It was questionable as to how repairs were going to be made, as emphasis was placed on the breach yet again, where the wall needed to be rebuilt. Alton was never so glad as he was when he heard the book of Theanduris Silverwood had been recovered and hoped it would soon be translated so he could work on restoring the whole wall once and for all. And that would be the end to threats from Blackveil.

“What’s so funny?” Garth demanded of Dale.

“Sir Karigan?”

“Rider Sir Karigan,” Garth said.

Dale just laughed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Our little Karigan.”

“A great honor,” said a new voice. Merdigen emerged from beneath one of the arches and joined them at the hearth where he stretched his hands before the fire as if he could take warmth from it. “Your own First Rider was one such.”

That information subdued Dale only somewhat.

“From the sound of it,” Merdigen continued, “your friend has achieved a great deal at great personal risk. It only makes sense the king should so honor her.”

“I know,” Dale said. “It just…it just sounds funny.” Finally she quieted and composed herself, only to snort and break out laughing again. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, and laughing still, she rose and left them, walking through the wall to the outside world.

Garth shrugged and Alton suspected that once Tegan and Dale were back in the same territory, Karigan would find no peace from them.

“I suppose,” Garth said, “this would be a good time for you to compose Karigan a letter of congratulations?”

The suggestion took Alton by surprise and his hand went automatically to his breast where her letter to him lay tucked in an inner pocket, the seal unbroken.

“I–I suppose,” he said.

“Good,” said Garth. “I’ll take any correspondence you have when I leave in the morning.”

That evening, Alton sat alone in the tower at the table, with paper, pen, and ink before him. He’d made a list of supplies needed, and for the king he explained the damage the wall had taken and the odd find of indigo yarn in the breach, and of strange horses left wandering in the encampment.

He additionally requested more Riders to investigate what happened to Tower of the Earth and its guardian, Haurris. The rest of the mages had returned to their towers, vowing to remain awake and in contact with one another, as well as with Alton, so they could continue in their work of soothing the wall guardians and strengthening their song. Alton wanted a Rider in every tower to make sure communication kept flowing.

In the meantime, he’d also seek members of his own clan who might have an ability to communicate with the guardians. Surely he couldn’t be the only one, and if Pendric was any indication, he was not.

That correspondence was easy to deal with. When he finally had no more business, he pulled Karigan’s letter out of his pocket. The envelope was crumpled and the seal an indistinguishable blob from his body heat. With a deep breath, he opened it.

The letter was not long, which was like Karigan, he thought. She was not one to waste time over words and would get straight to the point. He steeled himself for those words, and when he finished reading, he just sat there staring at the wall.

I’m sorry, she had written. I don’t know what I did wrong to make you angry at me, but I’m sorry.

All this time Alton had avoided reading the letter first because of his own anger toward Karigan, then because of the anger he feared she meant to level at him. Instead, the words he read were, I’m sorry.

There were other words, promises to do better if he’d only tell her what was wrong. She valued their friendship too much to lose him. He gave her strength, she said.

Alton shook his head in disbelief. Once again he misjudged her and he couldn’t blame it on a fever or poisons lingering in his veins. He could not blame it on the machinations of Mornhavon the Black. No, he could only blame himself.

Even when overcome by the fevers, how could he ever doubt her? How could he have believed her capable of treasonous behavior? And now she’d been honored by the king for just the opposite…

I am so stupid, he thought. He wondered if it was too late to repair the damage he wrought.

“You know, she seems to be quite extraordinary.”

Merdigen took Alton so off guard he nearly fell out of his chair.

“What are you doing?” Alton demanded.

“Why, reading over your shoulder. Your friend Karigan, or should I say Sir Karigan, has not only shown great service to king and country, but has enough humility and honor to apologize when she makes a mistake.”

“She isn’t the one who made the mistake,” Alton said, smoothing the letter against the tabletop. “I’m the one who should do the apologizing.”

“Humility and honor,” Merdigen said, “are hallmarks of the best leaders. It’s also useful,” he mused, “if you have a direct connection to the gods.” He wandered off shaking his head and muttering about black horses and gods, then vanished beneath the west arch.

Humility and honor. Alton strove to help his country and he’d felt a failure. Maybe things were turning around. Maybe the book Karigan helped recover would allow him to…

He shook his head. He was not the center of the world. He would do his best to fix the D’Yer Wall and he would do what he could to repair the breach he’d caused between himself and Karigan, and that was a beginning.

He picked up his pen and put a clean sheet of paper before him. He would begin by opening his heart.