“I have to go up there,” Alton said. “Talk sense into her.”
Trace looked like she was growing weary of being in the middle of this long distance discussion, but she did not express her annoyance. Instead, she closed her eyes to confer with Connly again.
At last she said, “Captain Mapstone says that you are not to leave the wall.”
“The captain is there?” Alton asked sheepishly.
“Indeed. The captain also says that Lady Estral has free will to do as she chooses, but the captain also wants you to know she will do her best to make Lady Estral aware of the dangers.”
Well, that was something, he supposed. “I guess I should tell her about Garth.”
“I already have,” Trace replied. “The captain says that when you are next on castle grounds that you will receive a full and proper reprimand, and probably a week of laundry duty.”
“Hells,” Alton muttered. He’d always managed to keep out of trouble and never got assigned laundry duty before. Not that he foresaw himself returning to Sacor City anytime soon, so the point was moot.
Trace laughed. “The captain says she knows it may be a while before you return to Sacor City, but besides Connly being a witness, Mara is there, as well. The captain says that between the three of them, they won’t forget your punishment.”
“Great.” Captain, lieutenant, and Chief Rider, were all ganging up on him.
Trace’s expression grew troubled. “Connly is telling me about an attack on the castle. Our Riders are all right . . .” She went on to tell him the details as she received them.
“Gods,” Alton muttered when she finished. “As if we don’t have enough trouble waiting behind the wall.”
“Speaking of which,” Trace said, “the captain asks if you have anything to report.”
Alton shook his head. “Nothing of note. The forest remains quiet, and the wall is neither improving nor worsening. The guardians do seem to miss Estral. Everyone here is well, but for a few brief bouts of illness. Supplies are coming regularly from Woodhaven.”
Trace nodded as she relayed his words, then said, “I am to inform you to continue your watch, and that this communication is to end.”
“Wait! I wanted to speak with Estral again!”
“Sorry, Alton, but the captain is reminding us that Connly and I are not your personal link to communicating with Lady Estral.”
He was definitely going to chop wood. “Could you at least pass on that she is always forgiven?”
Trace nodded, closed her eyes. “It is done.” When he said nothing else, she added in a wry tone, “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” he replied absently.
Trace sighed. “I am going now.”
“All right. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” He lifted his hand off the tempes stone, and Trace and her spectral green glow vanished. Though he stood in the tower, it appeared he stood surrounded by plains of drifting snow. It was the magic of the tower that made it seem a vast landscape existed within. It wasn’t exactly illusion for he could walk off into the snow, though he did not know how far, and yet it was not entirely real. Once he left the tempes stone and stepped between the columns that encircled it, the landscape would vanish and he’d be surrounded by the environs of the ordinary tower.
It was frustrating to not be allowed to go after Estral, to not be allowed to leave the wall. Before she had come into his life, he had thought of nothing but the wall. She had reawakened him to so much he’d put aside. He’d forgotten why he wanted to repair the wall. It was, of course, to maintain the protection of his homeland against Blackveil, but also the way of life of his fellow Sacoridians, and that included his way of life with all its joys. Estral had returned music to him, and laughter, all the things he’d forgotten in his obsession with trying to find a way to repair the wall.
He missed everything she had ignited in him. He knew she had a mind of her own and that if in her shoes, he too would go in search of his father and voice. He could not blame her for that, but it was all right to miss her and worry about her, wasn’t it?
He was about to leave the tower when its irascible guardian materialized out of the air. Alton had ceased being startled by Merdigen’s comings and goings. He still wasn’t clear on exactly what Merdigen was, except that he described himself as a magical “projection of the great mage, Merdigen,” and that some essence of him existed in the tempes stone.
“I have been thinking,” Merdigen said without preamble.
Uh oh, Alton thought.
“I have been thinking about the dark Sleepers and how they are able to pass through the towers.”
“Oh?” Alton had faced such a creature in Tower of the Earth and had almost perished. Sleepers were Eletians who had receded from life, as he understood it, inhabiting great trees. There were Sleepers that had been left behind in Argenthyne when Mornhavon the Black conquered it centuries ago and his touch corrupted the land into what was now Blackveil Forest, and everything within it, including the Sleepers. They were tainted Sleepers, Eletians twisted into something dark and very dangerous. No one, not even the Eletians, knew how many tainted Sleepers remained in Blackveil, but because Eletians could pass through the towers from one side of the wall to the other, so could the tainted Sleepers, which presented a serious threat, should they awaken.
“I think I have an idea about how we might protect the towers.”
“You do?” Merdigen had Alton’s full attention.
“Yes,” Merdigen replied. “I think we need kittens.”
MERDIGEN’S CAT
Alton stared incredulously at Merdigen. Kittens? Did he expect to purr the Sleepers to death?
“I was sitting with my cat,” Merdigen said, “and thought maybe we were ready for kittens.”
Had the mage gone mad? Actually, Merdigen had always been a bit mad, but this was more so than usual. Though he’d spoken of having one before, the “cat,” as far as Alton could tell, was some figment of Merdigen’s imagination.
