INTRUSIONS
The blood hissed as it dripped on a patch of old
snow. The ring of lanterns revealed the creature’s carcass
bristling with arrows and weeping crimson from a multitude of sword
slashes. It was a rat the size of a pony, its eyes glowing copper
in the lantern light. Its jaw was lined with a row of incisors that
had almost ripped off the leg of one man, but it was the claws that
had taken the life of another. It was also those claws that had
enabled it to climb over the repair work in the
breach.
“Damn,” Alton D’Yer whispered.
It wasn’t like they
hadn’t been vigilant. The breach was well guarded, and a good
thing. Alton did not want to imagine the damage the creature could
have wreaked if they hadn’t been so watchful.
Yet, they had not
been vigilant enough. Maybe they’d relaxed a little, a little too
much, with Blackveil relatively quiet and the repair work done on
the breach.
Hissss, came the sound of more blood sliding into
the snow.
“We’ll increase the
guard,” Alton told Captain Wallace, who was in charge of the
encampment at the breach. “I’ll send to my father for
reinforcements. In the meantime, I’ll spare as many men as you need
from the tower encampment.”
“Yes, my lord,”
Captain Wallace said. “Thank you.”
As the son and heir
of the lord-governor of D’Yer Province, Alton was the ranking
person at the wall to whom the officers came for major decisions.
Alton was also a Green Rider, whose mission was to solve the
mysteries of the wall and fix it. If he’d not been the son of the
lord-governor, he’d be just another cog in the wheel of the
encampment, which consisted of both Sacoridian soldiers and members
of the D’Yer provincial militia.
Mostly Alton was
able to leave the administrative tasks to the military and
concentrate on his own work. Occasionally his position proved
useful because it allowed him to get what he wanted and when—for
the most part—but it was times like this that made his stomach
clench and left him wishing he possessed no rank
whatsoever.
Hissss.
“Drag this thing
away from the encampment,” Alton told the captain. “Burn it. But be
careful of the blood.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Captain Wallace turned and commenced issuing orders to his
underlings.
Dale Littlepage, a
fellow Green Rider who’d been assisting Alton at the wall since
autumn, appeared at his elbow. “Gruesome,” she said, looking down
at the creature.
The two Riders
backed off a few paces to allow the soldiers the space they needed
to prepare the carcass to be dragged away.
“Leese thinks she
can save the one man if his wound doesn’t fester,” Dale said,
speaking of the encampment’s chief mender. “But he’ll lose his
leg.”
Alton sighed. Both
men were Sacoridian troopers. He’d have to write a report to the
king. The widow of the dead man would receive some reparations, and
so would the injured man. However, the military had little use for
someone with only one leg and he’d have to find another way to
support his family if he had one. It would not be an easy
life.
Alton glanced at the
wall. Except where lanterns illuminated it, it vanished into the
night, blotting out the stars. The actual stonework rose only ten
feet, but magic extended it seemingly to the heavens, a bulwark
that was impenetrable to the denizens of the forest and protected
Sacoridia and its neighbors.
Until the
breach.
Repeatedly Alton and
his people had tried to repair the breach, even reopening the same
quarries that had been used centuries ago to build the wall, but it
was only stone. There was so much more to the wall’s strength.
Thousands of souls were bound to it, and their song, a song he now
felt reverberate through his bones, created the magic and strength
that made the D’Yer Wall what it was.
A masterwork. A
thing of magic. An artifact of monstrous slaughter.
He watched as the
soldiers lashed ropes around the dead rat creature. Until he could
figure out how to extend the magic to the stonework of the breach,
they could expect more incursions of this kind from Blackveil. The
one hope he’d had, the book of Theanduris Silverwood, only
confirmed that the magic used to strengthen the wall required the
sacrifices of thousands of magic users.
Since Daro Cooper, a
newish Rider Alton hadn’t met before, delivered the translated
manuscript of the book days ago, he’d pored over it time and again.
Daro had also brought the news of Osric M’Grew’s death at the hands
of Second Empire and he’d spent time, along with Dale, in mourning.
Was still in mourning.
Now his grief only
hardened his determination to solve the problem of the
breach.
A soldier ran toward
them, his buckles and mail glimmering in lantern- and
firelight.
“Sirs, our perimeter
guards just caught an unauthorized person approaching the
encampment.”
Alton and Dale
exchanged glances. First the creature and now an intruder? It was
turning into a long night.
Their intruder was
seated beside one of the watch fires, the soldiers who guarded her
fully alert, their hands gripping sword hilts. She hardly looked
dangerous, but after the incursion of the creature, he didn’t blame
the soldiers for their tension. And in these unsure days, one never
knew in what guise danger would appear.
She rose as they
approached, but it was difficult to tell much about her except that
she was of a similar age to both Alton and Dale. She was plainly
cloaked. If she carried any weapons, the soldiers would have
confiscated them.
At first no one said
anything and they gazed at one another across the
fire.
“Greetings,” the
young woman said in a pleasant voice, finally breaking the
silence.
“Who is she?” the
captain demanded of his soldiers.
They all started
talking at once, but no one seemed to know.
The woman’s voice
rose above the fray. “If someone asked me directly, I’d be more
than happy to introduce myself.”
“Please do so,”
Alton said.
She leveled her gaze
at him and Alton discerned a smile. “You would be Lord Alton
D’Yer,” she said.
“You know me
then.”
She nodded. “I’ve
heard much about you.”
Now Alton frowned.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage then. I do not know
you.”
