Go on, go on talking, go on, Derek thought desperately, staring off….The tears came to his eyes again. Good, cry, and think about being hungry and wanting some red wine. Red wine, red wine, red wine…Who was it they had seen—with the very same golden streak in his hair! On the right side of his head? Bury the names as deeply as you can. Bury them, along with the faces, along with the story, along with the betrayal—.

“The thing was identical to this one in a number of ways,” Roland insisted. “Taller, yes, with larger eyes, yes, but the hair was exactly the same. It was exceptionally long, unfashionably long, it gave the creature a savage look, unkempt, almost feral, but the creature was smooth shaven. This one has no need of a razor. And that one had no need either, I wager. Well, whether you remember or not, I remember. And this creature likely knows that creature and how many others like them there are and, more important, what they are, and how they came to be here.”

Rhoshamandes was pondering, then very slowly he said, “I see what you mean.” But he wasn’t all that interested. He gave a dismissive shrug. He was frustrating Roland and Roland was revealing it.

Derek looked at them out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t conceal his excitement. He glared at Roland.

“Ah, and in all this time, you’ve kept this from me!” said Derek.

Roland glanced at Derek and gave him the usual maddeningly gentle smile.

“When you tell me what you know, Derek,” he said, “I will tell you what I know. You are not friendly. You do not cooperate.”

“You are a monster,” said Derek, clenching his teeth. “You’ve kept me here for ten years, and this is wrong! By any law under the sun and the moon, this is wrong. I am not your property. I am not your slave.”

But what did he really care! He had just been given the single most valuable bit of information he had ever received since he’d come awake in this time, since he’d awakened in the humble hut of the priest high in the Andes. Another one! Another one lives. Another one perhaps found in the frozen wastes of Siberia, another one found in the ice where Derek had slept for thousands of years, the ice to which he’d retreated in despair two times to freeze as he’d been frozen before.

And Amel. This Rhoshamandes had spoken more about Amel than Derek had ever glimpsed when Roland drank from him.

This Rhoshamandes creature glared at Derek again as if he were a little intrigued but repelled. “Can’t read a thing from him.”

“Not until you drink his blood,” said Roland.

Rhoshamandes stepped back as if he couldn’t stop himself.