The Silver Stair

11

"The fire changed everything," Gair explained. "The new citadel will be more complex. Some of the dwarves have gone north and are mining crystal to use, and-"

"You believe in all of this, don't you?" Camilla interrupted.

He took the knight's hand and led her down one of the several paths that had been cleared through the thigh-high snow. The paths led from tent to tent to the main cookfire to the old building site, which was completely free of snow because of the heat of the recent fire. Only a light dusting from the new snow tried to conceal the rubble.

The eldest of the builders was already at work clearing away more of the debris. He was none too pleased about the weather and was cursing the snow that was still falling. "It doesn't snow inside Thorbardin," he muttered loudly enough for Gair and Camilla to hear.

"This section will be-" the elf paused, drawing his lower lip under his teeth as he searched his memory for the new plans he'd only bothered to glance at-"part of what will be called the Healing Lyceum. We're standing in what will be its very center." He led her toward the edge of the old site, where bits of charred wood still remained, and he pointed down into a deep, snowdusted basement. He tugged her back when he discovered how slippery the ground was. "Careful," he warned, pointing at a patch of ice that looked dull-gray in the pale dawn light. "According to Redstone's and Jasper's plans, the lyceum will have five floors, and part of it will cover this."

The Solamnic commander shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe Goldmoon isn't giving up."

Gair smiled wistfully. "I don't think she knows how."

"I wish I knew who was working against you. The ambush on the trail. The fire: it's not bandits-they wouldn't destroy, they'd steal. Maybe Knights of Takhisis, sent here to vex Goldmoon, though I thought they had some measure of honor and would have attacked openly. I just don't know." She ran her fingers through her tight curls. "I might not agree with what's going on here, Gair-Goldmoon's mysticism and everything- but these attacks against you must stop. I've sent word to the council that I need skilled scouts. They should be here in a few more weeks, and with them we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Are you warm enough for this?"

She nodded. The red wool cloak the knight wore this morning, coupled with the thick padding under her armor, kept the cold at bay. "I just wish I knew who the dastards are. An enemy you know is easier to fight."

Gair decided to change the subject as he steered her past Jasper and Redstone at the dwarven tent community. Both had their hair trimmed oddly short, and their skin was still terribly blistered from the fire. The smell of roast pork and the crackling of eggs cooking was rousing all the builders. They were chattering in their gravelly voices, seemingly oblivious to the human and elf.

"Jasper's going to build a tower for the knights you intend to station here. Maybe you should talk with him to make sure it will be big enough."

Her eyes flashed with a hint of anger. "Is all of this really necessary?" She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, then opened them again and took in the camp. Though the tents and lean-tos were much closer together now than before the blizzard and the fire, it still looked the same: a ragtag community of dreamers who had bundled up their hopes and worldly possessions and who had hitched themselves to the aging Hero of the Lance. "Why would someone of Goldmoon's age undertake something like this? She used to be a priestess of Mishakal. This"-she waved her hand to indicate the settlement-"this goes against the gods, and it goes against all my principles to protect her."

"But that's what you're doing-protecting her."

No answer. Her eyes were fixed on two bundled-up boys doing their best to add extra tent stakes to their canvas home. They were fighting with the frozen ground, and neither showed any indication of giving up.

Gair shrugged. "Camilla, I believe in Goldmoon. But maybe I don't always agree with her. I would have given up after the blizzard."

"This image you're painting of multiple buildings is most disturbing. Imagine how long it could take to construct them. Imagine the cost! The steel could be better spent helping the poor, rebuilding towns devastated by dragon attacks, paying soldiers in an army, funding…" She spun until her face was inches from Gair's. "Don't you realize this is all a frivolous waste of resources? If Goldmoon isn't senile, she must surely know that people, not this new order of mysticism, could make far better use of the money and effort."

Camilla scrutinized the elf. He looked like a twolegged bear in his hooded coat. She sighed and started to draw away, but he pulled her closer. "Gair, Goldmoon could have at least waited until spring when the weather was better. All the money and effort will be doubled if there are more fires and-"

"And perhaps the citadel will never be more than a dream," he said, "especially if this sabotage keeps up." He moved his face closer still until he could smell a hint of rose, something she washed her hair with. "If things get too bad, Camilla, maybe Goldmoon will take her project somewhere else. Then you'll have nothing to worry about."

"Will you go with her?"

The elf brought his slender fingers to her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips.

