The Silver Stair

3

"It's so beautiful." Camilla Weoledge stood on the bow of a small carrack as it eased up to the dock.

"Indeed it is a most lovely town, Commander." The Solamnic lieutenant at her side snapped to attention as Camilla strode past him down the gangplank and onto the dock, not waiting until the ship was properly moored. Her boot heels clicked rhythmically over the weathered wood, and her lieutenant hurried to catch up.

The port town of Schallsea was waking up around them. Merchants were on their way to their shops, bundled in coats on this early winter morning, walking with shoulders hunched into the wind, the ends of their scarves waving behind them like colorful pennants. Outwardly, they paid the knights little heed-that is, until they were safely past and could gawk from a respectful distance.

Chimneys were puffing smoke, tingeing the air with the scent of wood and cinnamon and bacon. Camilla inhaled deeply, finding the scents pleasing. Someone nearby was baking bread, and it sharply reminded her she hadn't eaten since early yesterday.

"Willum, I've visited many port towns, but…" The commander found herself at an unaccustomed loss for words as she stood on the shore and glanced up and down the streets that radiated outward from the docks like spokes on a wheel.

"But seldom one so tidy, Camilla."

"Tidy. Yes, Willum. Schallsea is quite tidy. I like that."

The port was large enough to accommodate warships, even several at a time. Steep granite cliffs protected the bay from storms. The buildings closest to the docks were made of stone with thick slate roofs, designed to keep the occupants safe from invading armies. The population of Schallsea had burgeoned during the War of the Lance. A large group of settlers had been the Solamnics' dark-armored enemies who used the port as a base for raids, primarily against Abanasinia and Southlund.

The streets of the walled city were remarkably clean. They were not of dirt or gravel as in most port towns in Ansalon's southern hemisphere. They were made of cobblestones, a mix of gray and rose stones, all of them looking as if they'd just been scrubbed. The storefronts were in good repair, with no peeling paint on shutters, no debris out front. The bright colors of the buildings seemed to complement each other.

As Camilla and Willum walked southwest through the town, two dozen knights marching behind and nearly a hundred soldiers trailing them, they noticed the residences were tidy and well maintained, from the modest cottages of the shopkeepers to the handful of sprawling manses with manicured lawns and sculpted evergreens.

"The citizens obviously take pride in this place," Willum observed. "It's an honor to be stationed here, Commander."

Camilla did not reply. She pointed at a keep perched on a hill at the southern edge of the bay. It was the most notable landmark in Schallsea.

"Our home," she said tersely. "At least for however long the Solamnic Council decrees we stay here."

"Quaint." Willum drew his lips into a narrow line and squinted. "Look there! Complete with ballistas and catapults to protect the harbor."

"Let's hope we won't need them." Camilla stared at the structure. The masonry had been severely weathered by the salt air. "Krynn has seen too many wars, Willum. I hope we never see another one in my lifetime."

"The battle here went well enough for us."

"I suppose, in the end, but that was a long time ago."

Willum made a humming noise in his throat. "The Dark Knights were kind enough to leave us a place to stay. It's defensible for certain."

Camilla nodded. "The Sentinel, it's called."

"Unfortunate for us they didn't finish it. Look there! Only three sides to the rear section."

She shook her head. "Actually, I consider it most fortunate they were not afforded the opportunity to finish it, Lieutenant." Camilla knew well the history of the Sentinel, eventually abandoned by the besieged Knights of Takhisis in the year 352 A.C., one year before the War of the Lance officially came to an end.

Willum adopted a cheerful tone. "Well, Commander, perhaps we will have a chance to finish it. We could import some stone, obtain the services of some builders. It's rather small, after all. Certainly not up to the usual Solamnic standards. I would think if we-"

"I have other things to worry about than bricks and mortar just now, Lieutenant."

Willum's lighthearted demeanor turned instantly serious.

"Have the men unload the arms and equipment, then get them settled in their barracks." She eyed the rank of knights and selected six of them. "You and I and these men will visit our charges. I'll meet you at the northern edge of the city in one hour. Make sure everyone gets something to eat. We've a hard march ahead of us." Camilla acknowledged the salute of her knights and pivoted sharply on her heels. She had just enough time for a quick tour of the port town. She heard Willum call that she should get breakfast herself, but she had other concerns. She suspected that food would only further upset her already churning stomach.

