The Silver Stair

16

Jasper pounded his ale mug down on a log that served as a table and gave a cockeyed look at Redstone across a merrily burning campfire. "Good ale," he pronounced. "The perfect finish to an evenin' meal." He patted his stomach. "An' now I need to take a walk and work some of this off. If you'll excuse me?"

She grinned politely her thick upper lip coated with foam from the ale. The blisters on her face and hands from the fire were healing, and they didn't look quite so bad in the firelight. Behind her, great chunks of crystal sparkled, brought this morning by a team of dwarven miners, who turned right around and headed back to the mines. There was no rest for anyone. Work on the citadel had resumed in earnest again.

Jasper touched her shoulder and glanced up at the winking stars. The moon would be full tonight, he noticed as he watched it edge its way up from the horizon. "I shouldn't be gone too awfully long, Red. Just takin' a walk. An' then you can tell me all about those domes you've got on your mind." Then he was heading down the path away from the building site and toward the Silver Stair, which was shimmering into view.

The dwarf stared at it in amazement, which was how he looked at it every time the moon revealed it. "The gods summoned fireflies, I think," he said to himself as he trundled forward, touching the bottom step and sighing deeply as the energy tingled into his fingers. "Summoned fireflies and talked 'em into holdin' this pose forever." He pressed his palms against the step, as he did each time as way of a ritual rather than a confirmation that the stair would hold him. Then he took a step up and then another.

"No better place." He continued to talk to himself as he went higher. "Goldmoon was right." Talking to himself was also something he always did when he took a trip on the stair. It kept him preoccupied so he wouldn't look down quite so often. "Best place to build the citadel. Goldmoon was definitely right. An' I was silly to think we should wait until spring to begin buildin' again. Right place, right time. Still, I'm kinda tired of startin' it over and over again. The blizzard, the fire. Why can't the fates just let us be? We ain't botherin' nobody."

He tugged on his terribly short beard when a bracing gust of wind struck him. He reached up to touch a step just above his head for support. "Wonder if my Uncle Flint ever got to see this? Hope he did. Hope he got a chance to climb it. Hope everyone in Krynn comes here to see this and takes a climb. Amazin'."

He was dressed warmly, but the cold cut through his clothes as he climbed ever higher and watched the lights of the settlement grow smaller all around him. He paused and frowned when he glanced to the south, where the three-story citadel used to be. "A whole lot of sweat an' work went into that," he grumbled. "Well, the next one'll be even better." The damage the fire caused looked worse from above. The basement was an ugly black scar against the snow-covered earth, reminding him of that night. He pushed it to the back of his mind and continued to struggle up the steep steps. It seemed a little harder to climb each time.

"Maybe I'll see Uncle Flint tonight," Jasper reflected, "or maybe I'll have another vision of that ship. Mmm… what was it called again? Flint's Anvil. That's it. The ship with the barbarian cap'n who carried all the knives. I'd kinda like to see how that's gonna turn out. Can't imagine me on a ship, though, an' in the company of a kender. The ground's much better than the sea. Doesn't move aroun'. The ground an' these stairs."

"Take it easy, Goldmoon." Camilla Weoledge took the aging healer's hand and guided it to her forehead so she could feel the considerable bump.

The healer blinked to clear her senses. She was inside her tent, lying on her cot, the Solamnic Commander at her side and looking entirely sympathetic. She felt a little thirsty, and she made a move to get up. The knight helped her. There was a pitcher of water on her table, next to the lantern.

The lantern. It burned almost cheerfully.

"Camilla, how long have I been here?"

The knight pursed her lips. "Several hours, Goldmoon."

"You've been here with me?"

Camilla nodded. "The entire time. Gave me some time to think… about a lot of things. Primarily what you said about mysticism being a gift from the gods." She made a huffing sound and ran her fingers through her tight curls. "Sometimes I take a rather narrow view of things, I'm afraid. I've certainly been too harsh a judge on you, Goldmoon, when it wasn't at all my place to judge. I've been critical of the citadel, and the citadel's not such a bad idea, really. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that."

Goldmoon found herself smiling. "What happened?" She touched the bump on her head again and cringed.

"You must've fallen quite a way," the knight replied. "Orvago started howling so loud he got everyone's attention real fast. We all came running and saw you on the ground. What were you thinking, trying to climb the stair in broad daylight? None of us could see it, but Jasper said it was there."

"It's always there. It's just unmasked in the moonlight."

"Jasper healed you, and Orvago carried you in here. You've been out for hours. You obviously needed the rest, and-"

"By the memory of Mishakal! Did you say hours?" She fought a sensation of dizziness, grabbed on to the table and stared at the lantern.

"Most of the day, anyway. Why don't you take it easy and I'll go get Jasper. He'll be pleased you're awake. I'll find some dinner for you, too."

"Dinner?"

"There's bound to be some left."

"It's that late?" Goldmoon edged away from table and focused on her heart to give her strength.

"Some cider, too, and-"

"No." Goldmoon remembered exactly what had happened. She met Camilla's gaze. "It was Gair. Somehow he made me fall off the Silver Stair. He was inside my head." She swallowed and closed her eyes, reaching inside herself. "Thank the memory of Mishakal he's not there now."

Camilla looked puzzled, but she remained silent. She watched the healer gather her cloak and wrap it around herself, then kneel beside her cot and pull out a long, wrapped bundle. She reverently untied it.

Inside was a staff, plain-looking and covered with whorls and knots. It shone softly in the light of the lantern. Goldmoon gently tugged it free. It was wholly unremarkable save for a leather thong that was tied near one end, from which dangled brilliantly colorful feathers and beads. The healer ran her fingers along a whorl.

