was doing this, I was studying the boy (no, young man) in front of me marveling at the changes that the time had wrought in him in what to me was just a couple of weeks.

Gone were any signs of malnutrition. Gone too was the fearful and beaten look that had seemed to be a permanent part of him when we met. The mistreatment he had received as a child would ensure that he would never be a very tall man, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for with a lithe body, muscle and well proportioned. Every movement he made as he automatically reloaded the gun that he was carrying spoke of deadly speed and grace. It took me a minute of simply staring at him in amazement before I realized one more thing. His eyes were apparently completely restored to excellent capacity, no longer requiring glasses to impede his vision.

Almost without thinking, I took a few steps towards him, still staring in astonishment. I had known that having some of my blood in his body to go along with the training he would be receiving would help him, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Even the blood that continued to make its way down his arm from what I now perceived to be a shallow cut on his shoulder did nothing but add to the impressive figure cut by my son.

"How long has it been for you?" It was all I could think of to ask.

"Over five years."

All I could do was slide bonelessly to the floor as my legs would not support me. If I had been shocked by Harry's appearance, the thought of how much of a time difference there truly was from the shadow earth was truly mind boggling!

"But how .. why didn't .. I can't believe .."

I shut my mouth with a snap. I, Corwin of Amber, was babbling like a mindless idiot. The barest hint of a smile appeared for an instant on Harry's face and was gone just as quickly. Finally, I tried again.

"When I left you here, Harry, I knew there would be a time difference. I swear to you I had no idea it would be nearly so great though. You may not believe this, but for me it has been maybe a month or two. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, I can't exactly say how long."

Was that a flicker of surprise I saw flash in his eyes? I wasn't sure. Those eyes that had been so easy to read when I intervened in his life were open and unguarded no longer.

"Why didn't you contact me before now?"

"I tried several times. Once Ganelon had showed me the mind calming techniques and meditation, he returned the Trump to me and encouraged me to contact you. I tried several times to do so over the years."

Although there was no visible change in his expression, the timber of his voice spoke slightly of a different tale. There was mistrust present in that tone, and that was only confirmed by his next words.

"I thought you had abandoned us here."

"Where is Ganelon now," I asked. "And come to that, why was he not here to help you with the three uglies over there? And come to that, what exactly happened here?"

"Ganelon is attending a banquet in honor of Stephen's son Roland. I believe he is passing down his guns to him today. I was invited as one of Roland's friends, of course, and was there for a couple of hours. I was attacked when I came back in my room here. Oh, and there were not three attackers, there were five."

He motioned with his head towards a corner of the room where two more bodies had previously escaped my attention. One had clearly been shot while the other had seemingly grown eyes in the back of his head. Seeing that, I did not think that being a chiropractor lay anywhere in Harry's future.

"Those two were waiting in the room for me when I got back. Apparently, the others were simply backup. After I had taken out those two, getting a slight knife wound in the process, I decided to try and reach you again. I had hoped that this time might be more successful. I wanted backup in case anyone else decided for a go at me tonight. I didn't dare leave the room in case of more assassins, which as you can see proved fortunate. Therefore, my only other option was you."

"Well, you certainly have done quite a job on your attackers tonight," I couldn't help but comment. "Perhaps we should go and let our host know what has happened. We can retrieve our wayward friend in the process."

Impulsively then, I stepped to Harry and embraced him. I was surprised at how much I had missed him in the time since our parting.

"It is good to see you again, son," I said, trying out the word. It felt right on my lips.

He returned the gesture for a moment, then stepped back with a slight grimace. I cursed myself for a fool. I had forgotten that he had been wounded.

&-&-&-&-&-

Harry led me through several stone passages and down several flights of stairs. Only the wind moaned its way through some unseen entrances to accompany our footsteps. Neither spoke, each lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, though, I began to hear other voices that were accompanied by some upbeat little tune that sounded vaguely familiar. It might have been Hey Jude.

Eventually, we arrived at a great set of double doors through which the sounds of merry-making were coming. Harry reached forth to push one open, but swayed slightly on the spot. I reached my own hand to place it on his uninjured shoulder when he swayed again, and this time he was unable to keep his balance. I caught him easily enough, and pushed open one of the doors with my shoulder as I bore him in my arms.

"OY, WE NEED HELP OVER HERE!"