“No? I am a minstrel
of Selium.” She bowed with hand to temple.
Hand to temple? A
minstrel who was high born?
“My name,” she said,
“is Estral Andovian, daughter of Aaron Fiori, the Golden Guardian.”
She held her hand out so they could see her ring with the sigil of
the gold harp on it.
Estral
Andovian—Karigan’s best friend. As the Golden Guardian’s daughter,
she was indeed high born. And as Karigan’s best friend, he did not
doubt she had heard a bit about him, leading him to wonder just
what she’d been told. Thinking of Karigan made him frown once more.
No letter from her had arrived with the packet Daro carried from
Sacor City. There were many reasons one might not have come. She
could be out on a message errand, or hadn’t had time to write, or,
he’d just been too pushy, scared her off.
“My lady,” Captain
Wallace said, “you must know the wall is off limits to civilians.
It’s dangerous.”
“I’m aware of the
dangers,” Estral Andovian replied. “I also know civilians are
discouraged.”
“Then what brings
you, my lady?” Alton asked.
She gazed at him and
now he saw in the firelight her eyes were a translucent green, like
the hue of the sea with the moon behind the waves.
“I came as a
minstrel,” Estral said. “I am a journeyman, and at this stage of
training, if I’m to ascend to master, I must travel, offering my
services of song wherever I go.”
“This is a strange
destination for you to choose,” Captain Wallace said.
“I do not think so.
I imagine those here would appreciate a little entertainment to
break up the monotony, or to take their minds off other
concerns.”
“True enough,”
Captain Wallace replied. “But the risk to yourself—”
“There are other
reasons I came,” Estral said. “I come as a representative of the
Golden Guardian, as a witness if you will. This,” and she gestured
in the direction of the wall, “is where history is happening. It
needs to be recorded and remembered and that is also the duty of
the Golden Guardian and his minstrels.”
“History, my lady?”
Alton’s voice was sharp. “The dangers here are very real, not a
footnote in some dry old tome. People have died here. Tonight. I will show you this ‘history.’
”
He took her by the
elbow and led her toward the wall where the soldiers were trying to
hitch the rat creature to a horse, but the horse was having none of
it, bucking and whinnying.
“The horse has good
sense not to go near that carcass,” Alton said.
Estral stumbled back
from his grip with a little cry when she saw the
creature.
“This,” Alton said,
“came out of Blackveil. It killed one man and savaged another. This
is why I am going to insist you leave us and take your journeyman
training elsewhere. This is no place for a ... a musician, whether
she is the daughter of the Golden Guardian or not.”
“I ... I am sorry
about your men,” Estral said.
She didn’t run away,
and after the initial shock, collected herself better than some of
the soldiers had. Weren’t most females terrified of rats? This
wasn’t even a normal-sized one. Outside the Green Riders, his
experience with women led him to believe they were all a bit
squealy. Estral actually gazed hard at the beast as if committing
its appearance to memory.
“You’re not going to
cast her out tonight, surely,” said Dale, who had tagged
along.
Captain Wallace and
his soldiers had also followed. “It is the dark of night. No
moon.”
“What?” Alton said.
“I—”
“She can stay in my
tent,” Dale said. “There must be another cot floating around the
encampment somewhere.”
“But—”
“There is risk
here,” Dale said, “but it isn’t very hospitable or safe to send her
out into the woods at night either.”
Alton looked at
Captain Wallace for some sort of support.
“I’m in agreement
with Rider Littlepage,” the captain said. “I’m sure tomorrow
morning will be soon enough for Lady Estral to
depart.”
“Yes, yes, of
course.” Alton combed his fingers through his hair. What kind of
oaf must she think him for insisting she leave right now? He espied
a glimmer in those sea green eyes and glanced away. “Tomorrow
morning will be soon enough.”
“Very well,” Estral
said. “My thanks to you, Rider Littlepage.”
“Call me
Dale.”
“Dale it is. And
none of this ‘my lady’ stuff from anyone, please.”
Dale and Estral
strode off, arms linked and chatting like old school
friends.
“I will play
tonight,” he heard Estral say.
“Entertainment will
help take our minds off tonight’s troubles,” Captain Wallace told
Alton.
That night, Estral
did sing, backing herself with a small traveling lute, her voice
clear and unwavering. She sang songs that were soothing and did not
bring great sorrow upon the encampment’s inhabitants. She also sang
songs of strength, recalling heroic deeds and great warriors of
eons past.
Alton found her
singing and playing was heartening and realized he’d gone far too
long without hearing such quality music. He also had to admit it
was intriguing to meet someone from Karigan’s “other life,” someone
she had known well before becoming a Green Rider. What had she been
like in those days? Oh, he’d gotten the hint she wasn’t the best or
most compliant of students while at Selium, but what details might
Estral Andovian reveal if asked? What details that only a best
friend could know?
It was tempting to
allow Estral to remain. The gods knew they could all use the
musical entertainment she would provide and the tales she could
tell, but he could not allow these desires to cloud his judgment.
No, Estral must leave. The wall was no place for civilians, musical
or otherwise.
In the middle of her
performance, Alton retrieved his horse, Night Hawk, for the ride to
the secondary encampment at Tower of the Heavens. When he mounted,
he could not say what ballad Estral sang, but the tone of the lute
blending with her voice stirred something in him. Resonated. Not
only that, but it was almost as if the voices in the wall hummed
with it.
He shook the
sensation off and reined Night Hawk away, the music fading behind
him.