"It's been a long time since I've used this." Goldmoon leaned on it for support as her eye was attracted to Camilla's hip. A long sword rested there, a different one than the knight usually carried. The pommel was uncharacteristically ornate for the commander's tastes. It was fashioned in the shape of a griffon's claw, the talons gold and gleaming and holding a red gem that glowed with an inner light.

"Have to get to the stair," she told the knight. There was resolve in her voice, in her expression. "I believe Gair is capable of destroying it." She fastened her cloak about her neck and brushed by the knight. "And capable of a lot more."

"Destroy the stair?"

"I believe that is his intention."

Camilla blew out the lantern and followed. "I'll station some of my men at the base-plenty of them this time. And we'll-"

A scream cut through the air, shrill and terrifying.

The healer cocked her head. "From the trail to Heartspring," she breathed.

The knight ran toward the trail, her young legs carrying her quickly across the snow-covered ground and leaving Goldmoon far behind. She motioned to Willum, who had paused to talk to Redstone. He had heard the scream, too, and had his sword drawn.

Another scream sliced through the air, and then another. A child was crying, too, the sobs distant and chilling. "The farmers!" she cried. "Gather the men!" The staccato words cut through the murmurs swelling in the settlement.

The dwarven builders were on their feet, several with hammers in hand, looking about for the source of the screams. The fishermen were pointing at the knights, gathering at the eastern side of the settlement where the trail to Heartspring began.

Parents were clutching their children to them, looking to Goldmoon for direction. The healer was waving everyone into the center of the clearing, save for the warriors among the settlers. These she was directing toward the Silver Stair.

Soldiers were falling into line, and Willum barked orders at them as he rushed toward Camilla. "Guard the settlement!"

Then the knights were clanking down the trail, running in the direction of the ongoing screams.

The top step had just come into view when Jasper heard the screams. The faint clank of armor and the chatter of the townsfolk were so soft from his high vantage point that it sounded like half-imagined whispers. He took another step up and then another, thinking that the screams were part of the vision he was about to have. One step away from the top.

He stopped and scratched his nose, looking down at the mist that cloaked the ground so far below. He strained his ears. "By Reorx's beard, I think somethin's goin' on below!"

The dwarf took another glance at the topmost step, shimmering invitingly mere feet away, then he carefully turned around and started down. "Ship'll have to wait for later." He resumed talking to himself as his stocky legs moved quickly-but not too quickly- down the steps. "Yep, somethin's goin' on. Don't have much built yet on the citadel for anybody to destroy. Got to be new trouble."

There was a shape below him on the steps, just emerging from the mist. "Turn aroun'." He waved to the man. "Trouble at the settlement. Gotta get to it. Hurry up."

The shape paused.

"Go on!" Jasper urged. "I can't get aroun' you. Get movin!" The dwarf waved his thick arms, then slowed his pace as his frantic waving almost made him lose his balance.

"Be careful," the other figure said. "I wouldn't want you to fall, like Goldmoon did this morning."

The dwarf stopped and peered through the darkness, using the light from the steps to help him see the figure. "Gair?"

"I had hoped you hadn't forgotten me already."

A shiver raced down the dwarf's spine, and his fingers edged down to lock around the handle of his hammer.

Camilla raced down the trail, Willum close on her heels. Behind them ran more than a dozen knights, some who were still struggling to put on pieces of their armor. The moon was climbing higher, and that coupled with the starlight reflecting off the snow guided their way.

The trail to Heartspring still remained buried beneath several feet of snow, but there was a path through the drifts, cut by people traveling back and forth. It was narrow, and no more than two of the knights could move side by side without finding themselves in thigh-deep snow.

The screams continued, panicked and terrifying.

Willum was humming in his throat. "Must be a family," he huffed. "I think I heard a child."

Camilla nodded and picked up the pace. She spotted a figure ahead, crouched a few yards off the path, slight, probably a woman. A small form was lying on the snow in front of her, and she was sobbing over it. The screams continued farther along the trail.

The knight commander motioned Willum and two men to investigate the woman, then she and the others raced on, their breath puffing away from their faces like chimneys. Camilla saw more figures in the distance as she neared the village. There was a wagon turned on its side; people had gathered around it. Someone was screaming.

She looked frantically to the right and left, trying to spot any renegade Que-Nal warriors who might have been responsible. Seeing no sign of any, she pushed herself and her men toward the wagon.

Dozens of yards behind her, Willum plodded through the snow toward the woman. He could make out her cries now. "My baby. My darling baby!"

"Let us help you!" he hollered to her as he nearly stumbled in the thick drift. Unlike the woman, he was too heavy to move about on top of the snow. He sank through it with each step. Two knights followed in the path he was blazing. "There are healers at the settlement. We'll take your baby there."

"My baby. She's dead," the woman sobbed. "Poor baby."

A moment more and Willum was at her side, reaching out to the small shape lying on the snow. Then a moment more and he was gasping, recoiling in terror, and bumping back into his men who were just catching up.

"My baby." The woman pulled back her dark cloak, the moonlight revealing a face more bone than flesh. Hollow eye sockets looked out at the knights, and her jaw dropped open. "My baby."

The small form at her feet stirred, and Willum struggled to speak, but his throat had gone instantly dry.

The creature sluggishly stood. It was a child, a Que-Nal, with beads and feathers in its matted hair. Not so long dead, there was more flesh on the small bones, but now the flesh that remained was swollen around the throat, revealing that some terrible disease had claimed her.

"My baby," the dead woman cackled as she struggled to her feet. The cloak fell away from her. In the moonlight, the bones showed through her rotting flesh, glistening like the snow.