If I had not been so worried about Harry, I would have been amused at the uproar my shout caused. More than a dozen people leapt to their feet at my call, and guns were in every hand. Clearly things had greatly worsened around here if the inhabitants of Gilead were so ready for an attack. Luckily, no shots were fired, however. One other man had risen also. It was my old friend Stephen, although at first I didn't recognize him. I had never seen anyone age so much in five years. The man looked almost ready to collapse. Nevertheless, he had not lost the power of his voice, and it rose in a sharp command over all the others in the room.

"GUNS DOWN!"

Almost faster than I could blink, all of the weapons were put away, and Stephen Deschain was making his way towards me with a slightly taller, much younger replica of himself in tow. Two other youths also hurried in our direction.

"Is that Harry? What's wrong with him?"

It took me a minute to recognize the lad, as the last time I had seen him, he was no where near as tall and graceful. Allgood, I believed his name was, Cuthbert Allgood.

"He was stabbed," I told him and the others once they reached us. "He said two assassins were waiting in his room. They're dead now, as are the three that followed them. One of them managed a glancing blow with a dagger, but it shouldn't have caused this kind of reaction unless it was poisoned."

I noticed a strange look pass fleetingly over young Roland's face. I doubt that anyone other than perhaps Steven saw it. I made a point of finding out what that look was all about once Harry was out of danger.

"Alain, fetch two nurses and meet us back in Harry's room," Steven ordered the other boy who had come over. He hastened to comply.

Hardly had he moved away than a shout rang out from down the corridor behind me. Turning, one hand cradling my son while the other hand was automatically reaching for my sword, I was surprised to see Ganelon sprinting (or more like staggering) towards us. At first, I thought he was wounded, so radically did he weave from side to side. It was only when he got closer that the real culprit was revealed. The man was totally and completely snookered. He grinned sloppily at me and opened his mouth in greeting before he caught sight of Harry, and all good cheer and some of the completely smashed look left his face.

"Whazza matter with Har-Har-Harry?"

"He was stabbed in an assassination attempt. Perhaps if you weren't quite so smashed off your head, this wouldn't have happened."

It was taking all of my restraint to keep from plunging my blade through that bastard's foolish heart, and only my continued support of Harry saved his life that night, I think.

"I'm sorry," Ganelon said, and I was pleased that he was not so far gone as to notice the barely contained rage dancing in my eyes. "Harry was still here at the banquet when I left. I had left here with a friend."

I did not miss the emphasis he put on the word "friend".

"We were attacked in my room while we were performing certain activities," he said next. Knowing the man as I did, I knew that there had been more than drinking going on in his quarters. Normally, I would have applauded him in his endeavors, but my son's life had been at risk, and though I was completely new at being a father, I expected Ganelon to have my son's protection on the top of his priority list when I was not around. His next words brought me back to the reality that there were more serious matters to consider.

"As I said, we were attacked in the midst of certain enjoyable activities. There were four of them." Looking over at Steven, his voice carried a note of sorrow with his next statement. "Misha didn't make it."

Just then, Harry gave a slight moan in my arms. I was sorry for Ganelon and his loss, but right now, Harry mattered more. I turned to Cuthbert Allgood and asked him to show the way back to Harry's apartment. He nodded, and we headed off. I turned my head to shout over my shoulders for Ganelon to take care of whatever he needed to before he joined us in my apartments. I knew he would not be happy at my dismissal of his predicament, but right now Harry mattered more.

IT took us nearly five minutes to retrace our steps, and I was growing more concerned by the minute as we advanced. Harry had started to thrash and call out in his sleep. Most of the words he muttered were gibberish, but a few stuck out. I heard what sounded like "Uncle Vernon … No more cupboard … Straighten up, maggot (that caused me a grin, for I knew very well where that came from) …" and a few more inane mutterings.

