The Silver Stair

12

The gnoll stood stoop-shouldered inside the tent, too tall to stand completely upright without tearing the tent stakes loose, something he'd done several times already. He was admiring the ornamental broadsword Gair had hung just inside the doorway. When the light hit it just right, as it was doing now, he could see his eyes reflected in the blade.

He grinned, a trail of spittle edging over his lip. He wiped at it with a hairy paw, rubbed the paw against his pants leg, and reached up to tug the sword loose from its fastenings. He ran his clawed fingers over the carvings of pegasi and made a sound reminiscent of a cat's purr. Almost reverently he placed the sword on Gair's cot, admiring it a few more moments.

Next the gnoll slipped out of his red cloak and bright blue tunic. He tugged his boots free and carefully placed them and the socks on the end of his bed. Naked except for his loose-fitting trousers, which he rolled up to his knees, Orvago snatched up the sword again and stepped out of the tent, nearly barreling into Goldmoon.

"Good evening, Orvago." She smiled up at the gnoll. "Aren't you cold?"

He shrugged, wrinkled his snout, and glanced toward the sun, which was starting to set.

Her eyes drifted to the sword. "Isn't that Gair's?"

The gnoll nodded sheepishly.

"You're borrowing it to go hunting? I'm sure he won't mind, though I wish I knew where he was. I haven't seen him since last night."

The gnoll shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm sure he's all right."

The gnoll smiled broadly, revealing a double row of sharp teeth. His eyes glimmered with the same excitement she'd noticed when she saw him hunting the boars. He demonstrated to her how the blade reflected like a mirror.

"Tired of eating our cooked food?"

He nodded again.

"Well, good hunting, my friend," she offered as she turned and headed toward the settlement's main cookfire.

The scent of roast deer and the sound of friendly conversation drifted across the settlement. His keen ears picked up Jasper toasting the memory of Reorx the Forge, whom the dwarves considered the greatest of Krynn's gods, and he heard Camilla and Iryl discussing the renegade Que-Nal.

The pads of his feet were cold against the snow, but he considered it a pleasant sensation as he ran toward the north, toward where the River Shard met the Lake of Swords. He had grown so used to wearing boots that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel the snow beneath his feet. The biting cold put him on edge and made him more alert, and the wind teasing the greengray hair of his chest was invigorating. The sun was halfway swallowed up by the horizon, painting the ground a pale orange and making the edge of the broad sword gleam as if it had just been pulled from the forge. He sniffed the air, searching for prey, no longer picking up the scent of roast deer. The woods loomed ahead, and he raced toward them, quickly losing himself in the shadows of the thick trees.

He ran a little farther then dropped to his knees and traced a depression in the snow. There were other tracks nearby, under the spread of a massive willow-a large elk. Orvago followed the elk's trail, pausing occasionally to check his position and sniffing to keep track of its spoor. He dropped again, noting more tracks, tracing their outlines and sniffing. Abruptly he turned to the west now, following a different set of tracks.

The sun had set, and the woods were growing darker. The gnoll's dull red eyes separated the shadows. He could see well in the dark, but these tracks were difficult to follow, since they'd been covered up here and there.

The last of the light was fading, making the air even colder. Orvago traveled another hour, then another. The stars were winking into view, illuminating a trail made narrow by thickening trees and spreading ground cover. The tracks were fresher here.

The sound of voices drifted to him from ahead, beyond a thicket of trees. The gnoll recognized one of them. He picked out six distinct voices, all whispering in low, raspy tones. He crept closer. Eyeing the trees, he noticed several had carvings on them. He selected one with a hollow trunk and hid the broadsword in it, approaching weaponless.

Orvago drew himself up to his full height and walked forward into the clearing. His lips curled up in a smile at Gair, and he waved a hairy paw in the air in greeting.

The elf was standing in the center of a clearing filled with snow-covered mounds, bright to the gnoll's eyes against the black of the tree trunks, and against the black of the things that seemed to be talking to Gair.

There were six of them, manlike in shape and somehow blacker than night. They floated above the snowy mounds, speaking in voices that sounded like coarse whispers. Their hair, if it could be called stich, looked like trails of smoke waving madly away from their mouthless faces, and their eyes… these were what set a ridge of hair standing up on the gnolls back.

Their eyes burned white, unblinking and looking hot as coals. All six pairs were focused on Orvago. His lips curled back in a snarl. What passed for their black chests did not rise and fall. He could not smell them, and they did not breathe.