"It's a trap!" Willum yelled as loudly as he could, finally finding his voice. He stepped forward and swung at the adult creature, slicing through an arm and sending it flying away. "Warn Camilla!" He barked to the knights behind him. "Go!"

Despite the order, only one of the knights trudged hurriedly away. The other came up to Willum's shoulder, drawing his sword and pointing it at the smaller corpse. "What manner of creatures are these, sir?"

Willum shook his head. He was humming nervously in his throat and weaving his sword in front of him. The large corpse advanced on him, cackling "My baby" and clacking her bony jaws. She reached out for the lieutenant just as he swept the blade to the right, and her clawed hand darted to scratch at his mail. A finger broke from the impact with the metal, and her hollow eyes stared at it hanging limply on her hand.

"They can't hurt us!" Willum said, his voice a shout, though the knight was only inches away. "They can't get through our armor. I'll be all right. Go warn Camilla." The knight turned reluctantly. "No!" Willum shouted. "Get back to the settlement. I think these things were meant to draw us away!"

The Solamnic lieutenant turned his attention back to the corpses. The smaller staggered forward, wrapping her arms around Willum's waist. The knight ignored her for the moment, concentrating on the larger foe.

Jaws clacking, cackling, the larger female corpse shuffled forward atop the snow, too light to sink beneath the drift. She lashed out at Willum's face, but the knight turned, and the bony fingers raked only air. At the same time, he brought his sword up through her rib cage, what would be a mortal blow to any living creature. She only cackled louder.

He pulled his sword free as she threw herself at him, arms wrapping around his sword arm and shaking hard. The corpse was strong and persistent, eventually forcing the knight to lose his grip on the pommel. The blade fell into the snow and disappeared.

"My baby!" she wailed as she brought her jaws toward his unarmored hand.

Willum clamped his teeth closed, the nervous humming in his throat louder. He brought his free hand up to her head and tangled his fingers in her hair. He groaned when he heard the fastening break on his leg plate and risked a glance down. The small corpse had sawed through the leather with her teeth, and her claws were reaching to his leg.

"No!" he hollered as he tugged hard on the adult corpse's hair. Muscles bunched as he yanked, and he was rewarded with a sharp crack. He held the dismembered head in his hand for a moment before he hurled it aside, taking a deep breath before dealing with the smaller one.

The large corpse continued to fight and would not let go of his sword arm. Although it was muffled by the drift he tossed the head into, he heard it continue to cackle.

"By the breath of Kiri-Jolith, what manner of creature are you?"

The dead girl's fingers clawed at Willum's leggings, finding the flesh beneath. The knight didn't cry out despite the pain, only doubled his efforts against the larger corpse. With his free hand, he began tearing it apart, bone by bone, and crushing the brittle ribs with his fist. At last the corpse released his sword arm, and Willum finished shredding the thing, all the while enduring the pain in his leg.

He turned his attention to the child.

Her face had been well preserved by the cold. Only a bit of her cheek was missing. Her eyes stared vacantly at him, and he prayed silently to the memory of Kiri-Jolith as he reached down and wrenched her head off. He fought with her for a few moments more, gritting his teeth as her small hands continued to tear into his leg. Not so long dead as the other, her flesh and muscles held her together more firmly, though in the end, Willum managed.

Gasping for breath, he dropped to his knees, effectively sinking to his waist in the snow. He fumbled around for his leg plate and quickly found it, then discarded it when he saw the strap was so badly mangled he couldn't reattach it. "Gods," he whispered, then dug through the snow for his sword, humming as he searched. The snow was disturbed by the fight, and several times his fingers closed about a bone from the larger corpse. "My sword," he muttered. "It's got to be around here somewhere." He persisted, refusing to be weaponless.

"Creatures of Chaos," he cursed when at last his icycold fingers closed on the pommel. "Got to find Camilla and…"

And die.

A pool of blackness slithered across the snow, looking like oil and moving quickly. It approached Willum as the knight got to his feet and started backing away. The blackness rose, forming legs and arms, spiderweb-fine hair, and eyes that glowed white like stars, then red like hot coals.

Camilla and her knights closed on the overturned wagon. She drew her sword and motioned for her men to spread out and to watch the snow for any hidden foes.

"We'll help you!" she cried as she rushed toward a man leaning on a wagon wheel. "We'll…" She stopped in her tracks. Closer now, she could make out the grisly details. The man was the village leader whom she'd met when she was with Gair, and he was dead.

"All of them are dead, Commander!" A young knight was turning over the other bodies. There were eight in all. Two families, she recalled from her previous visit. "They're clawed up pretty bad, like some big rabid animal got them. Maybe a bear. No wonder they were screaming."

Camilla's gaze dropped to the snow. There was a good deal of blood on the wagon and tinting the snow. "Tracks!" she snapped. "Do you see any animal tracks?"

The knights started searching, around the wagon and farther out. She gestured to four of them to follow her into the village. In the distance, she could see lights burning in some of the windows.

"Can't find any tracks!" she heard from behind her now. "It's dark, Commander, might be easy to miss."

She ran quickly down the center of the narrow path, kicking up snow as she went. The clanking behind her was a signal that her men were close behind. "Watch yourself!" she hollered loudly, an instruction meant for the men with her and for those still at the wagon. "Keep alert!"

Within heartbeats, she was in the center of the small farming community. Everything was eerily silent, the only sounds the ragged breathing from her and the men. She took in several gulps of air and ran toward the nearest home. A soft glow showed out from a curtained window. She pounded on the door.