IT was not until we had returned to his apartment and I had laid Harry down on his bed that I noticed that young Roland had followed us as well. Before I could ask him what he wanted or question him about his strange look at my mention of the knife wound Harry had received, we were joined by Alain and two robed women carrying bags with them. They glanced in dismay at the obvious battle that had taken place in the apartment, but then, spotting Harry as he lay upon the bed tossing and muttering, all signs of unease left and they hastened to his side, demanding to know what was wrong. I gave them a brief accounting of the events that had taken place since I had rejoined him. Once I told them my theory about the blade being poisoned, they told me to stop and began to poke and prod their patient, muttering to each other about this and that. It wasn't long before they began barking orders at us, and even now years later, I still smile at the image of Roland, Cuthbert, Alain, and myself rushing about to get the necessary items the nurses called for. Boiling water was used, countless wash cloths also. At some point, I believe they even submerged him in a tub of freezing water. The thrashing that ensued from that icy bath was not something that I would ever forget. How many hours we all fought to save Harry's life, I do not know. I could tell that my young companions were all on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion by the time that the two nurses pronounced Harry out of danger. The two of them did not look much better than the boys did. Steven and Ganelon were sent for and they were given the good news. Both of them looked haggard and worn as well, and I learned later that they had done a complete and thorough search of the keep to make sure that no more assassins were roaming around. I could tell that the news of this attack in the midst of their very home had upset Steven greatly.

An extra bed was brought in to the apartment for me, and I laid down and slept for a few hours. When I again awoke, Harry was still asleep. I was pleased to see, however, that the color had started to return to his face. I sat up and swung my legs to the floor, only then noticing that Roland had returned and sat vigil in a chair beside Harry's bed.

"He has been a good friend to me over the years since he has been here," the young man said softly. He was not looking at me, but I knew the words were meant for my ears.

"I think in many ways, he is closer to a real brother to me than are any of the others, though I have known each of them longer."

Roland sighed then, and I was surprised to hear the weariness and sorrow that emanated from that sound.

We talked then, this young old boy of Steven Deschain's and I, and I found myself liking him more and more. I saw strength in him matched only by his determination and ruthlessness. I saw great love for those whom he considered family, and, though he did not speak of it, I saw a great and terrible rage waiting to be unleashed upon his enemies. He told me of his defeat of Cort and his own coming of age, the youngest ever to pass his test, younger than his father by over a year. He talked of being sent out east by his father to get him out of Marten's reach, speaking the name of Marten with such venom that I almost flinched backward at the hatred in his voice.

He told of their bittersweet journey to Mejis on the Clean Sea. I listened, fascinated, as he gave a brief description of the troubles they had encountered there. I was surprised when he told me of a magical pink ball, something he referred to as part of the Wizard's Rainbow, and of its potentially useful and often deadly ability to show events that were occurring that could affect the one looking in to it. There was deep pain in his voice as he told me this part of the tale, and I did not ask him to elaborate. I listened with pride as he told of their ambush of the cruel bastard that went by the name of Eldrid Jonas, he that led a group known as the Big Coffin Hunters. He spoke with grim delight of Harry's take down of one of the main leaders of those forces, a fellow named Roy Depape. He told me that after the second battle against Farson's forces, he, Roland, had looked in to this Wizard's Rainbow and seen the death of someone he cared about. He would not go in to detail, and I gathered that the death was still too painful for him to discuss with someone who was practically a complete stranger. Part of me wondered if he had discussed it with anyone at all.

"I looked in the Wizard's Rainbow, or Maerlyn's Rainbow, if you prefer, one more time. That was yesterday. I saw a man give daggers to two people. I only saw one of the men clearly in the rainbow. That man was not able to complete his mission, sadly. He was just the messenger, tasked with passing his dagger on to the real assassin. Sadly for him, he did not make it. You see, my father was not meant to have lived past last night. The other person obviously did receive his poisoned weapon. I am sorry that I was not able to prevent this travesty from occurring as well."

He looked at me with a studying look then.

"While I am very glad that Harry is still alive, I don't understand how it can be so. From what I overheard, both of these daggers were meant to cause nearly instantaneous death with just the merest scratch from these blades. They were made in the land of Garlan, a kingdom that has long been famous for its various poisons. Then again, there are many things that I don't understand about Harry. Many strange things have happened around him, magical I would say."

He told me how a stone had mysteriously broken loose from the castle's wall one day, and had fallen right at Harry's head. Roland and Cuthbert had been walking through the courtyard and had seen it all, but both had been too far away to have a chance at pushing Harry out of the way. They had watched in horror as the rock neared Harry's head, both boys expecting him to be crushed to powder. Roland said that they had watched in amazement as Harry had thrown up his hands in a gesture of protection, only to watch in amazement and confusion as the rock had seemingly bounced off an invisible barrier and ricocheted off course just enough to avoid any contact with Harry.