"Mornin', Commander, Mister Graymist," Willum interrupted as he hurried past toward a growing rank of soldiers. He drilled them each morning, though there were fewer today because several had accompanied the dwarves. "Cold one this mornin', isn't it? Cold enough to make your eyes freeze open."

The moment lost, Camilla stiffened and turned to watch the men.

"Good morning, Commander!" a tardy soldier chirped as he crisply saluted Camilla and rushed to find his place in line. The knight's eyes narrowed. She would reprimand the young man for his lateness when she returned this evening.

Gair tugged her away, noticing that she relaxed a little when they passed a high drift and the men were lost from view. He reached his hand to her face again as they slipped around another drift and were nearly knocked over by Orvago.

The gnoll grinned as he trundled by, growling a greeting to her and the elf. He was shuffling through the deep snow, making his own path and angling toward the building site, his bandaged arms wrapped around a bundle of wood dowels. Two shaggy mongrels followed him, light enough to scamper on top of the drifts. They barked and playfully nipped at each other's tails.

Camilla had seen the dogs before, hanging around the docks in town, though their ribs showed more prominently there. Even the four-legged strays had found their way to Goldmoon's settlement, she mused.

The gnoll barked at the dogs, and they barked back. One darted in front of Orvago, and he stumbled. Dowels went flying everywhere, landing in the snow, most of them sinking as if they were arrows shot from a bow. The gnoll howled, the dogs joined his chorus, and tardy risers poked their heads out of their tents to see what the ruckus was about.

"Hard to be alone here," he said too softly for her to hear.

"Wherever did this notion to build the citadel arise? Did you and Goldmoon spend months planning it?"

The elf gave a clipped laugh. "This Citadel of Light started as a vision," Gair began as he took her arm and steered her toward the main cook tent, where he was given a large basket of dried fish. "Goldmoon came up with the idea after she climbed the Silver Stair. She said she had a dream of dormitories for her students of mysticism, chapels, halls, lodging for visitors, stables, shrines, a great garden in the center, and in the very center of that the Silver Stair. Perhaps a moat around the entire complex, and…"

"And… ?"

"I guess the whole thing is pretty overwhelming."

"Sounds like a nightmare, not a dream."

The pair struck out toward the east now, plodding through the snow and making their own path as the gnoll had tried to do. It would take them perhaps a few hours to reach Heartspring walking through these heavy drifts. Without the snow, the trip of a few miles took little time.

"It's my turn to visit the village," Gair had told her. Someone from the settlement went to the farmers' village once a week or so to check on the families and to see if anyone needed healing. The blizzard and the fire had interfered with that routine. "I'm glad you agreed to come with me. I wanted to talk to you, to spend some time with you alone, and-"

"Gair!"

The elf turned to spot Iryl Songbrook plodding through the snow toward them, two Solamnic knights behind her. She was wrapped in a coat practically the color of the snow, her dark hair whipping out of the folds of her hood providing a sharp contrast. She was almost out of breath by the time she caught up to them.

"I was worried I'd missed you."

Gair gave her an impatient look.

"I'm going to Heartspring, too." She jangled her coin purse. "I need too see if the farmers have any more wool blankets to spare. Many of ours were lost in the fire. The ones you brought back with you from town helped, but-"

"I can do that for you," the elf volunteered.

"Nonsense!" she objected. "You'll be too preoccupied tending to the sick."

"You've brought these men to carry the blankets?"

She smiled at the elf. "Willum sent them. He said no one goes anywhere without protection. There's safety in numbers. He would've sent more, but he thought the commander would be satisfied with two."

Iryl brushed by the pair, taking the lead and forging the path through the snow. The lithe elf struggled in places, but he didn't sink as deep as the others and made a little better time. The knights fell in behind Gair and Camilla.

"So much for some time alone," Gair muttered under his breath.

The land between Goldmoon's settlement and the village of Heartspring was relatively flat, with a broad open stretch between two stands of pines and oaks. The snow that had blown to obscure the gently winding path gave character to the area, the drifts rising and falling like white waves captured on canvas with an artist's brushstrokes.

Gair mused that it seemed a shame to mar the landscape with their boot tracks, yet that is what they continued to do by plodding onward. They'd traveled several minutes when the sun broke through the gray sky and painted the snow a delicate pink. As the sky brightened further, the snow turned a glistening white, cut through at the edges of their vision by the blue shadows of the tall pines. A breeze was blowing from the south, dusting flakes across their path.

