Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"Well, whatever he is, he's welcome to share my tent tonight," Gair said, stifling a yawn.

"There," Goldmoon said. "The matter is settled. Orvago will stay with Gair as long as he likes."

She didn't notice the elf's wide eyes.

"Orvago can stay," she continued, "just as anyone here can stay as long as he likes. If you cannot abide by this, then this place is not for you." She stood defiantly amid the throng, listening to their whispers. Some seemed to accept her words, while others seemed merely curious. Still others seemed frightened. Finally the crowd began to disperse back to their tents.

Goldmoon watched the creature follow Gair toward his tent, then motioned to the sentries. One would be stationed near Gair's tent for the rest of the evening, just in case some of the people in the tent town opted not to abide by Goldmoon's decision.

Gair ducked through the low tent flap and stepped inside. The gnoll stepped forward, his head catching the top of the tent. The creature howled as canvas billowed around them, and then the tent collapsed.

It took the elf nearly an hour to set it up again.

Orvago woke with a start, snarling loudly to get Gair's attention. The elf glanced at the floor, where the gnoll had fashioned a makeshift bed out of blankets, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"What are you howling about?" the elf grumbled. "I haven't had more than an hour or so of sleep, and…" Then he cocked his head. The gnoll wasn't howling; it was the wind, and the tent was flapping threateningly. Gair jumped to his feet, stuck his face outside, and instantly pulled it back in, sputtering and blinking furiously.

The wind keened furiously, a great low whistle that drowned out everything except the flapping of the canvas. The elf hurriedly searched through his clothes for his warmest pants and shirt, then struggled into them as the canvas continued to flutter madly and the center pole began to wobble. Orvago growled softly and edged toward the tent opening, cautiously crawling on his hands and knees, a ridge of hair standing up on his back.

Gair continued to hop about, pulling on stockings, then one boot, then another, all the while cursing in his native tongue. "We've got to get outside," he said as much to himself as to the gnoll. "I think this tent is about to…"

Before he could get the rest of the words out, the smaller poles tugged free of the ground and the center pole tipped, bringing the beating canvas down on the elf-but only for a moment. The wind continued to batter the tent, pulling it loose from its stakes and sending it flying away. Blankets and books followed it. Gair gave a shout as his cot spun over, banging into the back of his legs. He made a mad grab for a red leather-bound book, and the cot turned end over end away from him to disappear in the snow.

Howling, the gnoll crawled out of the path of Gair's tumbling belongings, then pressed himself into the snow as more objects passed quickly over his back. Orvago propped himself up on his elbows, only his face above the thick blanket of snow, and cupped a hairy hand over his eyes and tried to get a better look around.

The world was totally white. Snow was driven practically sideways from the south, reminding the creature of the fierce storm at sea he had endured more than a year ago. Through the nearly opaque whiteness, he saw faint shadows moving about slowly. It took several seconds to realize the shadows were people from the settlement. Above the terrifying wind, the creature heard the shouts of men and women and the frightened whinnies of horses. He heard Goldmoon. Orvago crawled on his hands and knees toward her voice.

Gair clutched his precious book to him, thrusting it inside his shirt and buttoning the shirt up to his neck to keep the book safe. The elf's teeth were chattering, and he reached out his mind to his father while he fumbled in the snow for his green woolen coat.

The elf closed his eyes against the threatening snow, bundled his coat tightly around himself, and thrust his hands deep into the pockets. "Father, can you see through this?" He concentrated on the mystical ability Goldmoon had taught him but a few hours ago, opened the door to the realm of the dead, and heard an answer in his mind, though it was difficult to understand with the roar of the wind around him. "If this snow is nothing to you, then guide me through it, Father," he implored. "I must find Goldmoon and Camilla."

The spirit, unhampered by the blizzard, unerringly guided his son around chests and crates too heavy to be tossed by the wind but hidden by growing drifts of snow. Slowly he directed Gair in the direction where Goldmoon's tent used to be.

The gnoll and the elf arrived at nearly the same time, finding the aging healer bundled in blankets, surrounded by a few dozen men, women, and children, and calling out to the rest of her followers. Some of the people were hysterical, unable to find loved ones in the blizzard. The healer was trying to gather everyone close and was counting heads.

"Jasper!" The word was lost in the wind. A dwarf at Goldmoon's feet, looking like a tree stump covered by snow, shouted that she hadn't seen Jasper since last night.

Orvago pushed himself to his feet, draping an arm across his brow in an attempt to keep some of the wind and snow out of his eyes. He leaned into the wind and headed toward where he'd hidden himself last night at the construction site. The scent of the dwarves would be strongest there.

"My baby!" A woman huddling near Goldmoon cried. "I can't find my baby!" The woman made a move to dart away, but a man held her fast and Goldmoon tried to calm her.

"My wife!" a young man blurted. "She was right next to me when we were awakened by the storm, but then we became separated on the way here. Help me find her." He, too, was entreated to stay put.

"We've got to stay together!" It was Iryl Songbrook's voice. "Call out and the others will find us."

"Amanda!" the woman wailed.

Goldmoon began calling out names again, and others joined her chorus. Their words began to cut through the wind. Camilla and Willum appeared at the edge of the group, bundled in cloaks and blankets and carrying a rope. Camilla tied it about her waist, handed the end to Willum, and headed out in search of people lost in the snow.

At the same time, Gair chatted softly to his father, confident the wind and the people's cries would conceal his conversation. "Help me find the children," he urged. "They must be brought to safety first."

There is one nearby , his father replied, and the spirit began guiding his son. Gair kept his eyes closed, wrapped his coat even tighter around him, and trustingly followed the voice in his head ever closer to the cliff.

The elf softly cursed the island as he went, so hot in the summer, so cold in winter. And this blizzard! Despite his travels, he'd never been caught in something so fierce and so cold. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, his face stung horribly, and he imagined his skin was as red as a cherry. He paused for only a moment when something tumbling along in the wind struck his legs and almost made him lose his balance. He plodded on through the deepening snow until he heard the rush of the waves beating the rocks below and heard his father practically scream in his mind for him to stop.

Careful. Kneel down , the elder Graymist instructed. Be very careful. The edge of the cliff is only inches away, and a child is just…

"Over the ledge," Gair finished, shouting to hear himself over the wind. "I think I can hear her. Barely." The elf knew it was his acute hearing that allowed him to detect something over the pounding water and the howling wind. "Must have fallen over the side. Couldn't see in this storm." I can't see in this storm either, he added to himself.