He also told how one day not long after Harry had begun joining in the training under Cort's tender mercies, how Cort's hair had mysteriously turned blue after he had called Harry a waste of good sperm and decked him for not paying attention. He said that no matter what was tried, that blue hair had remained. Eventually, Cort had been forced to shave his head bald and let his hair grow out again. Fortunately for him, this seemed to do the trick. We both had a good chuckle over that.

&-&-&-&-&-

IT was two days later when Harry finally regained consciousness. By that time, word had leaked out to the rest of the keep as to what had happened. Also, the dagger that he had been stabbed with was found on the body of what was guessed to be the assassin leader. Close analysis revealed that the poison on the blade should have been nearly instantaneously fatal. Harry began to be spoken of with wonder and not a little fear by those with superstitious beliefs. Even Cuthbert and Alain seemed to be treating Harry with a slight difference in attitude. He said nothing, but I could tell that he was not at all happy with the turn of events. Only Roland remained the same. He visited every day a couple of times, and he and Harry spoke long and earnestly to each other over various topics.

Three days after that, Harry was declared fit enough by the nurses to be allowed out of bed. Actually, I think he would have left regardless of what they told him. He had told me that he was going stir crazy and hated being cooped up for any length of time. I did not tell him, but I strongly suspected that he would always hate periods of inactivity as well as being trapped in small rooms, thanks to his kind and loving relatives. Luckily, his apartment was adequately sized and the company was certainly better.

I remained a guest in the keep of Gilead for two weeks. I used that time to evaluate Harry and see what other skills he had learned. I was amazed at how quick his reflexes were on the draw. Of all the others who I saw draw their revolvers, only Roland had any hope of matching Harry's speed, and that was a close thing in and of itself. Also, Harry's eyesight impressed the hell out of me. Again, only Roland's vision equaled that of my son. Harry was also very skilled with throwing knives, only being surpassed by, you guessed it, Roland. His tracking skills were also displayed for my approval, and proved very adequate, far superior to my own. Pride in someone else was a new thing to me, but those few weeks spent watching my son showcase how much he had learned in five years made me the proudest papa ever, or so I believe.

Alas, all periods of rest must come to an end, otherwise there would be nothing to tell and the point of telling you about my amazing son would be a moot one. It was, therefore, with a heavy heart that I made my intentions to return to Amber known to Harry and my hosts one night after going on a hunt with Steven and several of the other gunslingers.

"So when are we leaving?"

The question from my son took me by surprise. I don't know why it did, but such was the case.

"Don't you want to stay here and continue learning with your friends? Yes, I know that Roland is a fully fledged gunslinger now, and Cuthbert and Alain have been granted their prenticeships."

"Yes, but we have been separated for over five years. I'm not expert in the whole father son relationship, but I don't think it's normal for parents to go several years without seeing their kids, only to disappear again for another several years."

I refrained from telling Harry that this was indeed how my father had raised all of his children. HE would be around, paying some indifferent sort of attention to the family for a period of time, then he'd get moody and restless and disappear for a year or ten. Then again, I could see Harry's point. After some time I decided that he was right. He would not receive the same treatment that I received at the Oberon School of Child Mismanagement.

"You are sure, then, that this is your wish, to leave Gilead now and go on to new things? Once you decide to leave now, we will not return to this shadow for some time, if ever."

"Or at least until I walk the Pattern," Harry said, and I saw that the years had not dimmed his excitement to tackle this task..

"No. If you leave now, you will never be able to return to this exact shadow at this exact time. You may find some world similar to this, but there will always be some sort of difference. You may return at some point in the future, but you will not be able to return to the exact time that you left here, if that makes sense."

"In some sort of vague way, it does," he said. Then, he grew serious. "Things have changed a lot. I can feel a great change in the air, and I don't think that Gilead will survive it. If my staying here would help to change the tide of things to come, I would gladly do so in payment of all that Steven and the others have done for me. However, I know that I must go on. I don't know how I do, but it doesn't change the fact."

"You display wisdom beyond your years, young Harry," said a voice from behind me. I jerked in surprise, cursing myself for an inattentive idiot. It did not improve my mood that Harry did not even flinch. He must have known we had a visitor before the man spoke.

Steven Deschain strode in to Harry's apartment past where I stood next to the door and came to a stop in front of Harry. Those blue bombardier's eyes fixed unwaveringly on Harry's own green.