By midmorning, Heartspring came into view. The village was quaint, though not as tidy as the port of Schallsea. There were fewer than two dozen homes, all of them a mix of large fieldstone, mortar, and logs, none of them looking quite the same. The roofs were thatch, patched here and there with sod, and all had chimneys puffing merrily away. Outside each home was a collection of tools: plows, axes, bins, and others in various states of repair. These gave the village an old, cluttered look. Added to that were barns, some with roofs sagging under the weight of the snow, most with peeling paint, some with doors standing permanently ajar because the wood had warped. The fields extended to the east and south of the village, blanketed with white, though it was obvious Heartspring was spared from the worst of the blizzard that had struck Goldmoon's settlement many days ago. In the distance, a shed leaned into the wind, its door banging back and forth with each gust of wind. Behind it, an ice-covered lake reflected the sun's rays like a mirror.

The people who came out to meet the elves and knights seemed to match the buildings. Homesteaders who chose the fertile lands inland from the coast, they were all human. Many were in rumpled, mismatched clothes decorated with patches. The adults had weathered skin from the hours they spent under the sun in better climes. Some had hammers and other small tools sticking out of their pockets. The children wore clothes that looked either too small because they were outgrowing them or too large because they hadn't yet grown into the hand-me-downs. Only a few children had clothes that seemed to fit right. Nearly all of them wore smiles, and they were obviously happy to see Gair.

The children ogled the knights, rubbing grubby fingers over the silver armor and oohing and aahing at their wide-eyed reflections in the leg plates. The knights obliged the youths by answering questions about weapons, fighting, and life beyond Schallsea Island.

The visit in Heartspring was not unpleasant, but it had the feel of a ritual, with Gair presenting the dried fish to the village leader, a crusty old man with a voice as gravelly as any dwarf's. Iryl visited with a man who raised sheep, and Camilla could tell from the delicate elf's expression that she had secured more blankets.

Gair stopped at each home, taking time to ease the fever of an elderly farmer, mend the arm of a young child who slipped on the lake, offer reassurances to a pregnant woman. There was tea at one home, hot biscuits at another, kind words exchanged at all of them. Camilla silently watched, amazed at Gair's mystical talent-and troubled by it.

It was late afternoon before Gair had finished his rounds, turning down invitation upon invitation for dinner and promising that someone would return next week.

"Home, m'lady?" Gair said, extending his arm to Camilla.

"The settlement is your home, not mine," she replied. She volunteered to carry some of Iryl's blankets, keeping her arms occupied.

The entourage made better time on the return trip, following the trail they'd blazed in the morning. The knight noted that they would be at the settlement by sunset, in time for the evening meal and in time for her to patrol the grounds with Willum again before turning in. The wind had picked up considerably, blowing the topmost powdery layer of snow across their path and nipping at their fingers. The sky had quickly turned gray again.

"I'm looking forward to spring," Gair said simply. "I think-"

"Down!" Iryl dropped, hands and legs flying out, bundled body hitting the snow with a muffled whuff.

"What is it?" This came from one of the knights who'd been toting blankets. The other was fast to follow Iryl's example, landing atop his pile of blankets and driving them into the snow.

"Get down!" Iryl repeated.

Gair reflexively crouched, pushing Camilla into a drift just as a spear whizzed past from the north, slicing through the air where the commander had been standing a heartbeat before. Another spear came from the south, striking the sluggish knight's armor with enough of an impact to rattle him. He pitched forward, blankets flying like big, spooked birds.

Gair pressed himself into a drift, then rolled to face to the north, his fingers splayed across the snow. He was stretching out, magically, with his senses. He cursed himself for paying so much attention to Camilla that he hadn't noticed anyone lying in wait. He knew Iryl's natural senses, not so distracted, had warned her heartbeats ago that something was wrong. He reached inside himself and coaxed his mystical power to grow and flow outward.

My son, take care. Gair's father had opened the door. There are barbarians on both sides of the trail. Que-Nal. A deadly ambush.

"I think I saw something move!" Iryl called. "Too far away to make anything out. Can't tell how many!"

Gair swallowed hard. "Que-Nal," he said softly.

"Why didn't I say something about their involvement before now?"

Your words would not have prevented this.

The elf saw an unending blanket of white, cut through here and there by scraggly bushes. In the distance stood some evergreens, but the spear-throwers would not be that far away. Hiding behind one of the drifts, then.

"How many of them?" he asked as his senses flowed over the snow like running water.

Seven, the elder Graymist replied. To the north. Hidden by deep drifts.