A menacing growl rose in Orvago's throat. The gnoll took a step back, and then another. A chill ran down his spine as he saw two of the black creatures separate from the group and advance toward him. They moved slowly, like clouds floating across the sky, their eyes seeming to burn white-hot. The other four remained in a semicircle around the elf.

What manner of creature are you ? one of them asked in its coarse, whispery voice.

"He is called a gnoll," Gair supplied.

A gnoll, it repeated. It cackled then, a sound like glass shattering. A living thing. We hate life, it continued. We will end the gnoll's life.

The others cackled, too, and Orvago threw his paws over his ears and backed away faster. The laughter was physically painful.

We will end your life, the second parroted, and we will make you one of us. You will thank us for your death.

They shot forward with a speed that amazed the gnoll. Impossibly black arms grew claws and reached out, slashing at Orvago's chest. He waved his hairy arms in an effort to fend them off.

The cackling continued, and two more spirit shapes floated forward. Four of the things circled the gnoll now, taunting him, darting in and scratching him with nails as sharp as any sword. The cuts were not deep, but they hurt terribly. Each swipe brought with it a freezing jolt. Their touch was colder than the snow!

Orvago retaliated with his own claws, but to little effect. His arms passed right through the black bodies and made him feel as if he'd thrust his arms into an icy pond.

We'll make you one of us! another tittered. The sentiment was quickly repeated until the coarse whispers drowned out his snarls. Make you dead!

Make you dead! The words became a chant that was echoed around the clearing. Dead. Dead. Dead.

"No!" The voice was Gair's, and it gave the creatures pause. "Leave the gnoll alone!"

The black creatures still hovered around the gnoll, darting in and out, eyes burning. The gnoll continued to bat at them as he backed away, glancing around. The hollow tree where he'd hidden the sword wasn't much farther away.

"Leave the gnoll alone," the elf repeated, moving forward even as Orvago continued to back away. "I want to talk to him."

The gnoll continued to back away as he tried to look beyond the black bodies to see his friend, carefully looking him over to make sure the black creatures had not injured the elf.

Gair understood the gnoll's concern. "I'm all right. They haven't harmed me."

We would not hurt him. Only help him. The master summoned us and gave us life, one of the black creatures explained.

Orvago's heart thundered in his chest, and his thick eyebrows rose in bewilderment.

Intensely glowing eyes moved to within an inch of the gnoll's face. They exuded a frigid wave, and they took on a reddish cast that grew steadily brighter. The gnoll's teeth chattered, and he backed away faster now. He was at the edge of the clearing now, nearing the hollow tree.

"Orvago, don't leave." It was Gair's voice again. "We need to talk, you and I. Well, I suppose I have to do the talking, and you have to listen very carefully."

The gnoll's eyes darted back and forth between the black shapes, vigorously shook his head and motioned frantically for the elf to come with him.

"That wouldn't be a good idea-not right now, anyway." Gair's tone was terse. "I need to stay a while longer with my new friends."

Orvago howled mournfully, and he desperately motioned to the elf once more to come with him. The woods had closed completely about Orvago now as he had maneuvered himself farther down the trail. The black creatures were still following him, passing through trees and effortlessly keeping pace.

Kill him? one asked in its whispery voice. Can we kill him, Master? Then we can go to your settlement, drink the life there.

Gair shook his head. "Not the citadel grounds. Goldmoon is there."

Not the citadel, Master. As you wish. But this animal? Let us drink the life from this animal, Master. You summoned us to do your bidding. Please let that bidding be to kill this creature.

The gnoll glanced through a gap in the icy black bodies, met Gair's stare.

"I summoned them, Orvago, just like the spirit said." The elf was keeping pace too, but he remained behind the black creatures, sticking to the center of the trail. "I used a spell that Goldmoon taught me, and because I summoned them, I am their master," He paused and threw his head back to look at the stars, inhaled deeply, then dropped his gaze to the gnoll. "I owe Goldmoon much for this enchantment, Orvago. She uses her magic only for the living. I simply made a few adjustments and called upon my father and Darkhunter for help. I choose to use my magic on the dead now."

Orvago was close to the tree now. Just a few more steps. The gnoll raised his hairy arms, trying to bat the creatures away.

The black things cackled. It sounded like breaking glass to the gnoll's sensitive ears. Gair was laughing, too. "Orvago, it takes more than that to drive them away. Indeed, I don't think I could make them go away even if I wanted to." His eyes narrowed. "Which I don't."

Suddenly Orvago's back was against the tree. He was feeling behind him for the hollow spot. There. He was working the fingers of his right hand inside the hollow trunk, stretching them lower.