No answer, and no sound came from within.

Waving to her men, they fanned out, knocking on door after door and getting no answer.

Camilla's chest heaved from running, and she leaned against the home for an instant to catch her breath and watch her men. She spun and kicked at the door and plunged inside and was greeted by a chorus of screams.

People were huddled in front of a fireplace, wide-eyed, staring at her, crying in fright. She recognized one of them, the pregnant woman Gair had tended to. She held a poker in her hand as if it were a weapon.

"It's all right," she started. "When no one answered the door-"

"The creatures came," the pregnant woman cut in. "They came and we locked ourselves in. The Hansons. The creatures got them."

"At the wagon?"

The woman nodded.

"Dead things," said a man next to her. He was cradling a trembling boy to his chest. "All bones and teeth, and they was screaming. All of 'em was screaming something awful."

Camilla pointed to a table. "Push this against door, and don't come out until morning." She rushed back to the center of the village and waved to her men. "In twos! No one alone!" she hollered. "I'm not truly sure what we're looking for, though I believe it's-"

"Undead, Commander!" The first knight who'd left Willum rushed into the village. Out of breath, he haltingly but quickly explained about the skeletal woman and child and that Willum believed it was a trap.

"They're after the settlement, then," she said. "This was a distraction to separate us. A wise ploy, and one I fell for. Still, we can't abandon these people."

She thought for only a moment more, then ordered her men to conduct a fast search of the village and the barns, ordering them to make sure every house was locked tight and that nothing was lurking in the barns.

Several minutes later, they were running back down the trail toward the settlement.

"Gair," Jasper began. "My friend, I-"

"Spare me your pleasantries," the elf returned. "I'm not the same man you knew when we came to Schallsea Island."

The dwarf eyed him up and down. Once Gair had been fastidious, preferring to wear only the finest of clothes, expensive and well made, always cleaned and pressed. Now his leggings were filthy, smelling of dirt and something foul the dwarf couldn't quite place at first.

"Like the grave," Jasper whispered after a moment. "You smell like the grave."

The elf's heavy tunic was snagged in the front, and several pearl buttons hung loosely on fraying threads. His face and hands were dirty, his fingernails chipped. His hair was tangled and dusted with pine needles. The only bit of cleanness about him was a red cloak, which the dwarf recognized that as Camilla's.

"What happened to you, Gair?"

The elf threw back his head and laughed. "Happened? Happened, as in something is wrong?" He slowly drew his gaze to the dwarf's, his dark eyes wide and sparkling malevolently. "I guess you might say I learned a great deal from our teacher, my old friend. She taught me some spells when you weren't around."

"Fortunate for me," Jasper numbly whispered.

"She taught me how to talk to the dead."

The dwarf swallowed and scanned the mist. There was a break in it, and through it, he could see tiny people, the size of big beetles. From the direction of Goldmoon's tent, he saw a few soldiers gathering, identifiable only because of their red tunics. He spotted someone-Goldmoon, he sensed-pointing toward the Silver Stair. He suspected that with her human eyes, Goldmoon couldn't see him up here, not this high anyway. He took a step closer to Gair.

"An' what do the dead have to say, Gair?"

The elf backed down a few steps to accommodate the dwarf and give him more room. The mist of the lowhanging cloud swirled about the elf's thighs. "They tell me many things, my friend. The spirits of the Que-Nal tell me about the island's past. The spirits of the drowned barbarians tell me about the terrible war with the Blue Dragonarmy. Of course, there's always two sides to every story. The dragonarmy general tells me about the battle from his point of view. Then there's the Solamnic knights."

Jasper's eyes twitched.

"Not the ones at the settlement. The ones I killed, or rather had killed. They tell me about Camilla. I do so like the company of the dead, Jasper, but I miss sweet Camilla."

"You're mad!" the dwarf edged down another halfdozen steps. The elf obliged him and kept a respectful distance. The mist was swirling about both of them now.

"Mad?" Gair grinned wildly. "Maybe I am, at that, but I am also powerful."

The dwarf took another step down. This time the elf didn't budge.

"I can raise the dead, Jasper, keep spirits tied to the living world. Would you like to see your Uncle Flint again? I can manage it with the Silver Stair. And Riverwind-I thought I might bring him out tonight, parade him before our dear teacher. She'd be so impressed with my skills."

Jasper's fingers squeezed the handle of his hammer so tightly they nearly lost sensation. He kept his eyes locked onto Gair's, and he slowly pulled the weapon free from his belt. There was an instant shushing sound as Gair drew his long sword and pointed it up at the dwarf.

"You wouldn't want to hurt me, Jasper. We're close, the best of friends. Think of all the secrets we've shared. I've missed you almost as much as I've missed Camilla. The undead talk to me, but they don't argue like you used to. I really miss that."

"Well, climb on down an' I'll argue with you some more." The dwarf gestured with his hammer.

Gair shook his head. "I'll stay right here, thank you." Carefully he crouched on the shimmering step beneath his feet, keeping his eyes on Jasper and the sword pointed up at the dwarf's belly. His free hand drifted down to touch a step. "I need the Silver Stair, my friend. I need its power."

"Let's go talk to Goldmoon," Jasper urged, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness. "She's been worried about you."

"Quiet!" the elf admonished. "I need to concentrate."

"She'll help you," the dwarf continued. "You don't need this kind of magic, Gair. Let her help you. Let me help you."

The elf's expression softened for a moment, as if he were considering the dwarf's words. His eyes lost some of their sparkle, and he lowered the sword a few inches. "Jasper, I-"

"Goldmoon can help, Gair. Goldmoon cares about you."