"We're halfway between Heartspring and the settlement, too far from either to be seen," Iryl said, her voice low and panicked. "A perfect spot for an ambush. Why? Who would do this? We've nothing of value!"

"Except blankets," Camilla muttered.

Gair glanced over his shoulder to make sure Camilla was all right. She was extricating herself from the drift he had pushed her into and was now crouched in the narrow path they'd been making, edging her head up and looking to the south.

The elf returned his concentration to his spell and felt a tingling warmth in his fingertips, though his exposed skin was cherry-red from the cold. Directing the warmth away from him, his senses grew even more acute. He smelled the faint scent of pine, carried from the distant row of evergreens, smelled rotting wood where a bush had died and the snow was decaying the dead branches, smelled the snow, which had a clean, almost mystical scent. And he smelled wolves, mixed with the scent of men, the scent of the latter being more prominent. Men were wearing the skin of wolves for warmth, he decided. Indeed, there were seven to the north. To the south? He directed the warmth away and behind him, where he heard the shush of steel as Camilla drew her sword, then more whispers of steel as her two knights followed suit. Next he heard a fluttering noise. Camilla released her woolen cloak so it would not hamper her.

I can direct you out of here, the elder Graymist said. Alone, you would have a chance to escape. The barbarians would concentrate on the knights.

"Out of the question," Gair hissed.

Save yourself

The elf blocked out his father's insistent urgings, not bothering to shut the door, since the effort to do so might disrupt his other enchantment. His senses continued flowing farther to the south, where he discovered more men, wearing the skins of wolves and beavers. His acute hearing picked up their hushed conversation, but it was of a language he could not comprehend. The group was about thirty feet from the trail, well hidden behind snowdrifts and crawling closer. From the west, one large figure was approaching.

"Camilla," Gair whispered. "There are six to the south, seven to the north and one coming from the west."

"How… how do you know that?"

"Magic."

Camilla growled softly in her throat. "Badly outnumbered," the knight said, "and they've got us pinned down."

"Maybe we can crawl back to the settlement," Iryl suggested. "It's not dignified, but-"

"We stay put. They'll have to come closer if they want us," Camilla said. "Everyone stay alert."

"Unless they intend to freeze us out," one of the knights whispered.

The wind continued to chase the snow across their path, blowing stronger now. Gair squinted and cupped a hand over his eyes to keep the snow from getting in them. He noticed a white mound moving a little closer, and he dropped his hand to his belt, tugging free a knife. His other hand reached for the pommel of his long sword. His fingers were so painfully cold. Still, he kept his concentration on the spell so he could follow the barbarians' movements.

"What do you want?" Gair called out to them. "We've no coins with us!"

"The elves!" a strong voice from the north called. "The knights can go on their way."

Listen to me, Son. I can find you a path out of here.

Gair gritted his teeth.

"What is this all about?" Gair challenged. "We've done nothing to you!"

"You defy the gods!" This a softer voice from the south. "You and all in your settlement, all of you must die!" A spear followed the words.

"I can see them!" Iryl chirped. "By the blessed memory of Habbakuk, they're Que-Nal!"

Gair swung his gaze to the south. There were six barbarians, standing on a stretch of hard-packed snow, white and gray wolfskins and dark brown beaver furs covering their tall forms. The one in the lead carried a shield made of deerskin. There were symbols painted on it similar to those the elf had seen on the trees near the burial ground.

The shield-bearer spoke. "Silver knights! Our fight is not with you."

"Then leave us be!" Camilla called out.

"We will fight you if we have to," the shield-bearer continued, "unless you surrender the elves from the settlement, and unless you promise to leave the cursed settlement forever. We offer you life."

Son, there is still a chance I can direct you out of here! Listen to me!

To the north, Gair heard the sounds of more snow crunching, watched seven wolf-clad forms rise from behind a drift. Thirteen Que-Nal altogether, plus whoever the large figure was, were advancing from the west. The barbarians readied spears.

Listen to me!

The elf closed his eyes, tilted his head until his chin touched the snow. He released the enchantment he'd been holding and focused on another, and on the snow beneath him, reaching out with his thoughts to the north to sense the snow beneath the seven warriors' feet.

"Peace," Gair whispered. "Peace, warriors. I have peace in my heart. Find the peace in your hearts, too." It was a mystic spell similar to the one he'd used on the boars. He sensed their rapid pulses and tried to slow them, chattering comforting words as a mother would to calm an upset child. He directed all of his energy into trying to convince the men to be calm and to drop their spears. "There is no reason to threaten us," he murmured. "We do not threaten you. Find peace inside your hearts."