"I know you consider me your friend, Orvago," Gair began.

The gnoll nodded his head animatedly.

"I'm not sure I can trust you. I know you can't talk, at least not in my language, but you can get your point across when you want to. I don't need Goldmoon finding out about my dark companions, my loyal wraiths."

Can we kill him now, Master? the largest of the black creatures asked. Its eyes consumed Orvago's vision. He reeks of life. Let us drink the sweetness from him.

The gnoll's red eyes grew wide and he swallowed hard. That word "Master" again.

Can we, Master? the large wraith repeated.

"I suppose so… yes, Darkhunter. You may kill him."

Orvago howled in disbelief.

"You may kill him," Gair continued, "but do so quickly. I do not want the gnoll to suffer for long."

The large wraith moved to Orvago, touching its icy chest to his hairy gray-green one. The gnoll yowled in agony at the painfully frigid sensation. The undead creature persevered, and Orvago slid to his rump, sobbing and twitching, growing weaker by the moment.

The gnoll's paw fumbled behind him, his fingers moving erratically. The pain was becoming even more intense, threatening to render him unconscious.

The wraiths' whispers grew louder, filled with promises that the gnoll would die but not die, that he would be raised at the behest of their elven master to walk with them. Stronger than the living, more powerful in darkness.

Behind them, Gair's voice grew irritated. "I told you to finish him quickly. There will be others to kill at your leisure!"

Tears poured from the gnoll's eyes, both from the pain that wracked his body and from the knowledge that his elven friend was ordering his death. His fingers continued to fumble about in the opening as one of the creatures thrust its intangible hands into his thighs. The icy sensation was almost more than the gnoll could bear, and he screamed, his voice sounding practically human in its pain.

"Enough of this, I said!" Gair spat. "Kill him now!"

With his free hand, Orvago tried desperately one last time to bat the creatures away. His hand passed through them again, adding to his icy agony. But when his claws raked at the eyes of the creature in front of him, the one called Darkhunter, the thing backed away. If he couldn't harm their ghostly forms, maybe he could hurt their eyes. And if he could hurt them, maybe he could kill them, or at least make them return to wherever they had come from.

The clawed fingers of his right hand finally closed about the carved pommel of the hidden sword. He drove Darkhunter back with the other by poking at the creature's eyes. Another spirit darted in under the sweep of his shaggy arm, its claws out and digging into his side.

The gnoll's sharp cry pierced the night, and the creatures howled in glee.

Do not fight the death we offer. Join with us, Darkhunter said. He floated just beyond the gnoll's reach, letting his fellow creatures dart in and out for the attack. Join with us. Join with us. The words became a ghostly refrain picked up by the other five. In death gain life. Join with us. Join with us.

The gnoll growled fiercely, summoned the last of his strength, and pushed himself to his feet. In the process, he passed through the forms of two wraiths, the sensation insufferable and threatening to send him to the ground again. He gritted his teeth and forced back a howl, then doubled over in pain as one of the spirits passed a hand into his chest. He withdrew the broadsword and swung it in an awkward arc, slicing into the large wraith called Darkhunter.

The wraith screamed, the noise so high and shrill it nearly caused Orvago to drop the blade. The other wraiths paused in their attack.

"Orvago, where did you get my sword?" Gair shouted.

Orvago gasped and swung the blade at Darkhunter again, driving it deep into where its belly would be. The scream was inhuman and long, and it trailed off into a snarl as the wraith flew backward. Darkhunter floated behind Gair, moaning from his unseen wound and cursing the gnoll.

The blade is enchanted, the wraith muttered.

"A magical sword?" Gair waved his hand, beckoning the five other wraiths to resume their attack. "So the man in town sold me a magical sword. Most certainly he didn't realize what he had, or he would have charged me much more. I didn't realize what I had. Do be reasonable, friend Orvago, and put it down. It is not yours, after all. I promise you this will be over swiftly."

The gnoll bellowed and charged forward, swinging the blade to the right and slicing at the waist of the nearest undead. The gnoll's muscles bunched; dragging the sword through the creature was like dragging it through mud. He sliced again, and the wraith howled and fled, even as he brought the weapon around to jab at another. This one, too, retreated.

Only three were left to face him. The elf's eyes were narrow slits, his lip curled upward in a sneer. Orvago had never seen him look like this. The elf's expression caught him off guard and bought his undead opponents an opening.