She walked purposely up and down the side streets, noting that there did not seem to be a single empty residence. A few clipped questions confirmed that all the boarding houses were full. An abandoned temple had been recently turned into an apartment building, and a kindly woman outside the entrance said many of those rooms would be filled with the next boatload of newcomers. Did she need accommodations? Camilla shook her head and moved on.

The knight commander saw that despite the cold Schallsea's carpenters and masons were doing a booming business, scrambling to finish a new row of houses before winter set in. At the edge of her vision, stakes and ribbons hinted that other streets were planned, extending eastward into the heart of the island. Gray and rose cobblestones were piled nearby, indicating they would be improved soon. Schallsea was growing rapidly, perhaps too rapidly. A shiver danced down her spine.

She paused outside an establishment called The Cozy Hearth, a sunny-looking hostel with butter-colored eaves and shutters painted seafoam green. A sign rested against the windowpane: Pilgrims Welcome. In smaller print, it announced, Comfortable beds, Rates reasonable, no one refused. Iryl Songbrook, proprietor. The knight's scowling image was reflected in the window.

Camilla's hair was boyishly short, her tight mahogany curls looking like a cap. Her nose was slightly hawkish, her cheekbones high, and her eyes a bit too large for her face. She wasn't unattractive by any means, but in her opinion she was a little too tall and hardly beautiful. She did little to improve her appearance or to make herself look feminine or appealing. She had more important things to address. She let out a long breath, turned away from the window, and continued her tour.

It was easy to see which buildings had stood since the War of the Lance. They were of thick stone, squat and looking a bit like the shells of tortoises. The newer buildings, mostly farther from the harbor, were two and three stories tall and were made of a combination of stone and wood. Most had sod roofs. Though the majority of the businesses were close to the harbor, other establishments were scattered here and there along the side streets: bakeries, weaponsmiths, clothiers, grocers, leather workers. They were practical businesses, catering to people's needs, nothing prone to much extravagance such as a jeweler's, florist's, or an art gallery. It was a simple town. The larger Schallsea grew, the more it would change.

Camilla hurried toward a stable at the northern end of town, realizing her tour had taken much longer than she expected. It was one of the new buildings, judging by the men still painting it, and considerably larger than the stable near the docks. She spied Willum talking to a thickset man with red paint smudges on his shirtsleeves. Her knights, their duffel bags at their feet, were leaning against the corral, admiring the horses snorting in the chill air.

"Commander!" Willum snapped to attention when he spotted her, and the knights immediately drew themselves away from the horses and formed a line behind the lieutenant.

She nodded curtly to them and started walking down the path that led out of town. Willum rushed to walk at her side, awkwardly shouldering two packs. The knights followed in single file.

"I've made arrangements for the horses coming with the next ship," he began. "The stable near the harbor was-"

"Already full," she finished for him.

He made a humming noise in his throat. "Yes. Well, it looked like there was a stable at the Sentinel-rather run-down, however. If we are stationed here long enough, perhaps we can repair it and keep most of the horses there."

"If we're here long enough."

He made the humming noise again. "I took the liberty of having your belongings placed in the Sentinel's tower room. It has a nice view of the harbor and the docks, and I unpacked a few things for you."

"Thank you, Willum."

"The people in town say it is a few days' walk. Bread?"

She took one of the satchels from him and effortlessly slung it over her shoulder, and he passed her a roll. Obviously it had come from one of the town's bakeries. She paused as if inspecting it, then ate it slowly as they fell into an easy gait. The town of Schallsea grew smaller behind them.

The clank of the knights' armor drowned out the whistling of the cold breeze as they made their way along the winding path leading northward. A rut ran down the middle, the original trail that led out of town. As more and more people had used it, the path had widened and pushed back the vegetation. There was evidence of wagon wheels and shod horses at the outer edges. Some of the tracks were very recent, making slight impressions despite the winter-hard ground. A mix of pines and shaggybarks sheltered the inland side of the trail. Low bushes, their leaves long since chased away by the cold, were set back from the western side of the trail, and through gaps in the scrub the knights spotted the sea in the distance.

