The art at first probes the stone, licks at it, soaks into the pores of granite. Spreads. There is a counter song, a song of aging and weathering, of weakness and erosion, freezing and thawing.

It reverberates into the weakened portions of the wall adjacent to the breach. The song of the guardians is in too much disarray to repel it. They try to rally, to find harmony and rhythm, but it is too long gone and they are in chaos, like an orchestra playing out of time, instruments out of tune, voices crying in agony rather than combining into melodious notes. The fear of the guardians is great, but they only mangle the song further. There is no single voice to bring them together, to help them.

Listen to me! Follow me!

But the voice of the one once known as Pendric is lost in the cacophony. He has spent so much time spreading distrust and hate that he cannot heal them.

The nonliving rock of the breach gives way as though it has undergone more than a millennium of weathering in but a few moments. Granite tumbles to the ground leaving a gaping hole in the wall.

At first there is nothing more, then the bedrock upon which the wall is built rumbles and the voices of the guardians near the breach rise up in a crescendo of pain. They begin to die. Mortar fails, cracks widen, ashlars edging the breach crumble and fall.

The cry of the guardians escalates into a scream.

MERDIGEN’S RETURN

Dale was pleased. The tower guardians, instead of playing games and partying, were having serious discussions about the wall and its workings. Not that she could understand it all, and not that they weren’t passing ale around now and then to, as Itharos put it, “assist in the thinking process.” They filled up scrolls with equations and drawings, made diagrams in the air with points of light, and argued theories and philosophy. At least they were doing something.

Alton had continued with his inspections and reported the wall, the section nearest the breach, was still oozing blood, sometimes more, sometimes less, and that he saw disquieting images in the cracks, usually the eyes watching him. At times it was only one pair, at others it was several. Today he’d hurried her into the wall, and he seemed more anxious than usual. She wondered what was wrong. Even her passage through the tower wall felt…tense? Stiff? Not the usual fluid sensation like passing through water but almost brittle. The wall had not trapped her this time, but she worried about her return. The mages assured her they would speak with the guardians to ensure her passage back was safe.

Dale shuddered and tried to focus on what the tower mages were talking about, but sometimes they fell into using Old Sacoridian or words from other languages she could only guess at. At times they were so incomprehensible in their discussions that she found herself dozing off. Suddenly a question rang through the tower that brought her fully awake.

“So who started the song?” Fresk demanded. “Who started the song they all sing?”

Everyone stared at him. Then a babble erupted and turned into an argument. Cleodheris was certain the Fioris had something to do with it, Winthorpe claimed it was Theanduris Silverwood, Itharos speculated it was the stonecutters themselves, and Boreemadhe was quite sure the Deyers originated the song.

“We were not there to know the origin,” a new voice said, “nor did we think to ask.”

Dale whirled in her chair and standing there in the middle of the chamber next to the tempes stone was Merdigen with his pack on his back and his staff at hand. Two others were with him, a long-bearded, solemn fellow and a wispy woman with leaves in her hair.

When the tower guardians saw them, they dropped what they were doing and exclaimed in delight. Even Cleodheris smiled and float-walked over in her ethereal way to greet the travelers.

Dale couldn’t believe it. After so long waiting for Merdigen to return, there he was standing among them. The two newcomers were introduced to Dale as Radiscar, from Tower of the Sea, the westernmost tower, and Mad Leaf of Tower of the Trees.

Mad Leaf? What sort of name was that?

The guardians showered the travelers with questions at once and Merdigen wearily gestured them to quiet.

“I need ale,” he said, “and I’m sure Radiscar and Mad Leaf would appreciate refreshment, too.”

This request was attended to, with the guardians conjuring a feast from the air, as well as mugs of ale, foam spilling over brims. Dale sat in the one solid chair at the table and waited for things to settle down.

Merdigen heaved off his pack, which dissolved to nothing before it hit the floor, and took in long gulps of ale Itharos handed him. “Ah, that is good,” he said. He inquired after his cat, and asked, in turn, how everyone was, including Dale.

“I see you’ve not abandoned us,” he said.

“I see you haven’t either,” she replied in a quiet voice.

Merdigen nodded. “Yes, I know I’ve been gone a good while, but the travel was not easy.”

“What of Haurris?” Itharos asked. “Why is he not with you?”

Haurris, Dale gathered, was the guardian of Tower of the Earth.

Merdigen’s features sagged at Itharos’ question. “We could not reach him, I’m afraid. Broken bridges everywhere. Messages sent from Mad Leaf’s tower went unanswered.”

The group grew somber.

“What could have happened to him?” Boreemadhe asked.

Merdigen shrugged. “Hard to say. Perhaps the breach in the wall has made him impossible to reach, but why him, and not me, when my tower is closest to the breach?” He shook his head. “Whatever the cause, we must assume the worst has happened and that whatever happened to Haurris could happen to any of us.”