Estral started plucking a lively dance tune, this time not asking Dale for a request. It was the story of a goatherd and a milkmaid, and was not at all raunchy. Alton found himself tapping his toe and nodding his head to the beat. When she finished, muffled clapping came from Dale’s tent.

“It seems our patient liked that one,” Estral said.

“I think it is time our patient got some sleep so she’s well enough to ride in the morning,” Alton replied.

Estral nodded in understanding. “Just one more bit,” she said. “Some water music to relax us all.”

Her fingers picked out a series of notes that emerged like the soothing tones of a stream trickling between mossy banks, ripples curling around rocks and beneath ferns. Alton closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. He imagined following the stream to where it flowed into a lake and the music became the give and take of gentle waves. A summer lake with the sun beating down on his shoulders. He strolled along the shore and someone was with him holding his hand. He thought it would be Karigan, but he saw Estral.

A PICNIC BASKET OF VIPERS

They arrived at the encampment the following afternoon. Alton made sure Dale went straight to Leese. The mender pronounced the burn bad, but not as serious as it might have been and proceeded to make a poultice for it. She also advised that Dale spend the night with her for observation, but Dale’s protests were so vociferous that Leese gave in after Estral promised to keep an eye on the Rider.

Alton thought he caught a muttered, “Stubborn Riders,” from Leese before she returned to her tent.

Once Alton reached the secondary encampment, he tended Night Hawk and then headed straight to Tower of the Heavens to tell Merdigen about the previous day’s adventures. By the time he finished, the mage was pacing.

“This is exceedingly alarming,” he said. “The part about the music is interesting and even hopeful, but the rest?” He shook his head.

“What do you make of it?” Alton asked.

“I haven’t the faintest. This is beyond my experience. You saw no sign of Haurris?”

“No, unless that was his skeleton on the floor.”

Merdigen stopped in his tracks and gazed thoughtfully into the dark upper reaches of the tower. “No, I can’t see how. His corporeal self ought to have been burned upon a pyre when he passed on. It’s what we do, and what the keepers were instructed to do to us in the end. Unless . . . unless his corporeal self existed long beyond the rest of us, and even beyond the keepers. It’s not likely, but it’s not inconceivable either.”

Alton yawned and his stomach rumbled. It had been a long couple days.

“I need to consult with the others,” Merdigen said. “And you need to get some food and rest. Do not be concerned if I am not here next time you visit.”

Alton did not need much persuading to call it a day. He left the tower for the sharp air outside, amazed to find afternoon had turned into evening. He headed for the kitchen tent wondering in which tower the mages would assemble. Of course it would only be seven of them since Radiscar and Mad Leaf were cut off by the breach. There was a way for them to circumvent the breach, but it required a lengthy journey. He often wondered if it were an illusionary journey, or if magical projections truly experienced the concepts of time, distance, and danger. The mages seemed to think they could, and that’s all that counted.

At the kitchen tent he filled up on a couple of bowls of stew before returning to his own tent. As he approached it, he was surprised to find the canvas walls aglow with light and soft music being played within. When he folded aside the flap, he discovered Estral sitting on one of his campaign chairs, the lute on her lap, and a lamp at low burn on his table.

“Hello,” she said as he stepped in.

“Hello.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but Dale’s tent was, er, rather busy.”

“Busy?” Alton dropped into the chair across the table from her. “I thought you were supposed to be keeping watch over her.”

Estral made a face. “Her friend, Captain Wallace, is, um, taking care of her.”

“Captain Wallace?” Alton asked, perplexed. “Why would he be taking care of her?”

“Her friend, Captain Wallace,” Estral stressed.

Alton scratched his head. “Friend?”

“More than a friend, I daresay.”

“More than a ... ? Ooh!” Alton’s cheeks warmed. How dense could he be? He had not seen . . . had no idea.

“In fact,” Estral said, “it was darn uncomfortable for me to stay there. Busy, like I said. Usually they go to his cabin.”

Alton coughed. “I see. Wallace? Really?” How had he been so unobservant?

Estral nodded. “I didn’t know where else to go. If it’s a problem, I’ll leave.”

“N-no. Don’t go out into the cold. We could . . . we could talk.”

Estral plucked a series of notes on her lute. “We could. What do you want to talk about?”

“Well ... I—” Alton fumbled about thinking hard for several moments, finally grabbing something out of the air. “The lumber camp. You! I mean, I’d like to hear more about that. When did you leave the lumber camp for Selium?”

Estral stopped playing and furrowed her brow. “When I was six. After an accident.”

Alton groaned inwardly at having managed to pick what was undoubtedly a painful topic. “Karigan mentioned something about that once,” he began hesitantly.