The sky was gray, the color of Camilla's eyes, and she cast her head back to watch a lone gull fly to the west and drop toward the water. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of salt water and pines, and the clouds overhead hinted of snow. The padding beneath her armor, coupled with her red wool cape, kept her warm, though her fingers stung a little from the cold air. She flexed them in time with the knights' steps and watched as her breath formed a misty cloud in front of her face.

Willum walked with a stoic gait at her side, his face twitching. He hummed in his throat and concentrated on the trail ahead.

They paused briefly at noon, then resumed their trek, stopping again at sunset to set up camp. In the morning, Camilla afforded little time for breakfast before they were off again at a brisk march. Two hours into their journey, a scream cut through the wintry air.

Camilla sprinted ahead. Willum and the rest of the knights trailed after her, the clamor of their armor practically drowning out what sounded like a battle ahead. She dropped her pack and churned her legs faster, rounded a turn in the trail, drew her sword, and instantly assessed the situation she saw ahead.

One man lay dead at the side of a large wagon, a thick spear protruding from his chest. A thin elven woman was at his side, glancing furtively into the trees on the inland side the path. A dwarf stood with a hammer held high in one hand, the reins of a quartet of dappled horses in another. He was trying to keep the animals from bolting and taking the wagon with them. Near the dwarf was another elf, this one a lanky man in black who was weaving a sword back and forth in front of him and peering intently into the trees. On the seaward side of the wagon, more than a dozen townsfolk crouched for protection.

There was no immediate sign of the enemy, save for several spears lying on the ground. The attackers must be keeping to the trees. As Camilla closed the distance, the knights coming fast behind her, another volley of spears streamed from the trees, followed by the screams of frightened townsfolk. Three spears landed several feet short of the wagon, a fourth cleared the wagon and elicited another scream from a young woman when it fell near her. The last two spears shot toward the dwarf, who was still trying to keep the horses under control. At the last moment, the dark-clad elf knocked the dwarf aside. One spear lodged deep into the elf's thigh and pinned him to the ground. The other bit into his shoulder.

"Gair!" the dwarf hollered as he dropped the reins. He started toward the downed elf just as the lead horses reared. The dwarf cursed himself and made a grab for the reins, but the horses were already charging forward, the wagon clattering behind them.

The elven woman left the dead man's side and rushed toward the other townsfolk, yelling at them to get down, pushing them onto their bellies.

At the same time, Camilla cut toward the dwarf, motioning for her men to follow. Arrows rained from the trees, most of them striking the ground or bouncing off the knights' armor, but some finding their marks among the townsfolk.

"I don't know where you Solamnics came from, but praise the memory of Reorx that you're here!" the dwarf huffed above the cries of the townsfolk. He was on his knees next to the male elf, who was trying futilely to push him away.

"Jasper," the elf groaned. "I'm all right. See to the others." His dark eyes were demanding. "I can heal myself. Help them."

"Don't have to tell me," the dwarf grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet and whirled to see two men with arrows in their shoulders. The female elf was ordering the others to keep their heads down.

"They'll live!" she called to the dwarf. "Look out!"

A second volley of arrows came from the trees, one striking the female elf in the leg. Jasper rushed toward her as more arrows arced from the trees. "They've got us pinned down," the dwarf called to the Solamnics. "Can't see 'em. Don't know how many there are."

Camilla could barely hear him. She was charging toward the trees, feet pounding, armor clanking, peering into the shadows as she ran, trying to locate the archers. Willum and the other knights were fast on her heels, spreading out and batting away arrows with their shields.

She hollered, "Find the archers! If we can engage them, they can't fire on those people! Move!"

Camilla and her knights thrashed through the woods, sending a cloud of birds erupting from the trees. The knights were shouting, but the noise of their armor and the breaking branches muffled their words.

"They move fast! Can't make them out!"

"Find them!" This came from Camilla. "Spread out, but try to stay in sight of your comrades!"

