darkened the grass a few feet away. He floated into the shadow, and the brightness of the sun dimmed, allowing him to take stock of his surroundings.
His mind’s eye abided in the shadow of Ryson Tower, to the left of the stronghold and inside the inner bailey. Indeed, the tunnel had taken him out of Granton Castle. If he followed it, he would likely exit the stronghold altogether at some point.
He floated up to look over the curtain wall. Smoke billowed in the western fields and beyond. The invaders had set fire to the vineyards and several cottages. Both baileys were deserted but for some injured men and those caring for them. A couple dozen bowmen patrolled the curtain walls. Beyond, a fierce battle raged. Achan floated toward it.
Duchess Amal.
Achan let himself drift, momentarily shocked by circumstance. He had been expecting to hear from Shung or Sir Caleb, not Duchess Amal.
He opened his mind to her at once. My lady?
Your Highness. You have us all affright. Are you safe?
I am. I … got turned around in the passageway. A heaviness grew in Achan’s mind. Never before had any lie—let alone such a small one—come with such instant remorse.
Going off alone is unwise, Your Highness.
Achan closed his mind, ashamed to treat the duchess so rudely, but unwilling to give up his attempt to help his men. If he could drift closer to the battle, perhaps he could see their leader. Why had he not tried this before?
But when he looked for the distant battle, he only saw sky. He whirled around. Nothing but sky in every direction. He looked down. All of Carmine stretched out like a map below, Granton Castle a speck under his transparent boots.
How had he gotten so far up?
The shadows of clouds dotted the land below in puffy shadows. How small the battle seemed from such a height. How small everything seemed.
Arman, you are great indeed to have created all this. To love each of us so completely when there are so many of us and we are so very small.
Achan stared at the awesome sight for a long time before jolting back to reality. He tried to float down but found he had no control of himself. He concentrated hard. Willed himself back to his body.
Nothing happened.
A gust of cold blew over him, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Sir Gavin had warned him not to leave his body. Why had he been so cocksure as to ignore the Great Whitewolf?
Stubborn man. What if he couldn’t get back?
He called to Duchess Amal. My lady, I am lost.
Why did you close your mind? Are you in danger?
No, my lady. I mean, I’m not certain. I entered the Veil. I hoped to see the enemy, but I drifted up and can’t get back.
Where is your body? Your physical body?
In an underground tunnel beneath the inner bailey, just outside the great hall.
One moment.
Achan’s gaze locked onto a flock of birds below him. How strange to see flying birds from above.
I have found your body, Your Highness. You say you drifted straight up?
Very far up. I cannot control my movement.
I am coming.
Carmine seemed even smaller below him now. He saw movement. Another bird? The mist of a cloud?
Then he saw her. Duchess Amal, soaring toward him like an eagle diving for a fish. Her arms at her sides, her body straight, her hair and dress smooth from her apparent speed. Her eyes fixed on his. She stopped before him and her hair and gown billowed out around her, floating on air.
She held out her hand. Shall we, Your Highness?
Breathless, he took her hand in his. Thank you.
She tucked his hand around her arm and pulled them down. Slowly. Down. Through a misty cloud.
Down. Toward Granton Castle. The stronghold grew beneath their feet.
Achan could see the battle to the west. They drifted back toward the inner bailey, to the left of the great hall. The ground came closer. Nearer. His feet were almost there.
They passed through the dirt. The odd sensation choked Achan. All light vanished. Down. Down.
Darkness.
How far? Did Duchess Amal know exactly where his body
His mind’s eye abided in the shadow of Ryson Tower, to the left of the stronghold and inside the inner bailey. Indeed, the tunnel had taken him out of Granton Castle. If he followed it, he would likely exit the stronghold altogether at some point.
He floated up to look over the curtain wall. Smoke billowed in the western fields and beyond. The invaders had set fire to the vineyards and several cottages. Both baileys were deserted but for some injured men and those caring for them. A couple dozen bowmen patrolled the curtain walls. Beyond, a fierce battle raged. Achan floated toward it.
Duchess Amal.
Achan let himself drift, momentarily shocked by circumstance. He had been expecting to hear from Shung or Sir Caleb, not Duchess Amal.
He opened his mind to her at once. My lady?
Your Highness. You have us all affright. Are you safe?
I am. I … got turned around in the passageway. A heaviness grew in Achan’s mind. Never before had any lie—let alone such a small one—come with such instant remorse.
Going off alone is unwise, Your Highness.
Achan closed his mind, ashamed to treat the duchess so rudely, but unwilling to give up his attempt to help his men. If he could drift closer to the battle, perhaps he could see their leader. Why had he not tried this before?
But when he looked for the distant battle, he only saw sky. He whirled around. Nothing but sky in every direction. He looked down. All of Carmine stretched out like a map below, Granton Castle a speck under his transparent boots.
How had he gotten so far up?
The shadows of clouds dotted the land below in puffy shadows. How small the battle seemed from such a height. How small everything seemed.
Arman, you are great indeed to have created all this. To love each of us so completely when there are so many of us and we are so very small.
Achan stared at the awesome sight for a long time before jolting back to reality. He tried to float down but found he had no control of himself. He concentrated hard. Willed himself back to his body.
Nothing happened.
A gust of cold blew over him, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Sir Gavin had warned him not to leave his body. Why had he been so cocksure as to ignore the Great Whitewolf?
Stubborn man. What if he couldn’t get back?
He called to Duchess Amal. My lady, I am lost.
Why did you close your mind? Are you in danger?
No, my lady. I mean, I’m not certain. I entered the Veil. I hoped to see the enemy, but I drifted up and can’t get back.
Where is your body? Your physical body?
In an underground tunnel beneath the inner bailey, just outside the great hall.
One moment.
Achan’s gaze locked onto a flock of birds below him. How strange to see flying birds from above.
I have found your body, Your Highness. You say you drifted straight up?
Very far up. I cannot control my movement.
I am coming.
Carmine seemed even smaller below him now. He saw movement. Another bird? The mist of a cloud?
Then he saw her. Duchess Amal, soaring toward him like an eagle diving for a fish. Her arms at her sides, her body straight, her hair and dress smooth from her apparent speed. Her eyes fixed on his. She stopped before him and her hair and gown billowed out around her, floating on air.
She held out her hand. Shall we, Your Highness?
Breathless, he took her hand in his. Thank you.
She tucked his hand around her arm and pulled them down. Slowly. Down. Through a misty cloud.
Down. Toward Granton Castle. The stronghold grew beneath their feet.
Achan could see the battle to the west. They drifted back toward the inner bailey, to the left of the great hall. The ground came closer. Nearer. His feet were almost there.
They passed through the dirt. The odd sensation choked Achan. All light vanished. Down. Down.
Darkness.
How far? Did Duchess Amal know exactly where his body
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