No one would know about the wall until it was too late. It was already too late. The D’Yers hadn’t bothered with patrols for centuries, and even if they became aware of the cracks, they wouldn’t know what to do. They would have to seek a scholar to decipher the runes, and a very learned master he would have to be. The language of Kmaern was lost with its people, extinct from the tongues of the living for centuries.

Even if the D’Yers could translate the runes, they would have no understanding of how to rebuild the wall. Like many other things, they had lost the craft. There was no threat to the Gray One’s plans.

He splayed his fingers against the cold wall. It prickled, but without the intensity of before. He willed his thoughts down through his shoulders, down his arms, and through his fingertips. His consciousness spread across the wall like cracks, and he felt the resonance of his song still working in the rock and mortar.

The old voices had grown uncertain, and the beat weaker. With any luck, his song would spread along the entire length of the wall of its own volition and decay the spells that bound it together. In time, the wall would crumble to the earth and the power of Kanmorhan Vane would spread unhindered across the lands. Not only would the Gray One win access to those great powers, but the lands would surrender to him under the threat of darkness that lurked in the forest.

He sang the unweaving, steadily corrupting the old spells, chipping away at mortar with his thoughts, convincing the granite it had been subject to thousands of years of freezing and thawing, to wind, rain, and snow.

Finally, he weakened it enough.

The Gray One moved each limb experimentally where he lay on the dewy grass. His body proved a hindrance at times, but it managed to absorb the shock with no damage. His mind had experienced the worst strain while singing the counterspells, and when body and mind reunited after hours of unweaving, he had collapsed. His head throbbed worse than at any time during his earliest training.

It was midmorning; the soldiers would be anxious to find the messenger horse. Let them wait. They would find their quarry soon enough. First he must examine his work.

The fissures had spread along every seam across a width of about six feet. They had spread upward, too, to wherever the wall peaked. The Gray One placed his palms against the wall, and this time he pushed. The cracked section teetered and swayed, balanced on edge. The wall fell over with a shower of mortar and chipped rock; the ground rumbled like thunder as giant blocks pummeled the earth. Tremors shook beneath his feet.

When the dust had settled, rubble sat in a heap where a once impermeable section of wall had stood. Not only was the physical barrier down, so was the corresponding magical barrier that had shielded above it. The real wall was only ten feet high, whereas the magical shield extended far into the sky. His broken section would now serve as a portal.

Black tree limbs twisted and writhed in a shifting vapor beyond the breach. Much of the forest remained cloaked by fog. Unknown wild creatures screeched within. Soon. Soon some of them would find their way through the wall and into Sacoridia.

He wanted to explore the forest, but there was no time. He turned away from Kanmorhan Vane with some regret.

I will enter one day. But now is too soon. I must lay the groundwork.

A fluttering of wings on an old ash tree caught his eye. An owl launched from its perch and flew swiftly away to the east, soon disappearing in the distant sky.

It is sensible to leave, he thought. This will soon be no place for owls or other creatures to live.

He called his ghostly slaves to attend him. They swam in an indistinct mass before him. These had once been individuals with their own paths in life, their loves and hates, their skills and talents and dreams. Some had been good citizens, and some had been criminals. Indiscriminately, the Gray One had cut short all of their lives. All so they could serve him.

One stood off by itself, more rigid and defined than the others.

“Coblebay,” the Gray One said. “You couldn’t resist my call this time.”

The spirit wavered as if drawn by the Gray One’s words, then redefined himself. I still resist.

“Won’t you help me take the quick road?”

I’ve come to see what you’ve done.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

The spirit’s face remained impassive.

The Gray One knew what energy it cost the spirit to appear to him, and yet resist. He stretched out a hand. “You will serve, not defy me.” The magic of his command vibrated in his throat. The binding song flowed through his mind.

The spirit faded, began to drift toward him.

“Yes,” the Gray One said. “You serve me.” But even as he said it, he lost strength in his legs and staggered, barely maintaining his feet. The strain was too much. He asked too much of his body after having breached the D’Yer Wall. He would have just enough power and strength to travel. Reluctantly, he let F’ryan Coblebay go, and watched him vanish.

He wondered at the spirit’s stubborn nature. It was strong, and it had its own agenda that impelled it to resist him.

SEVEN CHIMNEYS

Someone prodded Karigan’s ribs.

“Stop it, Estral. I’ll go to class tomorrow.” She moaned and rolled over onto her back. The rich scent of loam filled her nostrils and the sun beat on her face. She blinked her eyes open. Clouds smeared the sky like fingerprints. This wasn’t her dorm room.

Thump, thump. This time on her shoulder.

Karigan blinked again. Soldiers pursued her. Soldiers who would stop at nothing to possess the message she carried.