On the trail, Jasper's thick fingers worked quickly, prodding the female elf's leg. At the same time, he told the other townsfolk to watch the trees and stay low. Two men ignored his advice and helped him stop the elf's bleeding.

"This'll hurt," the dwarf said as he gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow out. The elf cried out and fell back into the arms of one of the men. "Not too deep. Nothin' too serious."

"See to the pilgrims first," she pleaded.

The dwarf muttered, "Fine. I'll get right back to you. Press down on the wound," he said as he moved toward the injured men. "An' keep your head down!"

"This'll hurt," he repeated twice more as he pulled arrows from the men's arms. Blood flowed freely from one man, and Jasper held his hand over the wound, closed his eyes, and mumbled something in his native tongue. The words weren't necessary for the spell the dwarf was invoking. They merely helped him focus his thoughts. He reached deep inside himself, visualizing his heart, concentrating on his heartbeat, feeling a warmth spread from his chest and down his arms, centering on his hand and flowing into the wound. "The power of the heart," Jasper whispered. Goldmoon had been teaching him to nurture his healing power.

"Not too good at this yet," he told his patient. The words came haltingly as he continued to concentrate on the enchantment. His hand was warm and sticky with the man's blood, warmer still from the energy of the spell. He deepened the enchantment and felt the heat leave him and radiate upward from the wound. "That should do it."

Slowly Jasper opened his eyes and saw with considerable satisfaction that the wound had closed and the man was breathing regularly. "Rest," he said. "An' keep your head down." He pushed himself to his feet and tended to the other man's arm. Then he cast a glance at the trees. "Don't know where those knights came from, but it's a good thing they came." Or we might all be dead, he added silently. He closed his eyes and felt for the warmth.

The knights continued to thrash about in the woods, spreading out and searching for the archers. Camilla snatched up an arrow and inspected the ground for tracks. The frozen ground was too hard for the attackers' feet to leave an impression. She cursed softly and started scanning for broken twigs, disturbed leaves, any signs of the attackers' passing.

Willum, a skilled tracker, was having no better luck. "Trevor saw someone-or something." He stopped his nervous humming to call to her. "He's gone after it!"

She knelt by the exposed roots of a ginkgo, found a small piece of fur. "Which way did you go?" she breathed. "And who are you?"

"Stay still, Mr. Andersen," Jasper urged. "Almost finished." He felt the warmth radiating from the second man's wound, could tell without looking that the flesh was mending. "It'll be sore for a while, but it shouldn't bother you too much. You'll be good as new soon." Much softer, he added, "If Goldmoon was here, she'd fixed you up like nothin' had happened." He returned to the female elf and frowned when he saw her bloodstained dress. He shook his head as he knelt at her side. "Told you to keep pressure on it."

I did, her eyes told him.

"Will she be all right?" asked the man holding her.

"Tell us she'll be well." This came from the man at her other side. There were more words of concern from the rest of the townsfolk.

The dwarf nodded reassuringly, then admonished everyone to continue to keep their heads down. There had been no more arrows or spears coming from the trees for several minutes, but the attackers could still be out there.

"Relax, Iryl," he said, attempting to make his craggy voice sound soothing.

"But you've got to see to Gair," she protested.

"He's next," Jasper said, closing his eyes and searching for his inner spark. "Only one patient at a time, an' you're my patient now. Relax. 'Sides, he's a healer, too."

"Nothing!" Willum stomped through the brush toward Camilla, his face red from the cold and from exertion. "No trace. No tracks. Ground's hard as-"

"I know." She thrust the arrow and bit of fur at him. "If there were snow on the ground, we could follow their tracks, determine their numbers. At least we chased them off. I'm going to see to those people. Some of them were hurt. We'll have to take them back to town." She headed west toward the trail. "Gather the men and follow me."

"There," Jasper pronounced, drawing bloody fingers away from Iryl's closing wound. "Wrap somethin' around that to keep it clean. Lost some blood. You'll be a little weak, but…" A moan from Gair cut him off. "Next patient."

Jasper was at the male elf's side by the time Camilla came out of the woods, headed in their direction. The dwarf glanced only briefly her way, then dropped to his knees and devoted his full attention to Gair. "Thought you said you were all right. Said see to the others first. Said you could heal yourself."

