Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

The knight seethed but managed to keep her temper in check. "This is foolishness," she said finally, the words hissing out between clenched teeth, "and I want no part of it." She paused and caught her breath. "Any of you who are sensible enough to return with me to town, gather your things now."

She whirled, bumping into Willum, who'd moved up behind her. He lost his balance and fell into a snowdrift. He floundered in the snow, trying to get up but succeeding in only burying himself deeper. Camilla groaned in frustration and helped him up, all the while quietly cursing Goldmoon.

"You can't mean that you're done with them," Willum said as he followed her. "Our duty-"

"Our duty is to watch over Goldmoon and these misguided fools. I know what our duty is, Lieutenant, and I'll not shirk it. But I've a letter to write to the Solamnic Council about Trevor's death, and another letter to write to Trevor's parents. I will send some of the soldiers and a half-dozen knights here to help, and I will follow in a few weeks after I've attended to some other matters. By then perhaps Goldmoon's followers will have tasted more of Schallsea's winter and will have changed their minds. Keep watch over these fools while I am away."

Camilla waited several minutes, standing thigh-deep in the snow. When it became obvious no one would accompany her into town, she turned to the south, where the trail was obliterated by drifts. She ignored the gnoll's wave good-bye and began to trudge through the snow down the trail toward town.

Carrying an armload of snow-covered books, Gair spied her leaving. He hurried to follow, pausing when he drew even with the gnoll. "Orvago, listen. I hope you Can understand me."

The gnoll cocked his head.

"These are books, prized possessions that I have a burning desire to read again and again, things you will never understand. I need you to take care of them for me. Please." He thrust the books at the gnoll and reached for a blanket he'd tied like a sash around his waist. Happing it to chase the last of the snow out of its folds, he tied it about his neck like a cape. "Please. Do you understand?"

The gnoll grinned, a trail of spittle easing over his green-gray lips and freezing before it could fall from his chin.

"Goldmoon!" Gair shouted, turning to get the healer's attention. "I'm going in to town. I'll help gather some supplies, and I'll be back before the week is out." With that, he trundled after the knight, following as fast as his legs would carry him in the path she'd made in the snow. Despite not having to break a path, it took him several minutes to catch up with the Solamnic. When he did, he was quite out of breath.

"I don't require an escort, Mr. Graymist. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Her pace, fueled by her ire over the entire situation, was demanding, and he labored to stay even with her.

"If I needed an escort, Mr. Graymist, I would have brought Willum along."

"But I could use an escort, Lady Camilla," he huffed, "a little Solamnic protection."

"Suit yourself." Her voice quavered, and she slowed her stride.

"There could be bandits in the woods." His fingers drifted into his pocket, feeling the arrowhead he'd taken from the grave. "Though this snow seems a greater threat. No matter. I really have to go into town, and I don't care to travel alone."

You are not traveling alone, my son. Gair's father had opened the door. I will always be with you.

At the snow-covered settlement, Jasper made his way slowly toward Goldmoon, practically swimming through the snow. An unaccustomed frown was etched deeply into his broad face.

"Goldmoon," he began as he closed the distance, "the foundation's covered by a mountain of snow. Covered our timber, nails, hammers, everythin'. We can't work in this… this…" He waved his stumpy arms about as if he were trying to take flight. "This stuff!" He pointed toward a middle-aged female dwarf. "Redstone and I have been talkin' it over, an' we've decided we'll have to wait until spring to do any more buildin'. Until all of this… this… stuff has melted." Jasper paused to catch his breath. "Spring. Better workin' conditions. Much, much better."

The healer squatted, her lined face even with his. "If you don't want to work under these conditions, I understand, Jasper," she said softly.

The dwarf breathed a sigh of relief. "I told Redstone you'd understand. This blizzard made a mess out of the settlement. Maybe we should follow the knight back into town."

"You can ride on the wagon with Iryl. She's getting ready to go."

"What'll you do? When'll you join us?"

"I'm staying here. I will find others to lead the building project and we will continue in your and Redstone's absence," she added. "I'm an old woman, Jasper, and I've little time in my life to wait for the snow to melt or to wait for anything else, for that matter."

The dwarf's eyes popped wide with surprise.

"I will find someone else to replace you," she repeated. Her voice was firmer, her eyes clear. "The building project will go on."

"You can't be serious! This blizzard-"

"Brought snow, and snow can be brushed aside. I'll not let the weather stop me. The Citadel of Light will be built." She rose and trod through the snow toward the wagon, where Iryl was checking the horses.

Jasper slapped the heel of his hand against his head. He whirled on his stumpy legs and waved at the dwarves. "Everybody start clearin' away the snow! We've gotta get back to work. Now! Any thin' too wet to use, take it over there by the fire so it can dry out."

At the fire, Goldmoon's followers continued to warm their hands and make plans for putting up their tents again-this time closer together and anchored with more stakes. A few men threw more wood on the fire. Orvago shuffled closer to the flames, the people parting so he wouldn't touch them. He stared at the fire for a few moments, then tossed Gair's books on it. The gnoll grinned wide when he saw that he'd added to the blaze and had helped keep these people warm."Burning desire," he remembered Gair saying.

Iryl and Goldmoon stood by the wagon. "I'll catch up to Gair and Camilla soon enough," Iryl told Goldmoon, a lilt of laughter in her voice, "though it's going to take a good while to ford through this snow. On second thought, maybe I'll dawdle here a few more moments. Give them some time alone. In town, I'll take whatever I can from the hostel, get the merchants to donate supplies, send word out on whatever ships are in the harbor. I shouldn't be gone too long."

"Be careful," the healer cautioned, motioning for two of the settlement's sentries to accompany her. Goldmoon traced a deep scar by the wagon seat, where a spear had ricocheted off it. Her face was etched with worry. "Be very careful, my friends."

Red Street was neither red nor a street. At best, it could be considered a narrow alley lined with gray cobblestones that ran behind the biggest warehouse off Schallsea's burgeoning merchant district and ended at a stone wall. The three buildings that faced the alley-a leather shop, a tailor's, and a weaver's- were neatly shingled in brown with various shades of yellow, white, and blue trim respectively. There wasn't a shade of red to be seen anywhere. The three buildings that faced away from the street, whose back doors opened onto the alley, were all owned by the same businessman, one Lenerd Smithsin, who also owned Schallsea's newest stable. These buildings were being used as residences for the town's newcomers, who were filling Smithsin's pockets with steel, which he already had plenty of. Smithsin had inherited his buildings from his father, Markus.

Red Street had tickled Gair's ever-present curiosity, and so he sought out its origin, even as he sought out the goods sold along it. He told himself he needed something to occupy his mind other than Lady Camilla, who was busying herself with "Solamnic concerns." So through a string of carefully worded and persistent questions, the elf learned that several decades past a stream had cut through the middle of the port town, which was then little more than a barbarian village. The stream was called Red Creek, named after a Qualinesti elf who homesteaded along its northern bank and who seemed to get along well with the natives. No one Gair chatted with could remember the elf's name, as it was long and difficult to pronounce. They knew that, according to the island's history, the elf dressed only in shades of red, which the natives at that time considered odd for an elf, since the few other elves in the area favored hues of green. Hence, for some reason known only to those long-dead folks, the natives named the stream Red Elf's Creek. It was shortened through the years and slips of the tongue to Red Creek.