That’s better. She stretched and rubbed her back end, glaring at the wagon’s bare wooden bench, polished smooth over the years by the buttocks of so many other tortured passengers.
“You wait here,” Clyde said. “I’ll see to getting you situated.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”
He grunted and nodded in his usual taciturn way, then went in search of someone in authority.
Dale stamped out her legs and stretched again, grimacing as her healing flesh was pulled taut. She walked in circles to further loosen up, and soon found herself wandering away from the wagon toward the tower.
Soldiers on guard duty warily watched her approach, but her own attention fell upon a figure in green, his back to her, and his hands on his hips. He stared at the tower, unaware of her approach.
“Alton?” she said.
He turned, and at first she thought she was mistaken, that this scarecrow of a man couldn’t be Alton after all, but beneath the shaggy brown hair and stubble on his chin, she recognized him. Garth’s description of him had hardly prepared her. He was so thin, and while she felt as though she had aged, he looked it.
It took a few moments for him to register who she was. After her own injuries and sickness, and the past several days of travel, she shouldn’t be surprised if she looked changed as well.
“Dale!” he said finally, and in three strides he was over to her and hugging her gently so as not to cause her healing injuries pain. Then he put her at arm’s length, his eyes searching. “How are you? We didn’t think you…not at first.”
They hadn’t thought she would live, she knew he meant to say. “I guess we’ve both been better. Seems like few of us survived the summer unscathed.” Not wishing to sink into dark thoughts again, she continued, “Lord and Lady D’Yer send you their love as well as some packages.”
Alton nodded. “And your care, was it satisfactory?”
“With Woodhaven’s best menders attending me? And your little brother to keep me company? I couldn’t have asked for better.”
“Marc? I hope he didn’t pester you too much.”
Dale laughed. “He tired me out at times, bringing me kittens and games, but he was a welcome sight between all those grim-faced menders.”
Alton smiled. “I’m glad.” Then he faced the wall. “Welcome to Tower of the Heavens, or Haethen Toundrel, as our ancestors called it. It’s been the object of my frustration these last two and a half months.”
Dale trailed him as he approached the stone wall of the tower. Empty of embellishment, even of windows or arrow loops, it evoked an inhuman countenance.
“No, uh, progress,” she said, “with your trying to enter it?”
He shook his head. “No one’s been inside since Garth was here.” He then glanced eagerly at her, almost hungrily. “Would you like to give it a try, to go inside?”
Dale gazed at the wall of ashlars before her with trepidation. Unlike Garth or Alton, or several of the other Riders, she had never had the chance to enter the tower. Garth had tried to describe what it was like to pass through the wall and emerge within it, like walking through a veil of water, he’d said, but looking upon this bulwark of stone, she was filled with doubt. She raised a trembling hand toward it.
“Don’t you dare!”
Dale snatched her hand back and stepped away, wondering what she had done wrong. A woman in D’Yerian blue and gold strode toward them, Clyde at her side. She clutched a letter in her hand, and while Dale thought the sharp words had been directed at her, the woman’s gaze settled on Alton, who looked sheepish in return.
When the woman and Clyde halted before them, she waved the letter in Alton’s face. “Your father’s personal mender has told me the nature and extent of Rider Littlepage’s injuries, my lord, and I cannot approve of you putting her straight to work when she’s barely arrived after an arduous journey.”
“I—” Alton said.
“Yes, I know how terribly frustrating it has been for you to wait, Lord Alton, but really, you must take others into consideration.”
“But—”
“I’ve the right to override your decisions when they relate to health and welfare, and this is one of those occasions.”
Alton held up his hands, hands with their own pink, healing injuries on them, and said, “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t—I would never—”
“Good then.” The woman then turned to Dale. “Welcome,” she said, a smile warming her face and her voice softening. “I am Leese, the encampment’s chief mender. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin work, yes?”
Dale was tired. She nodded and Leese began to lead her away.
“We’ve some soldiers setting up a tent for you, and Clyde here has agreed to help you with your things.”
Dale glanced over her shoulder only to discover Alton as she found him: hands on hips and his back to her as he stared at the wall. This thin, intense man was not the Alton she remembered.
Once Dale’s tent was set up and Leese had examined her, she dropped onto her cot and remembered nothing of the intervening hours until she awoke sometime late the next morning. She had been exhausted, but the rest did her wonders. Not even black wings intruded on her dreams.
Leese came to check on her while she breakfasted, the sunshine on the tent warming the air within to the point it became stuffy. Dale was glad of the inrush of fresh air with Leese’s entrance.