The nearest spirit suddenly disappeared into the ground, coming up beneath the gnoll to grab his ankles. Icy pain shot through Orvago's legs, and his knees buckled. The gnoll pitched forward, straight into the second wraith, whose claws clutched at Orvago's heart. The third had somehow gotten behind the gnoll and was clawing at his back.

The gnoll screamed and rolled on the ground, still refusing to drop the blade. He swung it clumsily and ineffectually, his opponents able to dodge his erratic movements.

The elf's expression softened as he regarded his friend. For a brief moment, he considered calling off the wraiths, but Darkhunter was at his side, demanding revenge for the pain the gnoll had inflicted on him.

Kill him, Darkhunter urged his fellow wraiths.

"Finish him," Gair pronounced. "Now!"

The three uninjured wraiths wrapped themselves around the gnoll like an inky blanket. Writhing on his back, it was all Orvago could do to raise his arm and try to feebly swing the sword.

The gnoll bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping this new pain would help him concentrate. It barely registered, though he could taste the blood in his mouth. Focusing his energy into his next swing, he lashed at his own leg, slicing through the wraith on top of it and digging into his own flesh.

The gnoll and wraith cried out simultaneously, and the spirit floated away. Two left. Orvago drove the blade down again. The tip bit into his abdomen, sending another jolt of agony into him. He tugged the weapon free and swung again. Another ghostly scream cut through the air as a second wraith fled. One left.

The gnoll was able to push himself to his knees. A few yards away, Gair was urging the injured wraiths to move forward, to surround the gnoll. "You should have finished him when I told you to," he lectured. "See what you've done by toying with him?"

There was a chorus of coarse-whispered apologies. The wounded undead continued to beg their master's forgiveness as Orvago stood shakily and faced his remaining opponent. He avoided looking at the things' eyes, which continued to unnerve him. Instead, he swept the sword back and forth in front of him, glancing sidelong at the elf.

The gnoll took a step forward, purposely giving the wraith an opening. The black creature took it, darting in and raking the gnoll's bleeding abdomen. Orvago felt numb, whirling only by sheer will and slashing at the creature before it could move away. The blade passed all the way through the wraith, and Orvago spun about and sliced at it again and again.

The wraith's brief scream drowned out the cries of its fellows as it dissipated. Bits of blackness, like rain, fell on the snow, then disappeared.

Orvago was weak and bleeding profusely. Still, he squared his shoulders and snarled defiantly He waved the sword again in a serpentine pattern he'd seen the men use on the ship that brought him close to Schallsea Island.

Darkhunter was conferring with Gair, the whispery words too soft for the gnoll to hear. The other four wraiths were behind the elf, nursing their unseen wounds and glaring at Orvago with their ice-hot eyes.

"I can't let him return to the settlement," Gair said. "Not now. No matter what. Goldmoon would question him about his injuries. Perhaps she could use a spell to pull the information from his small brain." With a gesture, he waved the four wraiths forward. Darkhunter remained at the elf's side.

Orvago spread his legs and bent at the knees, jabbing forward, sending the blade into the lead wraith's chest, then dragging it up through its mudlike form until the blade sliced through its neck. The creature screamed and disappeared, raining blackness on the snow. Not pausing, the gnoll aimed a blow at the ground, where one of the wraiths was coming up between his feet. The sword cleaved the thing's head in two. More rain.

The elf called the remaining two off, but Orvago pursued them. He slashed to his right, narrowly missing one, then turned and brought the sword down to his left, slaying a third. He shuffled forward, sweeping the blade left and right until he connected with the last of his foes.

Behind Gair, Darkhunter sought safety by seeping into the ground. The elf backed up, warily watching Orvago, who was stumbling toward him.

"You're hurt," Gair said. "I could heal you."

Orvago snarled. "I do not trust you," the gnoll said, the words guttural but clear.

"By the vanished gods, you can talk!" The elf drew his sword. It gleamed faintly in the starlight. He continued to back farther into the clearing, and the gnoll continued to follow him. "You're good with a sword," Gair said. "I'll warrant you that, especially with a magic one-my magic sword-but I'm the better swordsman."

"Maybe," the gnoll grunted.

"I don't want to kill you, Orvago."

"Liar."

The elf spun and darted down the trail, kicking up snow as he went. He dashed into the middle of the clearing, down a path between a row of burial mounds. A black shadow-Darkhunter, the gnoll guessed-rose from a mound and followed him.

Orvago did not pursue. He didn't have the strength. He turned and staggered southward, the magical sword in one hand, the other hand pressed as firmly as his strength would allow over the deep wound in his abdomen.