"I've done things, Jasper, things she wouldn't approve of. Dark and-"

"It doesn't matter." The dwarf's words were sincere, tumbling from his thick lips. "She'll forgive you. Let her help. We can-"

"I've killed people, Jasper. Good people. Knights. Roeland Stark. Do you remember Roeland? I wouldn't let his spirit-"

"Gair, listen to me." The dwarf noticed the bits of red gathering around the base of the Silver Stair, returned his gaze to the elf. "Put down your sword an' come with me. Everythin'll get worked out. You'll see."

"I don't think my new friends would like that. The dead ones."

"Just try."

The elf seemed to be battling some inner demon. His lip was sucked under his teeth and he was chewing on it, and the sword in his hand was lowering a little more.

"Goldmoon will help you. Let her help you. Come with me."

"Goldmoon…" The elf's sword arm shook almost imperceptibly. "I fear not even Goldmoon could forgive me, Jasper. I-"

"There he is!" One of the soldiers had spotted Gair, and Jasper and was pointing frantically in the air. "The elf! Tell Goldmoon he's on the Silver Stair! Way up there!"

The elf's expression instantly hardened, and he raised the sword to Jasper's throat. The dwarf backed up a step.

Goldmoon had gathered most of the settlers around her, was calming them and telling them to stay together. She watched a dozen soldiers and some of her followers head toward the Silver Stair. Then she spotted more soldiers lining up across the eastern side of the settlement. There were nearly a dozen more Solamnic knights whom Camilla had not taken with her. Fully in their armor now, they were receiving orders from a lieutenant whose name Goldmoon could not recall.

"What's going on?" This from one of the Thorbardin dwarves. "We heard screams."

"From down the trail," one of the fishermen explained. "Maybe them renegade Que-Nal again."

"No." It was Iryl. "I spoke to Skydancer. He said there would be no more trouble. He would keep Shadowwalker in line."

The fisherman scratched his head. "Well, if it ain't the barbarians, who is it?"

"Whisperers." Orvago had emerged from the building site, his clawed fingers wrapped around the ivory pommel of the broadsword. A ridge of hair stood up from the top of his head and ran down his back, disappearing into his tunic. He growled softly, a trail of spittle finding its way over his bottom lip and landing on the bald head of a man who stood in front of him. "Sorry," he added softly.

The bald man growled back and wiped at his head. He glared at Goldmoon and opened his mouth as if to say something, but his words were drowned out by high-pitched shouts coming from the southern edge of the settlement.

Goldmoon threaded her way through the gathering and saw an ancient Que-Nal standing on a crate. The light from the dwarves' campfire showed his face was so deeply lined it looked like the rough bark on a tree. Feathers were stuck, seemingly haphazardly, in his hair, and beads dangled from a wild mane of grayblack braids, clacking as he shook his head. He wasn't wearing much, despite the cold, only a tunic smeared with what Goldmoon suspected was blood, plus furry boots, the tops of which were ringed with bird skulls. With surprising agility for one so old, he leapt off the crate and made a piercing yipping sound. It was echoed by many voices.

More Que-Nal sprang up from behind crates and drifts of snow, from around the edges of tents that were on the fringes of the settlement. They were young and muscular, their faces smeared with blood and ashes, beads clacking. Their eyes were wild and darted to the ancient shaman, who was raising a spear in his hand.

"Kill the Que-Shu!" Shadowwalker cried. "Kill all of them!"

The Que-Nal surged forward, spears and knives in their hands and cries of death on their lips.

Iryl stood stunned for only a moment, shaking her head in disbelief and whispering, "Skydancer promised."

Orvago roused her into action as he brushed by, knocking her into the Solace twins as he thundered toward the shaman. The elf's eyes still held a touch of incredulity as she reached to her belt and pulled free a long knife, then rushed to join the fray.

Goldmoon was shouting for people to protect their children and for those who were able and armed to defend the settlement. Some who carried no weapons made do with makeshift ones, grabbing torches to use as clubs and pulling tent poles loose.

The soldiers on the eastern edge of the settlement were charging the Que-Nal, not bothering to wait for orders. Swords and spears clashed, and in less than a moment there were dead men on each side.

The Solamnic knights spread out, the lieutenant ordering them to keep the barbarians from reaching the settlers. The knights made a valiant effort, but there were too many renegade Que-Nal. Most of the young barbarians met the knights head-on, Shadowwalker screaming to strike where the plates of armor joined. Some skirted past and directly into the path of Orvago, Iryl, and the others.

Goldmoon hesitated only a second as she surveyed the scene. There were soldiers and barbarians falling, and barbarians falling to the knights, who presented more formidable foes in their heavy armor. The gnoll had dropped three barbarians in as many swings, his magical broad sword fairly whistling through the air. Iryl was at his side, crouched and slashing with her long knife, blood dripping from the blade.

At the Silver Stair, the soldiers were pointing into the air and shouting, but there was so much noise from the battle with the Que-Nal that Goldmoon couldn't make out what they were saying.

Another soldier fell, a spear lodged in his leg, and Goldmoon ran toward the man. She nearly trampled Redstone, who was hurling spikes from the building site at a trio of young barbarians.

"Can you use a staff?" the healer shouted to her.

The dwarf nodded. "Any weapon." Her voice gruff and breathy. "I can use anything."

Goldmoon thrust her treasured staff into the woman's thick hands. "Use this well. My other talents are needed."

The dwarf looked at her quizzically for a moment as the healer continued to dash toward the fallen soldier, then her stubby legs churned over the snow-packed ground and toward the trio, a Thorbardin battle cry spewing from her lips.

