Reluctantly the sentience withdrew from the external sensations, thinking this was most familiar, that once it, too, had possessed a physical body of its own.

Like Hadriax . . .

But the sentience couldn’t allow thoughts of Hadriax to distract it. Instead, it followed bits of the man’s memory—of suckling a mother’s breast, and the comfort it provided. The excitement of riding his first pony. The man-child rode the pony around a courtyard waving a wooden sword about. I shall slay the bad man, the child declared. I shall slay Mor’van! His family watched him, faces aglow.

The sentience leaped from memory to memory, catching shards of the man-child’s growth. Some included images of stoneworking, strengthening the sentience’s suspicions . . .

Finally it caught hold of a name. Deyer. This man is Deyer.

It was like having double-vision as the sentience took in the memory of Deyer chipping away at a block of granite, while its own memories unfolded.

Deyer. Clan Deyer. Builders of fortresses and walls, expert stoneworkers who learned their craft from Kmaer nians to whom rock was like a living thing.

Builders of walls. Builders of the wall.

Fury so took the sentience that it nearly brought the man’s blood to a boil.

Calm, seek calm. There is more to learn.

It deflected its fury to the feline, which burned from the inside out and turned into a heap of smoldering cinders.

The sentience focused its attention again on the man, Deyer. It fought to remain calm as it comprehended the man’s desire to repair the breach in the wall.

The sentience stumbled across a stray memory of the man looking at himself in a mirror, dressed in a green uniform. Upon his breast was pinned a brooch of gold in the shape of a winged horse. This is what the sentience had sensed hidden and shielded upon the man’s chest. But now it elicited a new surge of hate that toppled an entire thicket of trees south of their current location.

A Deyer and a Green Rider.

Only the utmost self-control prevented the sentience from killing the man. Instead, it formulated a new plan, a plan that would cause the wall to fall absolutely.

Before the sentience could carry out the next step of its plan, it stumbled upon a cluster of memories centered around a young woman. Her hair was brown and cascaded about her shoulders. She, too, was an accursed Green Rider.

They sat beneath a shade tree, overlooking a pleasant valley. They had eaten a picnic lunch, but the Deyer’s stomach was all twisted with anxiety, his emotions a mix of hope, dismay, and desire. The breach in the wall is a disgrace to my family, he said.

A thrill surged through him as she took his hand into hers. He marveled at how slender and perfect her hands were, and how his dwarfed them. They locked eyes, smiling at one another, and he hoped they might kiss, but the young woman, whose name was Karigan, dropped his hand and said, Stone walls crumble with time.

The sentience sifted through the other memories of the young woman, but they were filled mostly with confusion and disappointment. Deyer’s feelings for her were strong, but disordered.

There was something else about the young woman that brought to mind Hadriax, though the sentience couldn’t quite touch precisely what the connection could be.

Her presence in Deyer’s mind gave the sentience an idea that would help fulfill its plan. For now, however, it seeped out of Deyer’s mind, turning to its own memories of Hadriax dressed in full military glory, amid the splendor of the imperial court. A fountain sprinkled merrily from the snouts of whimsical sea creatures. Flowers were in full bloom everywhere . . .

ILLUSION

lton awakened stiff and sore, his body trembling with chills. He rubbed his eyes not knowing how long he had slept. A residue of dark and formless dreams lingered in his mind.

The waking nightmare that was Blackveil Forest still surrounded him, but held itself at bay. He sensed an eagerness about it, anticipation. He worried what it held in store for him, but he had the protection of his special ability and the wall at his back.

The wall. He allowed himself a grim smile. He would find his way out of Blackveil, and he’d make sure a message got through to King Zachary, warning him the forest was far more than it seemed. He’d give the king a first-hand account of it, of all he had seen and experienced. He had to, for he knew it was only a matter of time before the intelligence spread its power across the breach, and if they couldn’t repair the breach, D’Yer Province would be the first land in the path of danger. What would happen to the fields, the forests, and the people?

No, I dare not think about it.

Alton had to help protect D’Yer Province and all of Sacoridia, no matter the cost.

He rose from the moist ground, body heat bleeding from him and gripping him in another bout of chills. Daggers ripped through his legs as he stood. The puckered thorn wounds oozed with a sickly yellow pus, and he knew it did not bode well for him. Nausea washed over him.

He supported himself against the wall, gagging, but bringing up nothing. It taxed his already weakened body, and he clung to the wall with all his strength.

I must find my way out.

Only sheer will propelled him forward, pain ripping through his legs with each step.

Behind him, the petals of blue-black roses shriveled and dropped to the ground, leaving behind only the thorny stems in a shaft of mist.

Someone lifted Alton’s head and helped him sip water. As it passed over his cracked lips and down his parched throat, he swallowed rapidly like one who has spent days stranded in a desert. He blinked open crusty eyes to see his savior. At first she was a blur, but when his vision cleared, he knew her at once.