“I don’t have time for this.” Alton took a few more steps toward the tower wall through which he could pass into the outer world.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!” Merdigen called. “Come, my Whiskers!”
Alton turned back to Merdigen and opened his mouth to tell him a thing or two, but just then an orange-tabby shape hurtled from the shadows of the tower heights and landed neatly at Merdigen’s feet. The ordinary-looking shorthair cat rubbed against Merdigen’s legs with rumbling purrs. Alton remained unmoved for he had seen Merdigen produce plenty of illusions before.
“This is my cat,” Merdigen said proudly. “He is a stray I took in. His name is Mister Whiskers.”
“Five hells,” Alton muttered. “I am going to go chop wood.” And he walked right through the wall into the cold outer world and sanity.
He made the cooks very happy that day, his ax cleaving hunks of wood into sticks that would fuel their ovens. Even in the frigid air he needed to strip down to his shirt. Swinging the ax, feeling it bite into the wood, was far more satisfying than smashing his knuckles on the wall. If he needed pain, he only had to keep at it until he felt the strain in his muscles. His frustrations, over time, were keeping him fit, and he’d developed tough calluses on his palms.
He couldn’t mend the wall. The ax blade split the chunk of wood in half. He tossed the sticks onto a growing pile and placed another log on the stump of an old white pine that served as his chopping block.
Estral was in Sacor City and did not intend to return to the encampment, to him. The ax arced down, and when the log did not split with the first blow, he raised the ax with the wood still lodged on the blade and battered it on the block until finally it split.
He went on for some time until suddenly he felt empty, and with frustration no longer fueling him, he just felt spent. Not to mention sore, which he noticed as he pulled his greatcoa
t back on.
The cooks knew better than to try to persuade him to rest or stop when he was in a mood, but now they fussed over him, coaxing him into the rough log building that had been built in the fall to replace the old dining tent. Besides dining, it also served as a common room for those stationed at the wall, with a cheery fireplace at one end. The cooks fed him a good, thick stew and pan bread, served with hot tea. He was more hungry than he thought and tucked in.
Besides Estral, he found himself missing Dale. He’d sent her to stay in Tower of the Trees during Garth’s absence. He couldn’t even use the tempes stone to reach her because that tower was on the other side of the breach. He missed their casual banter and having another Rider around in whom he could confide. Dale had a way of making sure he stopped feeling sorry for himself. Idly, he wondered how she was faring with Mad Leaf, that tower’s mage. If Merdigen was a bit mad, Mad Leaf was an entirely different order of lunatic. Garth had seemed relieved to have a chance to escape to Sacor City for a while, no matter the weather.
Even as Alton thought of Dale, Captain Wallace, who oversaw the military operation at the wall, stepped inside and stomped snow off his boots. He and Dale had been a pair for some while, and now he was seeing a lot less of her due to her assignment to Tower of the Trees.
He sauntered over to Alton’s table. “Mind if I join you?”
Alton nodded to indicate that he should. The kitchen staff brought out more stew, pan bread, and tea, and after the captain had a chance to warm up over the hot food, Alton said, “I am glad to see you. I have finally received word from Sacor City.” The captain had been around the strangeness of the wall for some time now, working with the Riders. It had not escaped his attention, Alton knew, that the Riders had certain abilities with magic, no matter how closed-mouthed they were about them. So when Alton mentioned he had received word from Sacor City and there had been no messengers arriving into the encampment, the captain took it in stride. He simply looked up from his bowl of stew.
“You have?” he asked. “Is Lady Estral there?”
“Yes. There and safe.”
“Thank the gods.”
“Not only is she safe, but she has a voice.” Alton related what he’d been told by Trace.
“Extraordinary,” the captain murmured. “We live in strange times, with all the magic awakening.”
“There is actually more along those lines.” Alton told him about the attack on the castle.
The captain listened attentively, and when Alton finished, said, “The king and queen are safe, and for that I also thank the gods, but how do we defend against such enemies?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The wall was supposed to protect them from Blackveil, its dark magic and the monstrous creatures within. It would not protect them from enemies in the north.
“I wonder,” Alton said, “if Merdigen would know anything about these ice creatures. After all, he must have seen just about everything in his day.” Merdigen’s “day” had been the time of the Long War when the lands were rife with magic. Inspired by the thought, Alton stood, deciding he would ask Merdigen right away. Wishing the captain a good day, he left the comparative warmth of the dining hall for the outdoors. His shoulders and back stiffened in the cold after all his chopping of firewood. He followed a trail packed down in the snow by the passage of many boots. Paths branched off to the little cabins and tents in which he and the others attached to this secondary encampment lived. Smoke twisted into the sky from numerous campfires and stoves as personnel attempted to stave off the cold.
Ahead of him lay the wall, soaring imperiously into the sky as though all the way to the heavens. It was as if the Earth ended here, that there was nothing beyond, but he knew better. Embedded in the wall was the rounded contour of Tower of the Heavens, rising skyward like a spear shaft. Its exterior showed no door, no windows, no ornamentation. The wall and its tower were forbidding and seemingly impervious, but not far to the west lay the breach. A breach opened by an Eletian.