The elf discerned that four of the seven relaxed. Their fingers quivered, and they dropped their spears. Their breathing slowed. "Peace," they murmured, almost in unison.

Their fellows snapped at them and shouted that sorcery was at work. Gair continued to concentrate, and the quartet remained at ease, did nothing to regain their weapons. "Peace," the elf repeated. The word was echoed by the four barbarians. "Friends."

There were other words swirling amid the blowing snow-unintelligible words from the barbarians to the south, who were moving closer, words of concern and disbelief from Iryl Songbrook, orders from Camilla. There was a crunch of snow as the Solamnic knights stood to meet the challenge.

Listen to reason, Gair. Save yourself. It is not yet your time to die.

Gair used the last of his mental strength to reach out to the other three barbarians to the north. "We are no threat," he repeated emphatically. "Let me be your ally, not your enemy."

"No threat," two finally parroted. They dropped their spears. "Allies."

Iryl gasped. "Camilla, Gair's spellbound… ."

"No!" bellowed the last of the Que-Nal warriors. Gair touched the man's mind and was instantly repulsed. His will was strong, and he was angry. That ire was a shield that kept the elf's soothing words at bay. The barbarian cursed to his companions, who continued to stand docilely. Then the barbarian bolted toward Gair.

The elf struggled to get to his feet, but his coat tangled in his legs and cost him precious seconds. Behind him, the knights advanced to the south to meet the charge of the six approaching barbarians.

"Take the woman knight first!" one of them roared.

"I don't want to kill you," Camilla hissed through clenched teeth. To Iryl, she said, "Keep yourself down and watch for more."

Gair managed to make it to his feet just as the angry Que-Nal warrior was upon him. The elf held his sword parallel in front of him, using it to fend off the barbarian's attack. The Que-Nal was young, perhaps only fourteen or fifteen. The scattering of blood-soaked beads in his hair clacked together as he dropped to a crouch, thrusting up with his spear.

"They don't sink into the snow!" Gair reported, studying the odd, wide boots his attacker wore. It distributed the youth's weight and kept him on the surface. The elf easily parried each jab, while at the same time, he kept a corner of his mind focused on the six submissive warriors to the north. He needed to keep them calm so they would not join the fray.

"No!" It was Camilla's voice, and Gair risked a glance behind him.

One of her Solamnic knights was staggering, hands clutched in front of him. He fell onto his back, a spear protruding from his throat, and beneath the weight of his plate mail, he was quickly swallowed by the snow.

Still parrying the young warrior's frantic attacks, Gair noticed that Iryl had retrieved a miscast spear. She held it in front of her, evidencing that she knew how to use it, and kept her eyes glued to the west, where a shadow on the horizon suggested the large figure was closing.

Camilla and the remaining knight were back to back, thigh-deep in snow. The two knights were exchanging blows with the six attackers who had ringed them and were at a disadvantage because of their lower position. Still Camilla managed a lucky blow, her sword cleaving deep into the leg of one of the barbarians. He fell, howling, and the Solamnic commander brought her sword down hard, finishing him off.

"This is senseless!" Iryl spat. The lithe elf had discarded her voluminous cloak and was heading toward the knights, plodding through the snow and waving the spear back and forth in front of her. "The Que-Nal are peaceful. My friends, stop this!"

A young warrior broke away from the knights and charged Iryl. "Friends! Only the weak Que-Nal befriend outsiders," he proclaimed with a sneer. "Only they ignore the trespassers at the stair. Not Shadowwalker's clan!"

"Shadowwalker!" Iryl declared. "By the blessed memory of Habbakuk!"

She used her spear to knock away his first thrust, whirled in the snow, and fell prone as his second attack passed over her head. She rolled to the right as he moved in and jabbed downward. Covered with snow, she managed to get to her feet and continued to parry the warrior's attacks.

To the north, Gair tried to reason with his foe. "I have no desire to kill you!" he said.

The youth laughed. "Zebyr Jotun does not trouble my mind with such concerns." He drove forward, pressing the elf back and jamming his spear down, trying to impale the elf.

Gair moved at the last possible moment, hurling his knife at the youth and striking him in the stomach. The young warrior continued to cackle, tugging the bloodless knife free. His furs were so thick, it was as if he were wearing armor and the blade was too small to find its way through. Knife in one hand now and spear in the other, he advanced on Gair again.

