Alton emerged from the tower with the one page of manuscript that held the music. When he handed it to Estral, she gazed hard at it for some moments.

“The script is very old-fashioned,” she said, “but that’s no surprise considering when Theanduris lived. The copyist seems to have made a very faithful representation of the original. And if that is the case ...” She fell into silence.

“If that is the case what?” Alton pressed.

“If that is the case, then the original measure of music was written in Gerlrand’s hand. I’d recognize it anywhere.” She frowned.

Alton did not think an “I told you so” would be appreciated, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Five simple notes,” she murmured. Then almost inaudibly she hummed.

There was nothing extraordinary about the brief tune that Alton could perceive, but it was almost as if Estral’s voice were enfolded in a current of air and carried off to the heavens.

She hummed the tune again, louder, and this time there was a slight resonance—not an audible resonance, but Alton could feel a tingling on the back of his neck. Maybe it was just the sweetness of her voice.

“Doesn’t sound like much,” Estral said. “I can’t see how this has anything to do with the wall. Can you?”

“I don’t know.”

“It feels incomplete,” Estral mused, “as if that last note is wanting an answer.”

Answers, Alton thought. All we ever want is answers, but all we ever have are questions.

“If you don’t mind,” Estral continued, “I’d like to hold onto this and play with it. It might not do anything for the wall, but as an artifact of Gerlrand’s, it’s of interest.”

“I’d prefer you make a copy and return this one to me.”

“Of course.” Estral hurried off, presumably to Dale’s tent to do just that.

Alton faced the wall wondering if he should have mentioned the resonance he had felt. It had been so subtle he almost couldn’t credit it. He’d keep it to himself for now and see if Estral came up with anything more as she studied the piece of music. He wanted to keep his expectations low since he’d already been disappointed time and again. He could not help but wonder, however, why Theanduris would include the music if it weren’t important. The great mage had thought much of his own cleverness and Alton did not doubt he’d delight in confounding anyone who tried to solve his riddle.

Did Theanduris and Alton’s ancestors have any idea that one day their great wall would be broken? Did they know the menace of Mornhavon could survive for so many centuries?

It seemed to Alton they must have known and prepared as best as they could by provisioning the wall with keepers, making sure it was patrolled. What they did not count on was the frailty of human memory, of human needs and priorities. A time had come when those other priorities overrode the importance of maintaining the wall. The keepers disappeared, the tower mages slept, and the wall was left to itself, unguarded and unmaintained.

What was needed was a permanent solution. The wall, for all its impressive craftsmanship and magic, had proved itself impermanent. It almost felt like a betrayal to Alton’s ancestors to think it, but the realization was dawning on him that the wall was not the final answer. Like Karigan carrying Mornhavon into the future, the wall only bought them time. He guessed King Zachary had come to this very conclusion himself a while ago and that was why he was sending Sacoridians into Blackveil with the Eletians.

When Alton first read the king’s letter informing him of the expedition, he believed lives were being needlessly thrown away. He had barely survived Blackveil himself and it had taken him a long time to recover from his experiences in the forest. However, with this new understanding, he recognized the importance of the expedition in seeking a permanent solution to the problem of Mornhavon the Black.

Even knowing this, Alton’s drive to fix the wall remained undiminished. If he could fix it, keep it intact for another thousand years, maybe it would give his people the protection and time they needed to find a way of finally defeating Mornhavon forever.

Alton could only do his part.

He sighed. He supposed he need not worry about keeping busy, what with the mysteries of the wall to solve and a journeyman minstrel to keep his eye on.

STATIONERY AND GOLD INK

The same day Karigan learned she was being sent into Blackveil, she received an invitation. It had been slipped beneath her chamber door in the Rider wing and she found it after she returned from her ride among the Scangly Mounds. Her name was neatly scripted on the envelope in gold ink, and when she flipped it over she discovered two seals: the royal seal of King Zachary and the cormorant seal of Clan Coutre.

She sat on her bed gazing at the seals in trepidation. If this had something to do with the betrothal, which appeared likely, she was sure she didn’t want to even look at it. Her curiosity, however, soon got the best of her and with a rattling sigh, she slipped her thumb beneath the seals and opened the envelope.

Within was a piece of fine stationery, again inked with gold. It was an invitation from both King Zachary and Lady Estora to ... to a masquerade ball? Yes, a masquerade ball to celebrate the forthcoming end of the winter and the arrival of spring. Was this all aristocrats did? Invent reasons to hold balls and banquets and parties? Ever since the betrothal, it surely seemed to be the case.

More important, would she have to go? The very idea of it spawned even more dread within her than going into Blackveil, albeit dread of a different nature.