Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

He centered his efforts on the closest form, a man in scant clothing who wore beads in his hair. "Breathe," the elf urged as more energy flowed through him and into the misty dimension. "Live." He continued to keep one hand on the stair, using the last of his physical strength to grip it. He couldn't risk falling now, not when he was so close. "Live!"

Another form moved closer, this one somehow familiar, a human with dark skin and long black hair. Shells were woven into the man's hair. Jewelry hung about his neck and wrists, the gold glittering like stars as the arcane energy continued to pour from the stairway.

"Stars fallen to earth," Gair repeated.

The man with the gold jewelry moved closer still, his form thickening, his eyes glowing so bright the otherworldly light was uncomfortable to Gair. The spirit's lips edged upward into a smile, and his glaring eyes, through the doorway to the misty dimension, locked onto Gair's.

The elf felt the crack in the step beneath his hand widen. A piece the size of his thumb fell away. Taking energy from the ruin weakened it, the elf noted. He would be careful and not use this same step the next time. "Darkhunter."

Yes, the spirit answered.

Gair shivered, though not from the intense winter cold, and directed his thoughts away from that spirit. The Que-Nal still inexplicably bothered him, though they were far from the burial circle where his bones rested. The elf would offer his father life again rather than use this powerful magic on a man he had never known.

"I will not use this magic on you," he whispered.

Gair Graymist, the spirit of Darkhunter pronounced. The words seemed more intense inside the elf's head than the words of other spirits. Gair Graymist of Silvanesti. The words swirled in the fog around the elf on the Silver Stair.

"No," the elf decided. "It is indeed time to end this."

He would try again tomorrow night, contacting only his father, perhaps his mother, perhaps Riverwind. Imagine how happy Goldmoon would be to have a tangible, breathing Riverwind walking at her side! Yes, tomorrow he would contact Riverwind and direct this spell at his spirit, not at the spirit of a Que-Nal who made his skin crawl.

Gair dropped his hand from his temple, brought his other hand to his lap, and steepled his fingers. He inhaled deeply and focused on the chill night air, thrusting aside his thoughts of the Silver Stair and of the spirits on the other side of the door. "Camilla," he whispered. He thought of her, pictured her smooth face and hesitant smile. "Camilla," he repeated more strongly.

He felt the pulsing arcane energy slowly leave his body, seeping back into the stair. The warmth left him, too, and he found himself shivering now from the bitter cold. There was an icy coldness inside of him, as if the winter had settled in the pit of his stomach. It was like the iniquitous feeling he had at the burial ground, a darkness growing inside himself, as if he'd planted a seed that was taking root.

"No more!" Gair firmly closed the door to the spirit's dimension, and with that felt a bit of his physical strength returning, though the chill he sensed in his stomach remained. The fog still swirled around him, and through gaps in it, he could barely make out the torches of the sentries far below.

"Like stars."

Such a romantic.

The elf shot to his feet, nearly losing his balance. He steadied himself and looked all around, instantly fearful that an acolyte had somehow followed him up the stairs.

He could see no one.

A mystic such as yourself should not waste his time on women, especially human ones. Your father is right. He should concentrate only on his considerable magical talents.

"Who… who are you?"

Darkhunter, the voice replied. Your magical talents are indeed impressive.

Gair's feet took the stairs two at a time. Falling wasn't his worry now. The elf wanted to get away from the spirit who, he realized, had slipped through the door before he closed it.

Why run from me? the spirit persisted. You wanted me free! You removed a link in the fence that bound me to my grave. You removed a stone. It is still in your pocket. Now finish the task! Make me whole!

The elf felt about in the pocket of his coat as he continued to run. His fingers found the carved mosaic stone from the burial ground. I must tell Goldmoon, he thought as he raced toward her tent.

Tell her what? the spirit interrupted his thoughts.

Gair couldn't see the Que-Nal, but somehow he knew the spirit was at his shoulder.

Finish the task!

"No!" I must tell Goldmoon.

Tell her that you dabbled in something she had oft refused to teach you? Tell her that you abused the skills she shared with you? Tell her you've breathed life into a ghost? What would your teacher think of you?

The elf's feet pounded over the snow-slick ground and he rounded a corner. He blinked his eyes furiously against the snow that had started to fall again. Goldmoon's tent was only yards away now. He'd tell her about the spirit and the stone, take the stone back to the burial circle in the morning. Maybe she could cleanse him.

Tell her that your magic is greater than hers? That you were able to pull someone through what you term a doorway? That you can raise the dead?

Gair stopped.

Tell her nothing, Master.

"Master?" Out of breath, Gair nodded to a passing sentry rather than return his greeting. He walked by Goldmoon's tent and allowed his hammering heart to slow. Within moments he was inside his own tent, then beneath the covers. Fortunately the gnoll was asleep, he thought, and fortunately for once he wasn't snoring.

Orvago slivered his eyes and saw that his tent mate hadn't even bothered taking off his boots. The gnoll yawned, opened one eye, noted the oddity, then drifted off back to sleep.

Neither saw the pair of softly glowing white eyes move inside the tent and hover near the elf's bed.

"The fire changed everything," Gair explained. "The new citadel will be more complex. Some of the dwarves have gone north and are mining crystal to use, and-"

"You believe in all of this, don't you?" Camilla interrupted.

He took the knight's hand and led her down one of the several paths that had been cleared through the thigh-high snow. The paths led from tent to tent to the main cookfire to the old building site, which was completely free of snow because of the heat of the recent fire. Only a light dusting from the new snow tried to conceal the rubble.

The eldest of the builders was already at work clearing away more of the debris. He was none too pleased about the weather and was cursing the snow that was still falling. "It doesn't snow inside Thorbardin," he muttered loudly enough for Gair and Camilla to hear.

"This section will be-" the elf paused, drawing his lower lip under his teeth as he searched his memory for the new plans he'd only bothered to glance at-"part of what will be called the Healing Lyceum. We're standing in what will be its very center." He led her toward the edge of the old site, where bits of charred wood still remained, and he pointed down into a deep, snowdusted basement. He tugged her back when he discovered how slippery the ground was. "Careful," he warned, pointing at a patch of ice that looked dull-gray in the pale dawn light. "According to Redstone's and Jasper's plans, the lyceum will have five floors, and part of it will cover this."

The Solamnic commander shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe Goldmoon isn't giving up."

Gair smiled wistfully. "I don't think she knows how."

"I wish I knew who was working against you. The ambush on the trail. The fire: it's not bandits-they wouldn't destroy, they'd steal. Maybe Knights of Takhisis, sent here to vex Goldmoon, though I thought they had some measure of honor and would have attacked openly. I just don't know." She ran her fingers through her tight curls. "I might not agree with what's going on here, Gair-Goldmoon's mysticism and everything- but these attacks against you must stop. I've sent word to the council that I need skilled scouts. They should be here in a few more weeks, and with them we'll get to the bottom of this."