Redstone cracked the staff into the head of the lead barbarian, happily surprised that he fell with the first blow. She brought the other end around to smack into the second barbarian's stomach, felling him, too. The third looked at her through narrowed eyes and jammed his spear forward, but the squat dwarf dropped to a crouch, and as the spear passed over her head, she jammed the tip of the staff forward, nearly impaling him. He crumpled, and she drove the staff against his head to make sure he wouldn't be getting back up.

"Well indeed," she said, as she pounded toward a rank of soldiers and barbarians. "I better take good care o' this for Goldmoon. Wish Jasper could see me now. Wonder where he is?"

Jasper watched some of the settlers leave the base of the Silver Stair, running toward the far end of the settlement. He could hear the sounds of battle. The soldiers seemed torn between staying and pursuing the elf or joining their comrades. Within a heartbeat, some of them were running away, leaving only six behind. The six began to climb up the stair.

"What are you doin', Gair?" The dwarf's broad face was etched with anger.

"Doing?"

"The fight." The dwarf cocked his head toward the ruckus.

"Some friends of mine. Living ones. They don't care much for Goldmoon and the settlement and are bent on destroying both."

"You'll get them killed, Gair. There's knights down there."

The elf shook his head. "Most of the knights are in Heartspring. If some of my new friends down there die, I'll bring them back… their spirits at least."

Jasper sputtered as he climbed up a dozen more steps, the elf following, urging him higher with the tip of his sword. The dwarf made out the tiny forms of the soldiers guardedly making their way up from far below.

"You owe Goldmoon. You owe her everything Gair! She took you in, taught you mysticism, saved your life on more'n one account."

"You saved my life, too, Jasper." For the briefest moment, the elf's face lost some of its harshness, and he lowered the sword an inch. "On the trail to the settlement, and then…" The elf shook his head, the meanness returning to his visage. "Because you saved my life, I will let you live forever-at my side. Goldmoon, too."

"No." Jasper shook his head and raised his hammer in front of him as the elf forced him upward a few more steps. "Let Goldmoon be, Gair. I'll give you my life if you only…" The dwarf's eyes grew wide as Gair's free hand reached to the step.

The elf began mumbling something, and Jasper saw the step crack beneath the elf's fingers. There was a faint humming-moaning?-as if the Silver Stair was protesting. The elf persisted, and the crack grew wider, scintillating slivers falling away. Minutes passed, and the moaning of the stair grew louder.

"Wh-what are you doin'?" Jasper looked back and forth between the elf's hand and his face. The eyes were closed now in concentration.

The elf continued, furrowed his brow, and mumbled something in a language the dwarf could not understand. Jasper took advantage of the moment and clambered down a few steps. He raised his hammer and brought it down toward the elf's hand.

At the last possible moment, Gair brought his sword around to block the blow. At the same time, he kicked backward with his leg, connecting with the face of a soldier who had made it up this high and sending the man hurtling to the ground far below. The elf scampered down another few steps and spun, meeting the charge of the second soldier and slicing through his abdomen. The man held his ground for a heartbeat, tried to return the blow, then toppled, screaming. Four men were left on the Silver Stair, all in single file because the steps were so narrow and all looking up, horror etched on their faces.

Gair stared at them, paused like game pieces in a row, then he spun to face Jasper, who had inched closer and was preparing to strike again. The elf crouched and leapt above the dwarf like a dancer executing a perfect aerial maneuver, landing on a step above Jasper.

Jasper turned around, a shaken look on his face.

"The stair gives me power, my old friend- physical and mystical." The elf crouched again, sword pointed down at the dwarf to keep him back, free hand against the step. Again, spiderweb-fine cracks appeared beneath his fingers. They grew, and more glistening slivers fell away. "It gives anyone power… anyone who dares to take it."

"You're destroyin' it!" Jasper sputtered. "Gair, stop this!"

"Stop this or what?" the elf taunted. His face was so contorted the dwarf hardly recognized him. "Or you'll kill me?" The elf laughed long and eerily at this. "You were always the better healer, Jasper. We both know that, but I am the better fighter. You and the dumbstruck men behind you haven't a prayer of besting me!"

"I don't want to fight you, Gair. I'd like to help you." The dwarf gestured behind him, urging the four remaining soldiers to climb back down.

"Always looking out for others." The elf watched the four soldiers slowly and carefully retrace their steps. "You should be looking out for yourself." Gair gripped the step more tightly, and the cracks widened still more.

The dwarf struggled up toward Gair and raised his hammer again.

"You don't give up, do you?" The elf shook his head and let his fingers drift to the next higher step, where more fine cracks appeared. "I was going to kill you last, because you saved me. I was going to take Goldmoon first, then-"

"Leave her alone!"

"Our dear teacher. I'm inside her mind, you know. The stair lets me do that. She's using all her energy to heal Camilla's soldiers. She knows I'm watching her, and she can't do a thing about it."

"No!" The dwarf swung hard, putting all his strength into the blow and aiming it down on the elf's hand.

This time Gair wasn't quick enough, and the hammer landed soundly, breaking his fingers. The elf howled and skittered higher, the dwarf pursuing. Many feet below, the soldiers saw the dwarf had gained the upper hand and reversed their course and were coming to join him.

"You dare!" Gair spat, as he climbed higher still, clutching his broken hand to his chest. His eyes were wide with fury, and he swung his long sword awkwardly at the dwarf.

"You can't fix broken bones," Jasper growled as he continued to pursue the elf. A mist was forming around them. They'd climbed so high they were entering another cloud that had formed. The dwarf squinted through it to keep his eyes on Gair. "Goldmoon shared that talent when you weren't around." He pressed the elf to move faster, holding his hammer high and threatening another blow.