"Or," Steven continued, the challenge in his voice evident. "Some would call it cowardice. Perhaps, some might even use the word treason to describe your thoughts."

To my intense pride, Harry did not back down. His stare never wavered.

"Or some," he replied, "might realize that it is wiser to choose one's battles rather than die needlessly. If I thought my staying here would save whatever dark menace is stalking New Canaan, I would stay, even if it meant my life. I will not throw my life away needlessly, though."

"Yes, perhaps you are indeed wise enough to choose your own way. I am both glad and sad that you were not brought under the fervor of questing for the Dark Tower, like I feel Roland will soon attempt."

Harry's expression did not change, thus I was more than a little surprised to see a single tear make its way down his young cheek. Steven, though, smiled knowingly.

"If I thought Roland and the others would desist from their quest for the Tower, I would ask them to come with me. However, Roland, at least, has his mind made up. Whatever happened to him in the Wizard's Glass has changed him in ways that I don't think even he yet understands. But one thing is clear. He will never stop until he reaches the Dark Tower, or he reaches the clearing at the end of the path."

Steven stepped forward then and drew Harry in to a tight embrace.

"You have been a most apt student of the gun, Harry, and it saddens me to see you leave. Yet I won't claim that I do not understand your reasoning. For what it is worth, may the blessing of this old man go with you."

So saying, he placed a gentle kiss on Harry's brow then stepped back. He turned to leave then, or so I thought. I was surprised when he stepped from the room then returned with a package wrapped in oil cloth.

"I have no great words of wisdom to go with you, but hopefully this will help you in your endeavors and remind you of these last bitter days of the glory that was once Gilead. Sadly, the world has moved on as we say, and now, you must move on with it."

So saying, he handed Harry the package, bowed deeply to him, less deeply to me, and then left for good. Harry reverently unwrapped the package that Steven had given him, gasping in amazement as he did. I could not blame him.

The guns were not the same as those formerly worn by Steven, but they were still noble to look upon. The sandalwood grips were very similar, yet no metal plating had been added to the grips to make them more accessible for a taller man. Other than that, only some initials carved in to each stock differentiated them from those worn by Deschain.

"I know these guns," Harry nearly whispered. "They were worn by Charles, son of Charles. He was always kind to me, if a bit too formal for my liking. His passing is very sad."

He stood in silence for a moment, a moment of respect for the fallen gunslinger. Then, with a new sparkle to his green eyes, he removed the clumsy revolver that had been dangling off his hip, the one designating him as a gunslinger prentice, and buckled the new weapons in their place. When he straightened from his task, I saw resolve etch itself firmly in his features.

"I must say my goodbyes tonight, sir. I feel that tomorrow morning, we should leave as soon as possible before I have the chance to change my mind."

I nodded to him, a strange feeling of anticipation building in my stomach. Yes, we would stay here in this dying outpost of civilization one more night. It would give me a chance to plan our next move. Now that Harry was leaving with me, I decided that it would not be prudent to return to Amber right away. I still wanted to see what, if any sword training, Ganelon had given him as well as determine how else I might be able to help educate my son. Then, it would be time to put Harry to the ultimate test, that of traversing the Pattern. The one in Amber was out. There were too many nosy relatives, and I wanted Harry to remain a secret to my family as much as possible. I would somehow manage to get Sirius Black out of Amber to join us as well. I thought it would be a good thing for him to begin teaching Harry how to incorporate magic in to his already formidable weaponry. As far as the Pattern was concerned, I decided that either the one in Rebma would be the best, or, depending upon whether I was able to get a Trump of Harry, Tir-na Nog'th might be the best option. Oh well, that was something to be decided tomorrow.

I undressed and got into bed, ready for one last night of sleep in this lonely world. Before I did fall asleep, I gave a silent thanks to all that my friend had done for my son and, by extension, for me. My last thought as sleep claimed me was that Steven was right. It was definitely time to move on.

&-&-&-&-&-

A-n: Wow, this was a tough one to write. Well, we have finished with the Dark Tower crossover, probably. Up next, I think we'll probably skip ahead a little. If there is a point you think I should skip to, please feel free to leave it in a review. Also, for this crossover, Stephen King owns the wonderful world of the Dark Tower series. If you have not read those books, you are cheating yourself out of a great read.