The wall was the single greatest achievement of his clan. Built in a time of turmoil, it had required the sacrifice of many who were now incorporeal spirits within the wall, its guardians.
When he reached the tower, he placed his hands on it and walked through the wall. It permitted Green Riders to pass and had once admitted wall keepers, but there had been no wall keepers for at least two centuries.
When he emerged into the tower chamber, he came face-to-face with a giant orange cat, as large as a horse. He splayed himself back against the wall and emitted a strangled cry. Gold eyes watched him, and the cat raised a paw with sharp, hooked claws as if to toy with him. Its purrs rumbled through the tower, and its tail knocked over the long table, which held piles of books, with a resounding crash.
“Whiskers!” Merdigen materialized between Alton and the cat. “Bad kitty. You are to reduce size immediately.”
“Meep.” It was a strange little mew from such a large cat.
“There will be no treats for you unless you obey.”
“Prrrt.” And the cat shrank to the size of a normal house cat.
Just an illusion. Alton wiped sweat off his brow with a trembling hand.
“He’s a little more impressive when he is big,” Merdigen said, “but I did not mean for him to startle you. I told him not to, but, well, he is a cat and has a mind of his own.”
Merdigen and his illusions. If they made him feel like he was alive, fine, but it was annoying, Alton reflected, when they were inflicted on him.
He tried to push it aside, threw a stick of wood on the glowing embers in the big hearth, and set to righting the table and picking up the books that had gone over with it. Merdigen’s cat zigzagged across the floor chasing a spider. When Alton picked up the last book, it occurred to him to wonder how the cat, if it were an illusion, had toppled the table with its tail. He shook his head. No, it can only be some fluke of magic.
He dropped into the nearest chair and gazed at Merdigen. “What do you know of something called an aureas slee?”
Merdigen’s eyes widened, and he conjured a chair of his own. “That is Eltish for an ice elemental. How in the world do you know it?”
Alton explained about the attack on the castle. Merdigen listened avidly.
“Such excitement!” the tower mage exclaimed when Alton finished. “And of course I can’t be there to witness it.” He shook his head. “Ah, well. Good that there were so few casualties. Of course, the aureas slee could have been distracted enough by the queen in her gravid condition to limit its path of destruction. With the twins she carries, and if she is indeed as beautiful as I’ve heard, the aureas slee would have found her irresistible.”
“So you believe it came for Queen Estora?”
“Doubtful. For an elemental to directly attack a fortified castle like that, it was most likely called by a very skilled user of magic.”
Grandmother. Alton supposed Mornhavon the Black could have awakened and done it, but the forest had been quiet ever since Karigan had wounded him. He rubbed his nose. It was itchy. “So what are these elementals?”
Merdigen conjured a moth for his cat to chase. The cat leaped and flipped trying to reach it. “Elementals are embodiments of nature. Mostly they remain at rest in their own realms, unless driven by significant need, or if they are called by strong magic. They can use powers related to their aspect of nature, like the ice creatures of the aureas slee. I imagine over the span of time, many elemental beings have simply slumbered into nonexistence after the backlash against magic and its use that followed the Long War. With no magic users left to call them and the etherea at low ebb, it would be difficult for them.”
“Do you think the queen is still in danger?”
“Unless the aureas slee was badly injured, it won’t be able to forget her.”
That was not good. Alton sneezed.
“Allergic t
o Mister Whiskers, are you, boy?” Merdigen asked.
“Allergic to an illusion? Not very likely.”
The cat leaped onto the table and sat before Alton and gazed at him with feline regard. His tail thumped on the tabletop.
“You should scratch him beneath his chin,” Merdigen said. “He’d like that.”
“Illusion,” Alton reminded him.
“He is no illusion, I assure you.”
Alton searched Merdigen’s face for any indication he was making a joke, but saw none. That was not necessarily a sure sign. With skepticism and a good amount of caution, he held his hand out to the cat. Mister Whiskers rubbed his cheek against his knuckles, purring loudly. His sleek fur certainly felt real. Alton jerked his hand away and stared at Merdigen.
“This is a cat!”
“I know,” Merdigen replied.
“But—when? How?”
“He has been here with me since my internment in the tower. I found him, a stray wandering about, and I knew that should the magic haters find him, he’d be slain.”
“You are telling me this living, breathing cat has been with you for a thousand years?”
“Just about. As far as I know, he is the last of his kind.”
“There were more?”
“My boy,” Merdigen said, “there were many creatures and beings that once walked these lands, like your aureas slee, and Whiskers, here, or even the p’ehdrose. They are more legend now for they were intelligent enough to avoid human beings.”
A magical cat. Alton gazed at Mister Whiskers with new respect. “Why haven’t I seen him before?”
“He, like I, slept while you people were off fighting wars and neglecting the wall for two hundred years, and after my own revival, it was difficult to coax him to stay awake for very long. Like most cats, he likes to nap. And I must admit, I didn’t try very hard, for I feared how he’d be received by the outside world, to which you belong, but I’ve learned to trust you. Whiskers, why don’t you show the boy how you sleep.”