"You give me no choice!" the elf shouted. Softer, to himself, he added, "I can't afford to dally with you when Camilla is in danger."

The elf darted in, swinging hard to the right and splitting the youth's spear. Without pause, he lunged in and swept the blade again, cutting through the thick skins and finding flesh beneath them. The young warrior struggled back a step, gasping in surprise and pain.

Nearby, Camilla crouched in the snow, making herself a smaller target. Then a heartbeat later she rose, and feinting to her right, sliced forcefully under the barbarian's shield. The blade bit through his fur and deep into his stomach. The startled Que-Nal grunted and fell back, his hand pressing against the growing line of red staining his pelt, then dropping the decorated shield.

"Kill the woman knight!" This was a new voice, and all eyes swiveled to the south to spot an ancient man yards away, his long hair as white as the snow and blowing wildly about a deeply lined face. "Kill all of them!" He raised his hands, thumbs touching, fingers spread wide.

"Shadowwalker!" Iryl moaned. She was still locked in a fight with a Que-Nal warrior.

Another blow, and Gair dropped his foe.

The remaining four Que-Nal continued to jab at Camilla and her knight. Blood stained the snow around the latter, and his slow movements showed he was seriously wounded.

Gair! The elder Graymist intruded again. You and your friends cannot win this battle. Not now. Hide!

"Never!" Gair cursed as he plowed through the snow to the south, slowed only by his indecisiveness of whether to help Iryl or the two knights.

The four around Camilla and her knight increased the tempo of their attacks, thrusting with the tips of their spears, then bringing the other ends around as if their weapons were quarterstaffs.

Far behind them, the old man was humming, the droning sound cutting through the clamor, unnerving Gair.

He has magic, Gair's father surmised. That's why you cannot win. Run while you can, Son! We've much work to do together. Do not throw your life away for these people.

"These people are my friends," the elf growled.

Several blows glanced off Camilla's armor, but one struck the side of her head, momentarily stunning her. She sagged back against the other knight, who was faring worse. A spear had found its way between the plates in his armor just as he had managed to land a serious blow against one of the barbarians.

Another glance told Gair that Iryl was holding her own, so he darted toward the knights, feet flying over the snow and sending a shower of white in his wake.

"Orvago!" Iryl hollered. "It's Orvago!"

The shape coming from the west was the gnoll. He was running, jowls wide open as he howled.

"Orvago! Help us!" Iryl called to him. "Hurry."

As the gnoll closed the distance, Shadowwalker clapped his hands together, the sound booming like thunder. The wind gained more strength, whistling fiercely and whipping snow into the eyes of the knights and the elves. The snow seemed not to bother the Que-Nal, who continued to worry at the knights.

A grievously wounded warrior dropped his spear and threw himself on the male knight, bearing him to the ground and pitching him into Camilla in the process. Camilla struggled to stay on her feet as the other three warriors thrust their spears at her.

Gair wasn't yet close enough, and one of the Que-Nal spears found its mark. It skewered the commander from behind.

"No!" Gair cried.

Despite her injury, the Solamnic knight moved quickly. She brought her sword down on the arm of an attacker in front of her, cleaving it and sending a shower of blood everywhere. With the spear still protruding from her back, she whirled and swept her sword high, slicing through the hides of the already wounded barbarian who was atop the other knight. The youth cried out once, then fell lifeless.

"Only three left," Gair chattered to himself as he closed the distance. "We can prevail here yet."

You can't, his father hissed into his ear, and now you can't run.

The wind became even more fierce, like the blizzard of a few weeks ago. The world turned white. "Did he cause that storm, too, Father?" Gair hollered to hear himself above the wind. "Was the old man responsible?"

I do not know, the elder Graymist replied, the spirit's voice a mere whisper.

Camilla's chest was heaving from the exertion, her breath puffing away from her face like a chimney being stoked and melting the flakes that swirled in front of her. Her back burned, and she felt the blood running from her wound and soaking the padding beneath her armor. She couldn't see more than inches in front of her and concentrated on listening to the swishing sound of the Que-Nals' feet over the drifts. There was one in front of her! She rained a succession of harsh blows toward it, hearing a sharp crack when her sword cut through a spear.

Three Que-Nal, two of them weaponless, danced around her as if the snowstorm was not there. One darted in and picked up the fallen knight's sword, then brought it up to parry Gair's swing. The elf was not relying on his eyesight but was listening to his father tell him where the barbarians were.

