“Seeing you in that green uniform, it is difficult to know, sometimes, who you serve.”
“I serve Sacoridia and her people,” Alton said evenly, “whether I wear the uniform of a king’s messenger, or stand as the heir of Clan D’Yer.” There, let that little reminder of his status quiet his uncle who would, one day, take an oath of loyalty to Alton when he became the Lord D’Yer and clan chief.
The words seemed to have worked, and Landrew relaxed. The two men exchanged pleasantries about Alton’s journey and the weather as servants brought in cool barley water and sweet bread, cold meats, and pickled fiddleheads.
Alton eyed the papers on the table before him. They appeared to be structural drawings of the wall, and maps depicting its length, though showing only the Sacoridian side. Blackveil was a vast, blank space. There was also a broader scale map showing the locations and names of the wall’s watch towers.
Tower of the Summits, Tower of the Rain, Tower of the Trees, Tower of the Sea . . .
There were only ten towers to cover the extent of the wall, which stretched from Ullem Bay in the west to the Eastern Sea, and each was named as though to invoke the powers and strengths of the elements and nature. The Tower of the Heavens was closest to the encampment, within a day’s ride. Haethen Toundrel, it would have been called in the old Sacoridian tongue.
Alton sipped at his barley water and said, “I see you’ve been studying plans.”
“Recent drawings, I’m afraid. I’ve archivists going into the mustiest, darkest corners of records rooms throughout the province to see if they can find a mere mention of the wall. So far, nothing useful has turned up. I wouldn’t put it past our ancestors to have burned their records, blast them. If they intended to keep secrets, they’ve done it well.”
It was rather odd, Alton thought, that the clan wouldn’t have preserved such records, but then again, if they feared some enemy, they certainly would not have wanted the records to fall into the hands of one who might desire to unmake the wall. Unfortunately, it also meant their descendants had no idea of how to maintain the wall’s magical aspects.
“I suppose you’ve heard it isn’t going well with the repair work?” Landrew said.
“Yes.”
“Want to take a look?”
“Yes, Uncle.” Alton grabbed a hunk of sweet bread and followed his uncle out of the tent. Once again he was struck by the festive activity about the encampment that seemed so incongruous with the wall and all it represented. He noted beneath a pavilion his Aunt Milda chatting with some other ladies intent on fancy work.
“This way, my boy.” Landrew put a hand on his shoulder and steered him away. “If Milda sees you, it will be hours before we can get to the business at hand.”
It was the first glint of humor Alton had seen in his uncle’s eyes, and he smiled. “What is it with—with all these people here? I came expecting to find only soldiers and some of your laborers.”
Landrew sighed as they passed a billowing tent. “I couldn’t stop them from coming. All of a sudden there’s all this interest in the wall, as if it hasn’t been around for a thousand years or so.” He rolled his eyes. “I can’t deny them if they want to see a piece of their heritage. It is a fantastic thing, after all, this wall.”
Alton was thankful to find the soldiers had established a substantial perimeter line in front of the wall beyond which no one could pitch a tent. Of course, there was nothing stopping them from doing just that if they wanted to ride down the wall just a couple miles or so away from the encampment.
“You’ve been doing some clearing,” Alton commented. Vegetation had been burned back in both directions along the wall.
“I am certain it was done so historically,” Landrew said. “And there’s been a bit of blight.”
“Blight?”
“Yes. It was affecting the trees near the breach. Turning the leaves black, then the branches and trunks, so we’ve been burning to keep it from spreading. Just as soon as this wind dies down, we’ll resume burning tonight.”
Blight does not bode well, Alton thought, especially if it originates from across the breach in Blackveil.
The magnetism of the wall drew hard on him now. His gaze roved up its lofty heights. Some said it reached the heavens where the gods dwelled. Some said it touched the clouds as a mountain summit would.
It was illusion, and it wasn’t. The actual stone wall reached about ten feet high, serving as the foundation for the magic, which surged above and beyond, seamlessly mimicking the texture, appearance, and durability of the real thing. It could repel whatever lurked in Blackveil as assuredly as the stone wall.
As the sun traveled on its course, shadow crept across the face of the wall and into the perimeter held by the soldiers.
A soldier uniformed in Sacoridian silver and black, with sergeant’s chevrons on his sleeves, approached. He was heavily armed with long sword, dagger, and a cocked crossbow, a quiver of bolts swinging at his hip.
He passed a dismissive glance over Alton, but bowed to Landrew. “How may I serve you, my lord?”
“My nephew here would like a closer look at the wall, Sergeant Uxton. He will have the same authority as I do to approach it.”
The sergeant’s gaze flicked back to Alton, reassessing. “I had heard there was a nobleman among the Greenies.”
“Green Riders,” Alton corrected, bridling his annoyance.
“Of course, my lord. Many pardons. We of the Mountain Unit so rarely step near court, that we are lacking of its graces.”