The elf's face was even paler than usual. "Are the others all right?"

The dwarf leaned over Gair's face. "Yeah, they'll be fine." He frowned when he saw how much blood the elf had lost. It pooled on the ground around Gair, soaking Jasper's trousers. "How'd you manage to catch an arrow, too?" There was one in his calf.

"Just lucky, I guess. It hurts."

"I'll bet it does. Hurt too much for you to concentrate. No wonder you couldn't heal yourself. Just lie still."

The elf offered a weak smile. "Can't move," he whispered. "I'm… I'm dying, Jasper."

"Quit arguin'."

The elf coughed, and the dwarf winced when he saw a trail of blood trickle down Gair's lower lip. The elf was indeed dying.

"You'll be fine. I'll fix you up like new." The dwarf's tone lacked confidence. He heard the lady knight approach, her armor clanking above the muted conversations of the townsfolk, heard her announce that the attackers had been chased off, but they should stay down a little while longer to be certain.

Jasper concentrated on his heart, listened for the rhythm that helped him focus his mystical energy.

The lady knight was expressing concern for the injured people, surprise at their mended wounds, asking them what had provoked the attack, did they see anything. None of them could provide any information.

He heard more clanging of metal as another knight approached. "Commander, Trevor went chasing after something. He doesn't answer."

"Find him!" she barked. "I want no one out there alone!"

"They're searching for him now!"

"Help them search. Everyone within eyesight. No one alone!"

The dwarf heard thrashing in the brush again as the knight returned to the woods, heard the clank-clank of the lady knight's armor as she came closer. More words swirled around his head, more questions from the knight about the unknown assailants, questions from the townsfolk about Gair's condition.

Jasper thrust the noise to the back of his mind, listened for his heartbeat, heard it grow loud enough to drown out the buzz of questions. Louder. Warmer. Capturing the warmth with his mind, he directed it down his arm. Not as warm as before, though he prayed to the missing Reorx that he could find the energy to stoke the heat. The dwarf was exhausted from healing the others, cursing himself for not seeing to Gair sooner and for not realizing just how badly the elf had been wounded.

Suddenly the heat was in his hands, the healing energy Goldmoon had taught him to use. Jasper moved his fingers to Gair's shoulder, felt the shaft of the spear. Not too deep. With one hand, he tugged it free, heard the elf groan softly in pain, and swore at himself for not cutting it out. The jagged stone tip tore the flesh. The other hand he held over the wound and focused the heat.

"So much blood." The dwarf said the words aloud, though he hadn't meant to.

"Dying," the elf repeated. "It's okay, Jasper. I'm not afraid. I'll be like Riverwind. Just wish it didn't hurt so much."

"Don't die on me!" the dwarf cursed. "I need someone to argue with. Delirious, that's what you are. Foolish talk. Don't you dare die." He fought to keep his concentration on the spell, focused on his heartbeat. Beneath his fingers, he felt the elf's heart beating weakly. Gair's breathing was shallow and irregular, and the elf had started to sweat despite the cold.

Suddenly the lady knight was kneeling next to the elf. Through squinted eyes, Jasper saw her take Gair's hand. She was saying something to him, words of encouragement, a prayer to Kiri-Jolith. "That's it," Jasper told her. "Keep him occupied. Stop all this talk of death."

Camilla stared into Gair's violet eyes. "Hold on," she said. "We'll get you to town." She felt him grip her hand tighter as he coughed again. More blood trickled over his lip. "You'll be all right."

The dwarf felt faint as he continued to pour his healing energy into Gair, stanching the flow of blood from his shoulder wound. His fingers drifted over the elf's chest and down his leg, finding the spear there.

"Need some help," the dwarf said. He heard feet shuffling over the ground and hands grabbing the haft. "Don't pull it out! It's barbed. Break it off. Close to his leg. It's all the way through an' into the ground. Use his sword if you have to."

Jasper directed his fingers lower and found the arrow in the elf's calf. He tugged it free and sent his healing energy into that wound. He felt the elf's whole body tremble.