"You can't beat me." The elf's words were ice. "Father!"

Something cold brushed by Jasper, colder than the winter wind that continued to play around him. He nearly dropped his hammer and lost his balance. It was a shadow in the mist, as dark as a starless sky. Two red lights shone inside the shadow, locking onto the dwarf as if they were eyes. Jasper shivered and forced himself to look instead at Gair. The shadow disappeared. Moments passed, and he and the elf found themselves above the mist, the top step of the Silver Stair coming into sight.

"Look!" Jasper pointed.

The elf, still nursing his hand, glanced over his shoulder.

"Did you ever climb all the way to the top, Gair? Did you ever take that chance? There it is, waitin' for you!"

The elf stared at the top step, shimmering invitingly. He hadn't realized they'd climbed so high, and the thought unnerved him, but only for a moment. "So close," he whispered. He found himself walking backward up the stairs, glancing between the dwarf and the topmost step. "So very close."

The dwarf carefully crept up beneath him, holding his position like a statue each time the elf swiveled his head back to check on him. The elf was moving slower, since he was going backward, and the dwarf waited until Gair was nearly to the top step, keeping his eyes on it; then he scrambled forward. He swung his hammer as hard as he could, slamming it into the elf's leg.

Gair cried out, more in surprise than pain, and whirled to face the dwarf, nearly losing his balance and tumbling off the step. Jasper's hammer was coming down again, striking the same leg and causing Gair to fall backward. The elf's sword clattered down the steps, then fell away into the mist far below. He looked to the dwarf, a pleading expression on his face.

"I've no weapon," the elf said. But the fingers of his good hand were closing on a step, and tiny cracks were appearing beneath it. "You've too much honor to strike an unarmed man."

"Don't." Jasper pointed his hammer at the elf's hand. "Leave the stair alone."

The elf looked up innocently, but his lips were moving, mumbling words that once again the dwarf could not understand. They didn't sound elvish. Jasper had been around enough elves in his life. They sounded human, but nothing he could place.

"I said stop!"

Gair's lips moved faster, and a pale glow rose around his fingers and edged up to his wrist.

"That's it!" The dwarf swung, striking the elf's knee, pulled back on the hammer, and brought it down again, even as the elf was struggling to his feet. The impact sent the elf teetering, arms flailing about in an attempt to gain his balance. Jasper struck Gair's leg again, and this time the elf staggered under the blow, his feet slipping off the narrow step. He seemed to hang suspended for a heartbeat, limbs churning as if he were trying to fly, then he plummeted, disappearing into the mist below.

More powerful in death, the wind seemed to whisper.

Jasper shook his head. "By the beard of Reorx, I killed him."

Carefully he turned and sat on the step. He caught his breath and watched as the head of the lead soldier emerged from the mist. The man was shaking, and the dwarf knew it was from fear of being so high.

"It's all right," the dwarf said sadly. "Gair fell." More softly, he added, "He never made it to the top of the Silver Stair." He gestured toward the mist. "I know there's a big fight ragin' down there, so we'd better get ourselves down to it, but take it slow. None of us will do Goldmoon any good if we don't make it down in one piece."

The soldiers complied, backing down and keeping their hands on the steps in front of them for support. They mumbled to themselves about how high up they were, that they could barely hear the battle. It sounded like crickets chirping, and then they were below the mist, and the lights of the campfires came into view. Several fires blazed, and the men and the dwarf could tell that some of the tents were on fire. They quickened their pace as much as they dared, stopping when the lead soldier slipped. Jasper darted forward, stubby fingers locking around his wrist, keeping him from falling.

The dwarf's keen vision studied the shimmering steps, noticing where Gair had cracked them by stealing their mystical energy. "Didn't want to kill him," the dwarf said to himself, "but I couldn't let him destroy the stair or hurt Goldmoon."

The closer the soldiers got to the ground, the faster they went, the one at the bottom jumping off when he was five feet or so above the ground and landing on his rump in the snow. The clang of swords was louder here, as were the cries of those being wounded. The soldiers hurried toward the battle, which was spread across three sides of the settlement, the closest near the cliff.

Jasper grabbed his side, which stung from the exertion of climbing the Silver Stair twice in one evening almost to the top step. He tried to catch his breath, and he looked around the base of the mystical site, searching for Gair's body. The snow was disturbed from the soldiers, but there was no ready sign of the elf. The dwarf knew he couldn't have survived the fall and decided to look later, after the fight was over, provided he lived through it. He thrust his hammer in his belt and ran toward the cliff, taking a path that cut between a pair of burning tents.

Near the construction site, Goldmoon was crawling from one soldier to the next, calling on the power of her heart to stop their bleeding. She wasn't taking the time to completely heal them-that would take too much energy and keep her in one spot too long. A Solamnic Knight stood over her, keeping her safe from the spear thrusts of the angry Que-Nal.

"Too many of them," the knight told her.

Goldmoon didn't reply. She moved on to another fallen soldier, stifling a cry when she saw he was dead. She was on her feet and sprinting toward a man who'd just dropped, the knight fast behind her, parrying the blows of the vengeful Que-Nal.

The healer dropped to the man's side and felt for the warmth of her mystical healing powers. "Do not die on me, Samual," she said. He was one of the first soldiers stationed at the settlement. "Do not… yes!" His eyes fluttered open as more of her healing energy poured into him.

Above their heads, her protector knight rained a series of blows against a stocky Que-Nal, breaking his spear and driving the man back.

