There weren’t even any cracks from the breach extending this far, although there was no way of knowing how things looked from the Blackveil side. All in all, there were no clues as to what was wrong with Tower of the Earth, or what had befallen Haurris. The only way to know was to somehow get inside.

“Hopefully he won’t kick the wall,” Dale said.

“He did that?” Estral asked.

“Oh, yes, and got broken toes for his trouble. Not to mention smashed knuckles from beating on it.”

Alton ground his teeth.

“Karigan never spoke of him having self-destructive tendencies,” Estral commented.

That’s it! He whirled around. Dale and Estral sat on a blanket several paces off, looking rather languorous with legs stretched out as if they were on nothing more than a picnic. They had, in fact, broken into a loaf of nut bread and were steeping tea in a kettle over a small cookfire they’d started.

“I’m right here,” he said. “You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not.”

Dale stuck her tongue out at him and Estral flashed him a disarming smile.

“It’s not easy to talk to you when you’ve always got your back turned to us,” Dale said.

“No matter how picturesque the view,” Estral added.

Alton’s cheeks warmed.

“Come have a seat.” Dale patted the blanket beside her. “Take a tea break.”

Alton flicked a glance over his shoulder at the wall and decided it wasn’t going anywhere. He joined the two women on the blanket, Dale pouring him a cup of tea and Estral carving him a slice of nut bread.

The tea warmed him up nicely, and it was a fine sunny day, if still on the cold side. Why not a picnic? Even the horses were contentedly cropping at any dormant grasses their agile lips could find, tails swishing at nonexistent flies. And here he was, being served by two attractive ladies. If not for the wall nearby, they could be in some artist’s bucolic scene.

“Did you really break your toes?” Estral asked him.

“A toe.” He’d been so angry and frustrated that the wall would not let him pass, that he could not fix it. And he’d been sick with the residue of Blackveil’s poison in his veins. Sick of heart, sick of mind, he’d battered his will and his body against the granite until blood flowed.

He’d lost all sense of himself during that time, allowing his appearance to go to ruin until Dale set him straight, reminding him he was still a Green Rider and that Captain Mapstone would disapprove of his bedraggled state. He’d once taken pride in his appearance and the sharpness of his uniform, and now the old Alton, in his opinion, was coming back. No one, not even Captain Mapstone, would be able to find fault in the shine of his boots. He kept his hair combed and his face clean-shaven. He’d found himself being even more meticulous of late, since ... since about the time Estral arrived. He choked on his nut bread and spilled scalding tea on his leg.

“Ow!”

“Here,” Estral said, dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.

He jumped at her touch near . . . a sensitive area. “Uh, it’s all right.” He took the cloth from her and dabbed the spill himself. So much for his perfect appearance.

“So what’s next?” Dale asked. “Neither of us can get into the tower. Are we just going to go back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if the two of us try at the same time? If that doesn’t work, I guess I’ll have to go back and ask Merdigen if he has any more suggestions.”

“He didn’t seem very encouraging last time you asked him.”

“No,” Alton admitted. Merdigen had said the situation of Tower of the Earth was beyond his experience.

“Maybe the tower is fine,” Dale said. “I mean it looks fine from here. If it’s doing its job of holding back the forest—”

“It could be a weak point without Haurris in contact with the others. There’s just too much we don’t know.”

Estral scrunched her nose. “That’s not very interesting song fodder: too much we don’t know.”

“I’m afraid life here at the wall is no ballad,” Alton said.

“So you’ve told me. But I am patient.”

“Well, I say let’s give it another try,” Dale said, hopping to her feet. “And if it doesn’t work, we’ll go back.”

Alton was forced to stuff the rest of his nut bread into his mouth, chewing and swallowing hastily.

“I guess I’ll just practice a little while I wait,” Estral said, reaching for the lute that she took everywhere with her.

Alton nodded, rose to his feet, and followed Dale. Behind him came the sound of strings being tuned. He may have protested Estral’s arrival at the wall at first, but her presence had done much to raise the morale of the personnel at both encampments. She was like a library of stories and music that ranged from centuries long past to pieces she and her fellow minstrels had created. She was also teaching the few musicians among them new songs, and in the process they honed their abilities.

As for himself, he’d found excuses to often be in her company, whether she was playing music or not.

By the time he and Dale reached the tower, Estral was strumming a warm-up piece and he remembered how effortlessly her fingers swept across the strings, her eyes so distant when she played, her face placid and unguarded.

Dale faced him. “You’ve been blushing a lot lately. And smiling, too.”