"Shock," the dwarf pronounced. "Someone put a blanket on him. Keep him warm."

He couldn't risk many more words. His hold on the spell was becoming tenuous, and he feared he didn't have the energy to start it over. He needed to direct all his concentration on the power of his heart.

"Not… not afraid of dying," Gair whispered. "Riverwind. Not…"

"Don't talk." Camilla squeezed the elf's hand. With the other, she brushed the sweat-damp hair from his eyes. "We'll get the wagon and take you back to town. It's just down the trail." She continued to stare into his dark purple eyes, glazed with pain. She lifted his head when one of the townsfolk thrust a blanket under him. Another blanket was placed over his chest. "The dwarf seems quite capable."

"Jasper… ."

"Do what the pretty lady says, Gair. Don't talk! An' don't interrupt me."

Several pairs of hands wormed their way under the elf's leg and lifted, pulling him off the broken spear haft. Gair clamped down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, only succeeding in muffling his cry. In the background, there was talk of the dead townsman. Camilla released his hand, intent on helping the dwarf.

"Don't go," Gair whispered. His hand found hers again.

"Easy!" Jasper ordered as the hands lowered the elf's leg again on the other side of the broken spear haft. The dwarf's fingers hovered over this wound now, and he summoned all of his mystical strength, pushing himself further than he ever had before and feeling himself grow lightheaded and dizzy, slipping toward unconsciousness, his hold on the enchantment slipping quickly with him. "C'mon! C'mon!" The words were to encourage himself. "C'mon!" Suddenly the dizziness passed, and the dwarf felt a wave of intense warmth radiating outward from his chest, racing down his arms and legs, invigorating him and spreading into the elf. "That's it!" The warmth continued to pulse through him for several moments. He felt the wound closing, and he eased back on his haunches and opened his eyes wide.

The elf's chest was rising and falling steadily. Blood had soaked through the blanket and soaked Jasper's pants legs and shirtsleeves, but Gair had finally stopped bleeding. All the wounds were closed.

"Magic," Camilla breathed. She was still holding the elf's hand. "You healed him without the gods."

"Well… spiritualism, mystic sorcery," the dwarf said. "An' whatever it is you call it, mine's not the best. I'm just learnin'. Though today was quite an education." He rose to his feet, steadied himself, and continued to eye his patient. The blood on the dwarf's hands was so thick it looked like a glove. "I don't want him movin', not for a while. Gotta get the wagon back. We'll put him on it."

"How did you do it?" Camilla was amazed, yet skeptical. She glanced at the two men who'd been wounded by arrows. Both were up and moving around, as was the female elf who'd taken an arrow in the leg.

The dwarf gave her a "that's a long story" look.

"Thank you, Jasper," Gair said.

The dwarf dismissed it with the wave of a hand. "I should be thankin' you, Gair. If you hadn't pushed me out of the way, I'd be the one skewered, an' you'd be the one doin' the healin'." The dwarf watched as Gair's eyes fluttered closed and Camilla placed his hand on his chest. "Personally," he added with a wink, "I'm not sure you could've pulled it off. I've been at this a little longer'n you. Y'know, I tell you to take more chances in your life, my elven friend, but I didn't mean for you to do somethin' like that. You rest now, Gair." He turned from the elf. "You got some water? I'd like to clean up a bit."

The female elf hurried over, her wound forgotten, fussing over Jasper with a waterskin and blanket. The townsfolk gathered around the dwarf, the air buzzing with questions and words of congratulations and thanks.

The knight stood and used the edge of her cloak to rub the blood off her hands and the metal plates on her calves. "Camilla Weoledge," she said by way of introduction as she approached Jasper. "Commander of the Solamnic Knights now stationed on Schallsea Island."

"Jasper Fireforge," the dwarf returned, extending a clean, but cold and wet, hand. "My injured friend there's called Gair Graymist." He pointed to the female elf. "An' this 's Iryl-"

"Songbrook," Camilla finished.

"We've met?" The elf turned her heart-shaped face toward the knight.

Camilla shook her head. "I walked by your hostel in town."