Crouching, the elf feinted, then rose up and rammed his sword forward and felt it sink into someone in front of him. "Keep me away from Camilla!" he called to his father. "I don't want to harm her by mistake." Nor do I want her to harm me, he thought.

Away from the pair, Iryl clutched the spear in one hand, and with the other tried to bat away the snow so she could see. She felt a rush of air and leapt to the side, feeling the brush of fur as the Que-Nal charged where she had been a heartbeat before. She felt another brush of fur, this more coarse, and heard a deep-throated growl.

"Orvago!" She let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks be to the memory of Habbakuk!"

"Kill them!" the old man continued to shout. "For Zebyr Jotun! Kill them!"

"A beast!" the Que-Nal nearby Iryl cried. "Shadowwalker, they have monsters on their side!"

Chaos continued to rain in the swirling snowstorm. The clang of Gair's and Camilla's swords rang out against the spears of their foes and the soft thuds of the blades striking the thick hides of the barbarians. A muffled cry cut through the wind, Camilla's, followed by a series of thuds and clangs as an incensed Gair retaliated.

"Camilla's down!" Gair called out, hoping that Iryl still lived. "Father, how many left?"

Still three, the elder Graymist answered. One is sorely injured.

"Tell me where they are, Father!"

More blows rained.

Somewhere in the wicked whiteness, the old man continued to shout, "Kill them all!"

Near Iryl, the gnoll was wildly slashing at a barbarian who was doing his best to crawl toward Shadowwalker. The gnoll's hood was thrown back, revealing his doglike face, spittle flying and freezing as he continued to claw at the man.

Camilla was face first in the snow and struggling to push herself up. The knight was faint from cold and the loss of blood, her fingers practically frozen.

Gair was wounded, too, from spear jabs that penetrated through his defenses and punctured his legs, but none of the wounds were serious. He stepped in front of Camilla, following his father's directions, thrusting his sword forward like a spear, driving it through one of the remaining barbarians.

Two left! The elder Graymist's voice finally showed a hint of optimism. The monster you call your friend has finished another, and the old man is retreating!

The gnoll's victory cry cut through the chaos, sending a shiver down Gair's spine.

The two remaining are fleeing, too, his father continued. The monster has unnerved them! It was fortunate your beast was worried over your tardiness and came looking for you. The monster is good for something after all.

The gnoll was snorting and growling, trying to find his way through the snow to pursue his quarry.

"Let them go, Orvago!" Gair shouted as his father explained what the gnoll was trying to do. "Over here! I need you!" Then the elf slumped to his knees, as if the effort of shouting took the last of his strength. "I should have told Goldmoon and Iryl about the Que-Nal, Father." His voice was soft, cloaked by the sound of the wind-driven snow.

No, his father corrected. You were right to keep the knowledge hidden. It would not have prevented this.

"Camilla!"

There was nothing but the persistent shushing of the snow and Orvago's growls.

"Where is she, Father?"

Lost to you, Son. Mortally wounded, I'm afraid. She is slipping toward my realm. I will welcome her for you.

Gair shut out the rest of his father's words and groped furiously with his frigid hands, desperately trying to find Camilla. She was lying on her side, a layer of snow atop her, a spear lodged in her back. He felt her face, his fingers dancing down her body until they encountered the warm stickiness of her blood. Gair blocked everything else, focusing on his heart, trembling from fear of losing her, calling forth his healing spell.

The magic was dead within him. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, too spent to nurture a mystical spark.

"Please!" the elf whimpered as he concentrated harder, felt himself grow colder as all his energy was directed inward. His breathing became ragged, and he slumped over her still form. "Please!" He could sense his heartbeat, weakening himself further as he tried to draw energy from it. It thrummed irregularly as he gave up the last of his strength in an effort to find his mystic center. The penetrating cold, and a blackness that came up from nowhere and everywhere, swelled to surround him, and he felt himself lose his grip on consciousness and spiral downward. "No!" It was a hoarse whisper of protest. "I won't give up yet!" Just as he suspected he might fail himself, he found a last bit of energy left in his limbs, and the elf felt something stir within him, something inexplicable, a faintly mystical pulse.

He pictured it as a flame, and he crouched over it, protecting it from the wind and blowing on it gently to give it more substance. The image became more real in his mind until he could feel the warmth of the fire he was building. It was chasing the cold from his limbs, melting the snow all around him. He continued to tend the flames, fingers scrabbling over the dry ground he was mentally painting, gathering twigs and dead leaves. These he shoved into the fire, and it grew.

