He made the cooks very happy that day, his ax cleaving hunks of wood into sticks that would fuel their ovens. Even in the frigid air he needed to strip down to his shirt. Swinging the ax, feeling it bite into the wood, was far more satisfying than smashing his knuckles on the wall. If he needed pain, he only had to keep at it until he felt the strain in his muscles. His frustrations, over time, were keeping him fit, and he’d developed tough calluses on his palms.

He couldn’t mend the wall. The ax blade split the chunk of wood in half. He tossed the sticks onto a growing pile and placed another log on the stump of an old white pine that served as his chopping block.

Estral was in Sacor City and did not intend to return to the encampment, to him. The ax arced down, and when the log did not split with the first blow, he raised the ax with the wood still lodged on the blade and battered it on the block until finally it split.

He went on for some time until suddenly he felt empty, and with frustration no longer fueling him, he just felt spent. Not to mention sore, which he noticed as he pulled his greatcoat back on.

The cooks knew better than to try to persuade him to rest or stop when he was in a mood, but now they fussed over him, coaxing him into the rough log building that had been built in the fall to replace the old dining tent. Besides dining, it also served as a common room for those stationed at the wall, with a cheery fireplace at one end. The cooks fed him a good, thick stew and pan bread, served with hot tea. He was more hungry than he thought and tucked in.

Besides Estral, he found himself missing Dale. He’d sent her to stay in Tower of the Trees during Garth’s absence. He couldn’t even use the tempes stone to reach her because that tower was on the other side of the breach. He missed their casual banter and having another Rider around in whom he could confide. Dale had a way of making sure he stopped feeling sorry for himself. Idly, he wondered how she was faring with Mad Leaf, that tower’s mage. If Merdigen was a bit mad, Mad Leaf was an entirely different order of lunatic. Garth had seemed relieved to have a chance to escape to Sacor City for a while, no matter the weather.

Even as Alton thought of Dale, Captain Wallace, who oversaw the military operation at the wall, stepped inside and stomped snow off his boots. He and Dale had been a pair for some while, and now he was seeing a lot less of her due to her assignment to Tower of the Trees.

He sauntered over to Alton’s table. “Mind if I join you?”

Alton nodded to indicate that he should. The kitchen staff brought out more stew, pan bread, and tea, and after the captain had a chance to warm up over the hot food, Alton said, “I am glad to see you. I have finally received word from Sacor City.” The captain had been around the strangeness of the wall for some time now, working with the Riders. It had not escaped his attention, Alton knew, that the Riders had certain abilities with magic, no matter how closed-mouthed they were about them. So when Alton mentioned he had received word from Sacor City and there had been no messengers arriving into the encampment, the captain took it in stride. He simply looked up from his bowl of stew.

“You have?” he asked. “Is Lady Estral there?”

“Yes. There and safe.”

“Thank the gods.”

“Not only is she safe, but she has a voice.” Alton related what he’d been told by Trace.

“Extraordinary,” the captain murmured. “We live in strange times, with all the magic awakening.”

“There is actually more along those lines.” Alton told him about the attack on the castle.

The captain listened attentively, and when Alton finished, said, “The king and queen are safe, and for that I also thank the gods, but how do we defend against such enemies?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The wall was supposed to protect them from Blackveil, its dark magic and the monstrous creatures within. It would not protect them from enemies in the north.

“I wonder,” Alton said, “if Merdigen would know anything about these ice creatures. After all, he must have seen just about everything in his day.” Merdigen’s “day” had been the time of the Long War when the lands were rife with magic. Inspired by the thought, Alton stood, deciding he would ask Merdigen right away. Wishing the captain a good day, he left the comparative warmth of the dining hall for the outdoors. His shoulders and back stiffened in the cold after all his chopping of firewood. He followed a trail packed down in the snow by the passage of many boots. Paths branched off to the little cabins and tents in which he and the others attached to this secondary encampment lived. Smoke twisted into the sky from numerous campfires and stoves as personnel attempted to stave off the cold.

Ahead of him lay the wall, soaring imperiously into the sky as though all the way to the heavens. It was as if the Earth ended here, that there was nothing beyond, but he knew better. Embedded in the wall was the rounded contour of Tower of the Heavens, rising skyward like a spear shaft. Its exterior showed no door, no windows, no ornamentation. The wall and its tower were forbidding and seemingly impervious, but not far to the west lay the breach. A breach opened by an Eletian.

The wall was the single greatest achievement of his clan. Built in a time of turmoil, it had required the sacrifice of many who were now incorporeal spirits within the wall, its guardians.

When he reached the tower, he placed his hands on it and walked through the wall. It permitted Green Riders to pass and had once admitted wall keepers, but there had been no wall keepers for at least two centuries.

When he emerged into the tower chamber, he came face-to-face with a giant orange cat, as large as a horse. He splayed himself back against the wall and emitted a strangled cry. Gold eyes watched him, and the cat raised a paw with sharp, hooked claws as if to toy with him. Its purrs rumbled through the tower, and its tail knocked over the long table, which held piles of books, with a resounding crash.