Iryl smiled warmly and her eyes sparkled with pride. "The Cozy Hearth. It was most fortunate for us, Commander Weoledge, that you were traveling this road. If you hadn't driven the attackers off, perhaps none of us would be alive… . Poor Harrald." She cast a glance at the man who lay dead. A woman was draping a blanket over him. "We owe you our deepest thanks."

The Solamnic knight shook her head. "You owe us nothing. It is our responsibility to keep the residents of this island safe." She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and stared, unblinking, into Iryl's eyes. "Have you any idea who attacked you?"

"No." The other townsfolk echoed her answer.

"Or why?"

Another chorus of nos.

"Who lives around here?"

"There are tribes scattered on the island," Iryl said. "The Wemitowuk and the Que-Nal, but neither would be responsible for this. They're peaceful people, and I'm a close friend of the Que-Nal chieftain. They trade in town sometimes."

"Anyone else around here?"

"There's a village of farmers not too far away, Heartspring, but I don't believe they have weapons."

"Bandits, then," Camilla mused. "They thought perhaps you carried something valuable on your wagon that might help them through the winter."

"The wagon!" someone hollered. "It's there down the road. Let's get it!"

"Well, I suppose it would be considered valuable," Iryl returned. "Blankets and flour, oil, all manner of building supplies."

The knight cocked her head as a thrashing came from the trees. Camilla whirled to see Willum and five of her knights returning. Three of them were carrying the body of Trevor. Arrows protruded from gaps in the unfortunate knight's plate mail.

Camilla's face reddened in anger.

"We didn't see who killed him, Commander," one knight began. "We knew he was chasing something. He slipped between some trees and we lost sight of him."

"Found him under an evergreen," Willum huffed. He doubled over, chest heaving, and put his hands on his thighs. "Looks like whoever killed him tried to hide the body. Took us a while to find him." He finally caught his breath, hummed in his throat a moment, then straightened. "Orders?"

"I've lost a man, Willum," she said softly, her gray eyes sad. "Not here but two days, and I've lost a knight already." She nodded toward the north, in the direction the clatter of the wagon was coming from. Two townsmen had turned it around and were guiding the horses. "We'll put Trevor on the wagon, with the dead townsman and the wounded elf, and head back to town immediately. The elf needs bed rest, Trevor needs to be buried, and we need a larger patrol to scour the countryside for the bandits. I want to interview each of these people." She swept her hand behind her to indicate the people gathering around the wagon. "Perhaps one of them saw something that can give us some clue to the bandits' identity. And then-"

"Excuse me, Commander." It was Iryl Songbrook. The elf nodded respectfully to each knight. "We won't be going back to town."

"We have to get these supplies to the settlement," Jasper finished.

"But the dead man-"

"Commander, we can bury Harrald at the settlement," Iryl said. "He would have wanted that. Harrald wasn't from Schallsea. He came here from Caergoth to see Goldmoon."

"The settlement of mystics." Camilla's tone was even, her face rigid.

Jasper nodded. "That's where the supplies are goin'. About a day an' a half to the north, at the Silver Stair."

"My charges," the knight said to herself.

"Anyway, we need to be leavin' now." The dwarf extended his hand. "Thanks for helpin' us."

"The elf needs attention."

"He'll get it at the settlement." Jasper turned toward the wagon, noted with satisfaction that the townsfolk were putting Gair on the back of the wagon. Harrald, shrouded in blankets, lay next to him.

"Aren't you concerned the bandits will strike again?"

The dwarf shrugged, then scowled. "I certainly hope not." He trundled off toward the horses and grabbed the reins. "I'll keep an eye out for 'em, of course, but I'll worry more about gettin' this wagon to the settlement. Goldmoon's expectin' it." Iryl offered the knight a departing smile and joined him.

"Orders, Commander?" one of the knights asked.

"Lethan, Earl, Chadwik, and Grant, take Trevor's body back to town and bury him in the Sentinel plot- full ceremony. I'll write a letter to the Solamnic Council and his family expressing our sorrow at his loss when I join you at the Sentinel next week. Willum, you and I and Nate"-she nodded at the remaining knight- "will escort these people to this settlement, since they seem so determined to continue. Keep alert," she warned, casting a last glance at the pines.