The elf pulled back from the image now, registering himself draped over Camilla. The warmth from the fire in his chest was surging down his arms and into her unmoving form. The waves were strong, as he'd felt them moving into himself when Jasper healed him on the trail in what seemed so long ago. He stoked the fire higher and was rewarded when he heard her gasp, felt her move slightly.

Still focusing on his healing wave, he reached around to her back, where the spear was lodged. It was not too deep, and he tugged it out, pressing his fingers into the wound and coaxing his mystical warmth inside.

She moaned softly.

"You'll be all right." Guided by Orvago, Iryl had found her way to the knight commander's side. "Gair is healing you."

"No!" The word was firm. She tried to push herself away from the elf's hands, but Iryl held her down, and Camilla hadn't the strength to handle the slight elvish woman. "Take me to town, please. There's an herbalist at the Sentinel. She'll see to me. No magic."

Gair's fingers fluttered across her arm, where he felt a broken bone. He couldn't set it, though he knew Goldmoon or Jasper could handle that task. He could stop the bleeding and ease her pain. He directed the warmth to flow into the arm.

Camilla was growing stronger, and Orvago helped keep her from squirming.

"I don't want this!" The words were almost lost in the still-blowing snow. "None of this mysticism. None of it. Let me die… or take me to town."

"I won't let you die, lady knight," Gair said. "And the port is days away." He turned his attention back to the spell and directed the last of the healing warmth into her. Thoroughly spent, he fell back into the soft snow, gasping and clutching his cold fingers to his chest.

"Willum," Camilla moaned. She was feverish, ranting. "Willum, don't let them heal me. None of their mysticism. None of it."

Iryl smoothed the knight's hair and cradled Camilla's face in her lap to protect it from the wind. "Everything will be all right, Commander Weoledge. Rest now."

The miniature storm died several minutes later, leaving behind snow that had all but covered the bodies of the slain Que-Nal and the two knights. One of the latter lived, barely, and Gair somehow found just enough mystical strength to stop his bleeding. The elf plucked at the fastenings of the armor and tugged it off the man.

The gnoll padded over, removed his own cloak, wrapped it around the wounded knight, and hoisted him gently over his shoulder. Orvago glanced to the west. He had followed their tracks to get here, and the storm that came from nowhere covered up all trace of them.

Iryl brushed the snow from the slain knight, ran her fingers across his eyelids to close them, and offered a quiet prayer to the departed Habbakuk. Finished, she joined Gair, who had removed Camilla's armor and was wrapping her in one of the blankets, then lifted her in his arms. The knight was as tall as the elf and at least as heavy, but Gair somehow managed to carry her.

"We'll have to return for the armor and the rest of the blankets," he told Iryl. "Too heavy to deal with now."

A blanket under each arm, she nodded and took the lead, her eyes darting to the north and south, fearful of spotting more Que-Nal. "I did not believe the Que-Nal capable of this," she said. She shook her head in disbelief. "As a whole, they are a peaceful people. I apologize."

"For what?"

"I was blinded to the truth of the real nemesis. If I'd had a clue that Shadowwalker was involved, I could have prevented this," Iryl declared.

"Prevented it?" Gair sucked in his breath. "How?"

"Shadowwalker's a renegade. The chieftain of the Que-Nal, Skydancer, is a close friend of mine. I could have said something to him. He and his people could have stopped Shadowwalker, stopped all of this. Shadowwalker's mad, my Silvanesti friend. You heard the young warriors mention Zebyr Jotun? That's one of their gods. You might know her as Zeboim, queen of the sea. Shadowwalker believes the gods are still here and thinks that his power comes from her. He's mad… and dangerous. He's probably behind the fire at the citadel, the attack on the pilgrims. All these deaths, Gair-the fire, everything-they could have been prevented if only I'd known."

Not another word was spoken as Orvago, Gair, and Iryl forged a new path through the snow.

It was after sundown by the time they reached the settlement. They went straight to Goldmoon's tent, where the aging healer and Jasper tended to the knights. Camilla's protests to their mystic ministrations were ignored.

Gair padded from the settlement when he was confident Camilla would live and that she was resting comfortably. "Could have prevented this," he muttered to himself as he passed by the Silver Stair, just winking into view with the stars. "Well, I will put an end to all of this. Darkhunter will tell me where to find this Shadowwalker, and I will deal with the old man." And then I will return to Goldmoon and beg her to cleanse this darkness I feel growing stronger inside me, the elf added to himself.