Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

Gair moved at the last possible moment, hurling his knife at the youth and striking him in the stomach. The young warrior continued to cackle, tugging the bloodless knife free. His furs were so thick, it was as if he were wearing armor and the blade was too small to find its way through. Knife in one hand now and spear in the other, he advanced on Gair again.

"You give me no choice!" the elf shouted. Softer, to himself, he added, "I can't afford to dally with you when Camilla is in danger."

The elf darted in, swinging hard to the right and splitting the youth's spear. Without pause, he lunged in and swept the blade again, cutting through the thick skins and finding flesh beneath them. The young warrior struggled back a step, gasping in surprise and pain.

Nearby, Camilla crouched in the snow, making herself a smaller target. Then a heartbeat later she rose, and feinting to her right, sliced forcefully under the barbarian's shield. The blade bit through his fur and deep into his stomach. The startled Que-Nal grunted and fell back, his hand pressing against the growing line of red staining his pelt, then dropping the decorated shield.

"Kill the woman knight!" This was a new voice, and all eyes swiveled to the south to spot an ancient man yards away, his long hair as white as the snow and blowing wildly about a deeply lined face. "Kill all of them!" He raised his hands, thumbs touching, fingers spread wide.

"Shadowwalker!" Iryl moaned. She was still locked in a fight with a Que-Nal warrior.

Another blow, and Gair dropped his foe.

The remaining four Que-Nal continued to jab at Camilla and her knight. Blood stained the snow around the latter, and his slow movements showed he was seriously wounded.

Gair! The elder Graymist intruded again. You and your friends cannot win this battle. Not now. Hide!

"Never!" Gair cursed as he plowed through the snow to the south, slowed only by his indecisiveness of whether to help Iryl or the two knights.

The four around Camilla and her knight increased the tempo of their attacks, thrusting with the tips of their spears, then bringing the other ends around as if their weapons were quarterstaffs.

Far behind them, the old man was humming, the droning sound cutting through the clamor, unnerving Gair.

He has magic, Gair's father surmised. That's why you cannot win. Run while you can, Son! We've much work to do together. Do not throw your life away for these people.

"These people are my friends," the elf growled.

Several blows glanced off Camilla's armor, but one struck the side of her head, momentarily stunning her. She sagged back against the other knight, who was faring worse. A spear had found its way between the plates in his armor just as he had managed to land a serious blow against one of the barbarians.

Another glance told Gair that Iryl was holding her own, so he darted toward the knights, feet flying over the snow and sending a shower of white in his wake.

"Orvago!" Iryl hollered. "It's Orvago!"

The shape coming from the west was the gnoll. He was running, jowls wide open as he howled.

"Orvago! Help us!" Iryl called to him. "Hurry."

As the gnoll closed the distance, Shadowwalker clapped his hands together, the sound booming like thunder. The wind gained more strength, whistling fiercely and whipping snow into the eyes of the knights and the elves. The snow seemed not to bother the Que-Nal, who continued to worry at the knights.

A grievously wounded warrior dropped his spear and threw himself on the male knight, bearing him to the ground and pitching him into Camilla in the process. Camilla struggled to stay on her feet as the other three warriors thrust their spears at her.

Gair wasn't yet close enough, and one of the Que-Nal spears found its mark. It skewered the commander from behind.

"No!" Gair cried.

Despite her injury, the Solamnic knight moved quickly. She brought her sword down on the arm of an attacker in front of her, cleaving it and sending a shower of blood everywhere. With the spear still protruding from her back, she whirled and swept her sword high, slicing through the hides of the already wounded barbarian who was atop the other knight. The youth cried out once, then fell lifeless.

"Only three left," Gair chattered to himself as he closed the distance. "We can prevail here yet."

You can't, his father hissed into his ear, and now you can't run.

The wind became even more fierce, like the blizzard of a few weeks ago. The world turned white. "Did he cause that storm, too, Father?" Gair hollered to hear himself above the wind. "Was the old man responsible?"

I do not know, the elder Graymist replied, the spirit's voice a mere whisper.

Camilla's chest was heaving from the exertion, her breath puffing away from her face like a chimney being stoked and melting the flakes that swirled in front of her. Her back burned, and she felt the blood running from her wound and soaking the padding beneath her armor. She couldn't see more than inches in front of her and concentrated on listening to the swishing sound of the Que-Nals' feet over the drifts. There was one in front of her! She rained a succession of harsh blows toward it, hearing a sharp crack when her sword cut through a spear.

Three Que-Nal, two of them weaponless, danced around her as if the snowstorm was not there. One darted in and picked up the fallen knight's sword, then brought it up to parry Gair's swing. The elf was not relying on his eyesight but was listening to his father tell him where the barbarians were.

Crouching, the elf feinted, then rose up and rammed his sword forward and felt it sink into someone in front of him. "Keep me away from Camilla!" he called to his father. "I don't want to harm her by mistake." Nor do I want her to harm me, he thought.

Away from the pair, Iryl clutched the spear in one hand, and with the other tried to bat away the snow so she could see. She felt a rush of air and leapt to the side, feeling the brush of fur as the Que-Nal charged where she had been a heartbeat before. She felt another brush of fur, this more coarse, and heard a deep-throated growl.

"Orvago!" She let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks be to the memory of Habbakuk!"

"Kill them!" the old man continued to shout. "For Zebyr Jotun! Kill them!"

"A beast!" the Que-Nal nearby Iryl cried. "Shadowwalker, they have monsters on their side!"

Chaos continued to rain in the swirling snowstorm. The clang of Gair's and Camilla's swords rang out against the spears of their foes and the soft thuds of the blades striking the thick hides of the barbarians. A muffled cry cut through the wind, Camilla's, followed by a series of thuds and clangs as an incensed Gair retaliated.

"Camilla's down!" Gair called out, hoping that Iryl still lived. "Father, how many left?"

Still three, the elder Graymist answered. One is sorely injured.

"Tell me where they are, Father!"

More blows rained.

Somewhere in the wicked whiteness, the old man continued to shout, "Kill them all!"

Near Iryl, the gnoll was wildly slashing at a barbarian who was doing his best to crawl toward Shadowwalker. The gnoll's hood was thrown back, revealing his doglike face, spittle flying and freezing as he continued to claw at the man.

Camilla was face first in the snow and struggling to push herself up. The knight was faint from cold and the loss of blood, her fingers practically frozen.

Gair was wounded, too, from spear jabs that penetrated through his defenses and punctured his legs, but none of the wounds were serious. He stepped in front of Camilla, following his father's directions, thrusting his sword forward like a spear, driving it through one of the remaining barbarians.

Two left! The elder Graymist's voice finally showed a hint of optimism. The monster you call your friend has finished another, and the old man is retreating!