Dawn painted the snow a pale pink-like Camilla's lips, Gair mused. The clouds overhead were the color of her eyes. The elf was sitting deep in the Que-Nal woods on a rotted log. Wrapped in his cloak, he stared at a spot on the snow-covered ground.

The Solamnic knight commander was probably lost to him now, he suspected. He doubted she would understand or condone his dealings with the dead. Perhaps he could contact the spirits of some famous longdead Solamnic knights. That might impress her. He could give them form as he had to his wraiths, and maybe he could convince them to reason with her.

"Goldmoon?" he whispered. "She might forgive me on her own. Forgiveness is in her nature. She'd probably accept me back into the settlement, but she certainly wouldn't teach me any more mystical spells." He thrust his sword into the ground between his feet. "She'd try to stop me from using dark mysticism, and that I could not tolerate."

A shadow moved away from him and clung to the trunk of a thick willow tree. It was Darkhunter. The wraith was still recovering from the wounds Orvago had inflicted with the magical sword.

The elf allowed himself a wry smile. "My sword. With my sword that damnable gnoll dashed an entire day's worth of work-slaying five spirits I painstakingly brought through the doorway. One was my father, and that is a spirit I will bring back again."

Would it be easier the second time? he wondered, or harder, given that the elder Graymist had been slain by an enchanted weapon?

"By the vanished gods, why did I leave that sword hanging up in my tent where the gnoll could get it?"

No matter. He would try to get the sword back. He had to return to the Silver Stair sometime anyway, since he needed to use the energy that coursed through the ruin to bring back his father, and more. Perhaps on that trip he would liberate the sword. He had purchased it, after all. Perhaps he would kill the gnoll with it.

He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed.

"What am I saying? What's wrong with me? Kill Orvago?" The elf's shoulders shook. "I only intended to deal with the dead, not to add to the dead. What's happening to me?"

You are becoming stronger, the shadow of Darkhunter whispered.

It took the gnoll several hours to make his way back to the settlement. There was little life left in him when he collapsed at the base of the Silver Stair. His chest rose and fell raggedly, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It was dawn before he was discovered.

The entire settlement was ringed around him. Camilla stood over him, talking to Goldmoon and to Willum. Orvago couldn't make out the words. He hurt all over, and he felt terribly cold and weak. He couldn't move his arms or legs, couldn't feel them.

Goldmoon's face appeared above his, ringed by a fur-trimmed hood. He vaguely registered the feel of her hands on his chest. He sensed a warmth in those hands and in her smile. The dawning sun touched a few stray locks of her hair, making it glisten like gold. In the early morning light, she looked younger to the gnoll, beautiful for a human, and she made him feel warm. She was taking some of the hurt away.

The healer concentrated, focusing the power of her heart on Orvago. He was injured far worse now than when he had been gored by the huge boar. She prayed fervently to the memory of Mishakal that she could find the power to heal him.

The medallion about her neck tingled. Magical, she began drawing on its power. The warmth continued to surge from the necklace, from her heart, down her arms and into her fingers, into Orvago. In strengthening him, pouring all of her energy into the effort, she was weakening herself.

The gnoll moaned, and his chest began to rise and fall somewhat regularly now. The wound on his abdomen started to heal.

He heard Camilla above him. She gasped in surprise as his wounds closed. He heard Willum and the others who had gathered exchange words of amazement. He heard words of concern from Goldmoon's students and the dwarven builders, and this pleased him. The people of the settlement seemed to actually care about him. They were frightened for him, no longer frightened of him.

"Goldmoon," Orvago croaked. "Goldmoon… thank you."

"He talks!" This from Redstone, who hovered nearby. "When did he learn to talk?"

"Goldmoon…"

She shushed him to be still, and he felt blankets being draped across him. Something soft was being edged under his head by the dwarf, Jasper. Goldmoon's hands remained on his chest, continuing to warm him. He could breathe deeper with her here. The ache was lessening.

"Stay quiet," she said, drawing back. "You will be all right, but I don't want to move you for a while. I want you to get a little stronger first."

Jasper edged closer and placed his hands on Orvago's chest. The dwarf took over for Goldmoon, continuing to mend the gnoll's wounds. "We'll move you to your tent in a little while," the dwarf said. "You'll have to stay there for a few days. What did you run into that chewed you up like this?"

"Indeed. What happened?" It was Camilla's voice. "Who… what… did this to you?"

"Gair," he croaked. "Gair and the whisperers did this."