The healer stayed over Samual, tearing a strip from her cloak and pressing it against his shoulder, where a spear had bit viciously deep.

"You'll be all right," she told him. She was pulling him back, away from the fighting line, even as she was casting her gaze about the entire camp to take stock of the fight.

The largest battle was being fought at the construction site. Solamnic knights and soldiers were keeping dozens of Que-Nal from pressing into the main part of the settlement. Only one knight had fallen, and Goldmoon intended to get to him next. Several of her students were at the edge of the fight, using the skills she had taught them to save the injured soldiers.

A second battle raged between soldiers and Goldmoon's followers on the eastern edge of the camp, near the trail to Heartspring. Shadowwalker had found his way there and was directing his fiery-tempered disciples from a safe distance. Redstone was there, using Goldmoon's staff with telling effect. The dwarf had become the target of the old shaman's ire, and he was gesturing for the strongest of his warriors to deal with her.

Near Goldmoon's tent, which had also caught fire, another contingent of Que-Nal was struggling with the healer's followers and the gnoll. The warriors in the second rank, their backs to the sea, were using flaming arrows, though not directing them into the people but rather into the tents. The result was chaos. The elderly and the children who huddled in the center of the settlement were terrified by the fires, which were sending gouts of smoke their way and making it difficult to breathe. A handful of the older children were using their cloaks to try to put out the smallest of the fires but meeting with little success.

Orvago threw back his head and howled, then pressed forward and slashed the magical broadsword. The ivory pommel felt warm against his paw, and he swung the blade wildly as he'd seen the barbarians on the ship use their swords. The Que-Nal gave the gnoll a wide berth, trying to concentrate instead on Goldmoon's followers, only some of whom wielded swords.

One man swung an iron skillet, managing to crack it against the skull of a young Que-Nal. Near him, a woman was using a tent pole as if it were a quarterstaff, and she drove it forward into the belly of a tall warrior, knocking him back into the second rank and pushing a bowman over the cliff. The three fishermen were here, using gaff hooks against the warriors who had shields. The hooks cut into the hide shields, ripping them.

Jasper finally reached Orvago's side, out of breath and tugging his hammer free. He brought it up just in time to block the spear thrust of an angry Que-Nal. "Gair's dead!" the dwarf shouted. "He fell from the Silver Stair!"

The gnoll grunted in reply and continued to slash at the barbarians, sending two over the edge of the cliff.

Suddenly a series of shrill cries cut through the air, and the gnoll and dwarf risked a quick glance toward their source. Shadowwalker, illuminated on the far side of the settlement by all the burning tents, was on the shoulders of a burly, young barbarian. He was making a keening, yipping sound and gesturing wildly toward Heartspring. His warriors parted, some disappearing into the night, as Camilla and her knights thundered down the trail and into the settlement.

The knights charged into Shadowwalker's men, bashing the warriors with their shields to keep them off-balance and to prevent them from using their spears. The presence of the knights was enough to turn the tide of battle on the Heartspring side of the settlement. Shadowwalker ordered a retreat, and his men fell back.

Camilla did not order her knights to pursue. Rather, she scanned the settlement, ordering them to join the soldiers who were still fighting at the construction site. She spotted Goldmoon and headed toward the healer, stopping in her tracks when another sharp cry cut through the din.

"More of them?" she whispered as she craned her neck about, trying to find the source. "By the will of Kiri-Jolith, we do not have the numbers to fight these."

The cry sounded again, much closer this time, and it was echoed a dozen times over. It made the Que-Nal pause, giving the soldiers and knights openings they quickly took advantage of. As they pushed the barbarians back, Camilla reached Goldmoon.

"It was a ruse to get us out of camp," the knight explained. "Good thing I didn't take many men."

Goldmoon didn't reply. She was dressing the wounds of the fallen Solamnic Knight.

Camilla defended the healer now, using her shield to keep spears from reaching Goldmoon. The knight commander was exhausted from her run to Heartspring and back, her sword arm heavy like lead. Still she refused to quit.

Abruptly the Que-Nal started pulling back, making a fighting retreat as the cry cut through the night again. Branches snapped and snow crunched as more Que-Nal broke into the settlement, but these were not fighting Goldmoon and her followers. They struck out at their brothers instead.

"Skydancer!" Iryl called from across the settlement.

The Que-Nal chieftain directed his warriors after the renegades, and within moments, Shadowwalker's men were fleeing. Heartbeats later, they were nowhere to be seen.

Iryl raced toward the chieftain.

The settlers went to work battling the fires, which had consumed half the tents. Some counted heads, and others looked to the wounded. Goldmoon backed away from the injured knight and helped him to his feet. Despite the cold, she was sweating from the strain of tending to so many people. She didn't object when Camilla put an arm around her shoulder for support. Silently the two women took in the aftermath.

More than a dozen soldiers had died, and twice that many were wounded. Only one knight was slain, and this because a Que-Nal spear found its way between the fastenings of his breastplate. Two of the Thorbardin dwarves had also perished, and Redstone hovered, distraught, at their sides.

Orvago and Jasper, their clothes coated with the barbarians' blood, tromped over, edging through the crowd of settlers and soldiers and spying Goldmoon next to Camilla.

"Gair's dead!" Jasper called to her. "He fell from the stair. I think he brought the renegades down on us." The dwarf moved closer. "I tried to help him," he said more softly, meaning the words only for the healer. "I don't think there was anythin' good still inside him." He shook his head. "I killed him, Goldmoon, but I didn't really have a choice."

"Neither do I."

The crowd seemed to utter a collective gasp. Hovering above the center of the camp, suspended by two inky-black shadows with glowing red eyes, was Gair.