Blackveil

Merdigen did not reply. He was gazing up toward the tower ceiling.

“What is it?” Alton asked.

“Do you notice anything different in here?”

Alton glanced around. Now that Merdigen mentioned it, something did seem different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He gazed upward like Merdigen. Daylight filtered through the hole above, and then it hit him.

“That hole,” he said. “Is it smaller?”

“Yes, I think so,” Merdigen replied. “Not only that, but other damage appears to be mending.”

It was true. The tower chamber looked tidier, as if all the minor debris and stone dust that Alton hadn’t yet touched had been cleaned up. The major damage remained—the toppled column, other chunks of masonry on the floor.

“How?” Alton demanded.

“The guardians are happier,” Merdigen replied. “In harmony and cadence. Who do you think put them in that state?”

“Estral,” Alton murmured, his surge of joy tempered with slight jealousy that it was not his own doing. It was everything he had been working for—to fix the D’Yer Wall—and yet she succeeded where he had not. He wondered if her music had affected the damage at the breach, too. He’d have to go back and take a closer look.

“You must tell her to keep singing and playing the song of the guardians,” Merdigen said, “to keep reversing the damage. It won’t fix the breach itself, but it can mend what is still standing.”

“What about that line of music from the book of Theanduris ?”

“She must work on that too. It may be what fixes the breach.”

Alton was ready to run out of the tower right then to grab Estral, hug her, and tell her.

“However,” Merdigen continued, “even if the wall is made secure again, there is another problem Theanduris apparently overlooked.”

Alton stilled, heart pounding. “The creature,” he said.

“Yes,” Merdigen replied. “Eletians are free to travel through the towers. I would conjecture this was because the Eletians were staunch allies during the Long War and they wanted to be able to travel forth into what was once Argenthyne. Or they wanted an escape route for the Sleepers should they awaken. Perhaps both. Just theories, mind you.”

Alton found a chair and slumped into it. “ ’Ware the Sleeper.’ That’s what Haurris said. That creature was an Eletian Sleeper, wasn’t it? How did it get to be that way?”

“Again, theories. I can tell you Sleepers are Eletians who take a rest from their unending lives. They become part of the forest, a grove of them tended by those still wakeful. I can only guess Blackveil’s influence penetrated the grove, corrupted this Sleeper of Argenthyne.”

“How many?” Alton asked, his heartbeat quickening again. “There must be more than one. How many do you suppose are still there?”

Merdigen shrugged. “Hard to say. Hundreds, thousands. The largest grove would have been at Castle Argenthyne.”

“Oh, gods,” Alton said, nearly overcome by the image of thousands of corrupted Sleepers descending on Tower of the Heavens. “An army of those things and they can pass through the towers . . .”

“Impossible to know if they’ve all been turned, or if they can even be awakened like the one in Haurris’ tower. Let us see if we can get more from Haurris.”

With a sense of foreboding, Alton returned to the center of the chamber and gingerly removed Haurris’ tempes stone from his saddlebag and cushioning blanket. The stone had been chipped and cracked when the creature knocked it from his hands. The color of the tourmaline remained muddy, dead.

Alton nested the blanket next to the pedestal and placed the stone on it. Haurris did not appear at first, but after some anxious moments, his pale form materialized, his image distorted, fractured.

“ ’Ware the Sleeper,” he intoned.

“Haurris,” Merdigen said standing in front of him. “Haurris, can you hear me? See me?”

“Where am I?”

“Tower of the Heavens,” Merdigen replied.

“I am gone, I am gone . . .”

“Look at me, Haurris, it’s me, Merdigen.”

“Bridges. I destroyed bridges. I am sorry. Strengthened tower to protect ...” Haurris did not speak directly to Merdigen, but only from the dimmest edge of awareness, a ghost.

“You did well, Haurris,” Merdigen said. “The Sleeper is dead.”

“Sleeper . . . Sleeper . . .”

“How did it come to your tower?”

“She asked me.”

“She who?” Merdigen demanded.

“Help them. She asked me . . .”

“Haurris,” Merdigen coaxed. “Who? What did she ask you?”

Haurris’s figure blurred, then redefined itself. “Help them. The queen, she asked.”

“Queen?” Alton interjected. “What queen?”

Merdigen gestured at him to remain silent, but Haurris turned his head to stare at Alton. His eyes were dark hollows, his cheeks sunken like a corpse’s. His robes hung tattered and frayed from his shoulders. His image flickered out, and after several breathless moments of fearing they’d lost him altogether, he reappeared.

“The Queen of Argenthyne,” Haurris said, his voice distant.

“Laurelyn,” Merdigen whispered.

“I failed. I . . .”

Haurris vanished again, and a longer period passed before his faint image reappeared. Like a dying candle flame, it sputtered and faded.