Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

The questions whirled in his mind as he continued headlong toward the settlement, guided by the central campfire, which was especially large for such a late hour.

"They must be celebrating something," Gair said. "Perhaps I'll join them and take my mind off spirits." As the elf neared, his thoughts of merriment turned to horror. It wasn't the central campfire he'd spied. It was the construction site. The building that everyone had labored so diligently to complete was on fire.

Gair raced forward, churning through the drifts until he came upon a path that seemed to head straight toward the blaze. As he ran, he took in the shouts and cries filling the air, the crackling of the flames. The entire settlement was awake, and panic ruled.

He could distinguish no one voice, which was what he was trying to do in hope of locating Goldmoon. So many people were shouting, arguing, screaming. Children were wailing, and parents were too preoccupied to silence them. Only a few words managed to rise above the din, and these seemed to be shouted orders. The elf closed with the crowd and slowly began pushing his way through it closer to the center of the chaos. As he went, he felt the air become warmer from the heat of the fire. His boots sloshed in snow that was melting.

Three stories of flames illuminated the evening sky. Like an orange-red waterfall, the fire seemed to pour from the roof and down the walls, sparking and snapping angrily as if it were some great, wrathful beast.

Those with tents closest to the citadel were taking them down as quickly as possible, fingers madly fumbling in the canvas, arms locked around valuables and dragging them away.

"Everything!" one woman moaned as she sank to her knees. She was one of the first who had moved into the building, Gair recalled. "Everything I own has been lost!"

"Not everything," said a man trying to comfort her. "You still have your life."

Gair blinked furiously. The heat was pushing outward, stinging his sensitive eyes. He brushed at his face, finding it smudged with ashes that filled the air. Gray snow, it looked like. He cast his gaze about, searching for Goldmoon.

His eyes locked on the shining armor of the Solamnic knights. They were carrying people away from the burning building, their exposed faces black with ash. Some of the soldiers were keeping the panicked crowd back. Others were at the edge of the burning building, calling out to see if anyone was trapped inside.

"Goldmoon!" the elf shouted as he continued to move forward. He shook the shoulders of one of the Solace twins. "Is Goldmoon in the building?"

The man shook his head. "Other side o' the fire!" he barked, his voice raspy. Gair noticed his hands were blistered, and part of his sleeves had been burned away. "She's with Roeland and my brother."

The elf made his way around the blaze, dodging people dragging their belongings farther away from the conflagration, getting out of the way of a dozen men who'd loaded up pieces of tarp with snow. They were running forward, and Gair watched as they hefted the tarps and flung the snow at the fire. The flames seemed only to laugh at them and glow more brightly.

Smoke poured from one of the citadel's doorways, and through it Gair saw dark shapes. People indeed were trapped! The elf paused in his search for Goldmoon, edged closer to the building, and breathed a sigh of relief as the three fishermen from the port stumbled out, coughing and patting their clothes. Two Solamnic knights were behind them. A pair of the Thorbardin dwarves rushed forward to tug the fishermen away from the building-and just in time. There was a great flapping sound as part of the roof came free, spiraling down, flames licking madly in the air. It landed where the fishermen had paused a mere heartbeat ago. The knights joined the crowd and began plucking pieces of their armor off, revealing blistered skin beneath it.

Gair continued his way around the massive inferno. He spotted Iryl Songbrook. She was taking stock of the followers, and by concentrating he picked out a few of her words. It seemed she was trying to determine who else might be inside.

"No one, I hope," Gair said as he continued to press himself through the hysterical throng. "Nobody else is going to make it out of there." He was knocked to the ground as another snow regiment thundered forward, futilely trying to fight the fire by slinging more tarps full of snow at it. Gair knew there was little water available. Since the snows came, everyone had been melting it for water rather than continuing to dig wells.

Still, there was one functioning well at the far edge of the settlement, and the elf could tell that a bucket brigade had formed. The line of humans and dwarves, adults and children alike, was working quickly, shuttling pots and pans, helmets, and even a few actual buckets toward the blaze.

The fire was too big, burned too quickly. "The resin," Gair muttered as he picked himself up and continued around to the far side of the citadel, finally spotting Goldmoon. "The resin's fueling it." He could smell the odd mixture of tree sap and oil that the builders had been diligently applying for days.

He turned the corner and saw that the healer was perilously close to the flames, Roeland at her shoulder, his hands clenched on her cloak to hold her back. Orvago was behind them, fur tinged black with soot and obviously singed, as if he'd been inside the building when it had caught fire.

"What started it?" Gair called as he waved to Goldmoon and weaved his way toward her.

Shadowwalker's clan. The elder Graymist had opened the door.

Gair stopped in his tracks, staring mutely at the flames that continued to pour down the sides of the citadel as if they were liquid. The heat this close was nearly unbearable, and it had melted the snow far back from the building, turning the top layer of the once-hard ground muddy. Shadowwalker, Gair thought. Darkhunter had mentioned the name.

"Let me go!" Goldmoon started to struggle with Roeland. He had his arms wrapped around her now, keeping her from bolting.

"So you can die, too?" Roeland's voice was firm. "You yourself said no one else was to go in there."

Gair swallowed hard and pushed himself through the last several people to reach Goldmoon's side. "I went for a walk," he began, for some reason believing he needed to supply a reason for his absence. "I saw the fire as I was returning, and-"

"Jasper's inside." Goldmoon's face was ashen. She was smudged with soot and tears. Her hair was plastered to the sides of her face with sweat, the edges of her cloak singed.

"Everyone else made it out," Roeland said, "but Jasper-"

"And Redstone," Goldmoon breathed. She sagged against the former miller.

"They were helping to get the last ones out," Roeland continued. "People were sleeping when it started, and-"

"Suddenly part of the roof caved in."

Goldmoon dropped to her knees, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking. Gair had never seen her look so old and frail, so broken. He knelt at her side, brushing the hair away from her face, his fingers adding to the gray smudges.

"Maybe he got out on the other side," he offered.

You know that's not true, Son.

"Maybe…" Gair left the sentence unfinished, unable to come up with another even half-convincing prevarication.

The healer pressed her hands into the slush and sent her senses forward into the fire. "Jasper," Goldmoon whispered. "I'm sorry, my friend. By the memory of Mishakal, if only I'd-"

A growl cut her off, angry and loud and coming from the gnoll. He tore off his red cloak and charged forward, hairy arms in front of his face. Gair was on his feet in an instant, reaching out to stop him. The elf's fingers closed on air.