Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

The gnoll's victory cry cut through the chaos, sending a shiver down Gair's spine.

The two remaining are fleeing, too, his father continued. The monster has unnerved them! It was fortunate your beast was worried over your tardiness and came looking for you. The monster is good for something after all.

The gnoll was snorting and growling, trying to find his way through the snow to pursue his quarry.

"Let them go, Orvago!" Gair shouted as his father explained what the gnoll was trying to do. "Over here! I need you!" Then the elf slumped to his knees, as if the effort of shouting took the last of his strength. "I should have told Goldmoon and Iryl about the Que-Nal, Father." His voice was soft, cloaked by the sound of the wind-driven snow.

No, his father corrected. You were right to keep the knowledge hidden. It would not have prevented this.

"Camilla!"

There was nothing but the persistent shushing of the snow and Orvago's growls.

"Where is she, Father?"

Lost to you, Son. Mortally wounded, I'm afraid. She is slipping toward my realm. I will welcome her for you.

Gair shut out the rest of his father's words and groped furiously with his frigid hands, desperately trying to find Camilla. She was lying on her side, a layer of snow atop her, a spear lodged in her back. He felt her face, his fingers dancing down her body until they encountered the warm stickiness of her blood. Gair blocked everything else, focusing on his heart, trembling from fear of losing her, calling forth his healing spell.

The magic was dead within him. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, too spent to nurture a mystical spark.

"Please!" the elf whimpered as he concentrated harder, felt himself grow colder as all his energy was directed inward. His breathing became ragged, and he slumped over her still form. "Please!" He could sense his heartbeat, weakening himself further as he tried to draw energy from it. It thrummed irregularly as he gave up the last of his strength in an effort to find his mystic center. The penetrating cold, and a blackness that came up from nowhere and everywhere, swelled to surround him, and he felt himself lose his grip on consciousness and spiral downward. "No!" It was a hoarse whisper of protest. "I won't give up yet!" Just as he suspected he might fail himself, he found a last bit of energy left in his limbs, and the elf felt something stir within him, something inexplicable, a faintly mystical pulse.

He pictured it as a flame, and he crouched over it, protecting it from the wind and blowing on it gently to give it more substance. The image became more real in his mind until he could feel the warmth of the fire he was building. It was chasing the cold from his limbs, melting the snow all around him. He continued to tend the flames, fingers scrabbling over the dry ground he was mentally painting, gathering twigs and dead leaves. These he shoved into the fire, and it grew.

The elf pulled back from the image now, registering himself draped over Camilla. The warmth from the fire in his chest was surging down his arms and into her unmoving form. The waves were strong, as he'd felt them moving into himself when Jasper healed him on the trail in what seemed so long ago. He stoked the fire higher and was rewarded when he heard her gasp, felt her move slightly.

Still focusing on his healing wave, he reached around to her back, where the spear was lodged. It was not too deep, and he tugged it out, pressing his fingers into the wound and coaxing his mystical warmth inside.

She moaned softly.

"You'll be all right." Guided by Orvago, Iryl had found her way to the knight commander's side. "Gair is healing you."

"No!" The word was firm. She tried to push herself away from the elf's hands, but Iryl held her down, and Camilla hadn't the strength to handle the slight elvish woman. "Take me to town, please. There's an herbalist at the Sentinel. She'll see to me. No magic."

Gair's fingers fluttered across her arm, where he felt a broken bone. He couldn't set it, though he knew Goldmoon or Jasper could handle that task. He could stop the bleeding and ease her pain. He directed the warmth to flow into the arm.

Camilla was growing stronger, and Orvago helped keep her from squirming.

"I don't want this!" The words were almost lost in the still-blowing snow. "None of this mysticism. None of it. Let me die… or take me to town."

"I won't let you die, lady knight," Gair said. "And the port is days away." He turned his attention back to the spell and directed the last of the healing warmth into her. Thoroughly spent, he fell back into the soft snow, gasping and clutching his cold fingers to his chest.

"Willum," Camilla moaned. She was feverish, ranting. "Willum, don't let them heal me. None of their mysticism. None of it."

Iryl smoothed the knight's hair and cradled Camilla's face in her lap to protect it from the wind. "Everything will be all right, Commander Weoledge. Rest now."

The miniature storm died several minutes later, leaving behind snow that had all but covered the bodies of the slain Que-Nal and the two knights. One of the latter lived, barely, and Gair somehow found just enough mystical strength to stop his bleeding. The elf plucked at the fastenings of the armor and tugged it off the man.

The gnoll padded over, removed his own cloak, wrapped it around the wounded knight, and hoisted him gently over his shoulder. Orvago glanced to the west. He had followed their tracks to get here, and the storm that came from nowhere covered up all trace of them.

Iryl brushed the snow from the slain knight, ran her fingers across his eyelids to close them, and offered a quiet prayer to the departed Habbakuk. Finished, she joined Gair, who had removed Camilla's armor and was wrapping her in one of the blankets, then lifted her in his arms. The knight was as tall as the elf and at least as heavy, but Gair somehow managed to carry her.

"We'll have to return for the armor and the rest of the blankets," he told Iryl. "Too heavy to deal with now."

A blanket under each arm, she nodded and took the lead, her eyes darting to the north and south, fearful of spotting more Que-Nal. "I did not believe the Que-Nal capable of this," she said. She shook her head in disbelief. "As a whole, they are a peaceful people. I apologize."

"For what?"

"I was blinded to the truth of the real nemesis. If I'd had a clue that Shadowwalker was involved, I could have prevented this," Iryl declared.

"Prevented it?" Gair sucked in his breath. "How?"

"Shadowwalker's a renegade. The chieftain of the Que-Nal, Skydancer, is a close friend of mine. I could have said something to him. He and his people could have stopped Shadowwalker, stopped all of this. Shadowwalker's mad, my Silvanesti friend. You heard the young warriors mention Zebyr Jotun? That's one of their gods. You might know her as Zeboim, queen of the sea. Shadowwalker believes the gods are still here and thinks that his power comes from her. He's mad… and dangerous. He's probably behind the fire at the citadel, the attack on the pilgrims. All these deaths, Gair-the fire, everything-they could have been prevented if only I'd known."

Not another word was spoken as Orvago, Gair, and Iryl forged a new path through the snow.

It was after sundown by the time they reached the settlement. They went straight to Goldmoon's tent, where the aging healer and Jasper tended to the knights. Camilla's protests to their mystic ministrations were ignored.

Gair padded from the settlement when he was confident Camilla would live and that she was resting comfortably. "Could have prevented this," he muttered to himself as he passed by the Silver Stair, just winking into view with the stars. "Well, I will put an end to all of this. Darkhunter will tell me where to find this Shadowwalker, and I will deal with the old man." And then I will return to Goldmoon and beg her to cleanse this darkness I feel growing stronger inside me, the elf added to himself.