Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

Goldmoon's face appeared above his, ringed by a fur-trimmed hood. He vaguely registered the feel of her hands on his chest. He sensed a warmth in those hands and in her smile. The dawning sun touched a few stray locks of her hair, making it glisten like gold. In the early morning light, she looked younger to the gnoll, beautiful for a human, and she made him feel warm. She was taking some of the hurt away.

The healer concentrated, focusing the power of her heart on Orvago. He was injured far worse now than when he had been gored by the huge boar. She prayed fervently to the memory of Mishakal that she could find the power to heal him.

The medallion about her neck tingled. Magical, she began drawing on its power. The warmth continued to surge from the necklace, from her heart, down her arms and into her fingers, into Orvago. In strengthening him, pouring all of her energy into the effort, she was weakening herself.

The gnoll moaned, and his chest began to rise and fall somewhat regularly now. The wound on his abdomen started to heal.

He heard Camilla above him. She gasped in surprise as his wounds closed. He heard Willum and the others who had gathered exchange words of amazement. He heard words of concern from Goldmoon's students and the dwarven builders, and this pleased him. The people of the settlement seemed to actually care about him. They were frightened for him, no longer frightened of him.

"Goldmoon," Orvago croaked. "Goldmoon… thank you."

"He talks!" This from Redstone, who hovered nearby. "When did he learn to talk?"

"Goldmoon…"

She shushed him to be still, and he felt blankets being draped across him. Something soft was being edged under his head by the dwarf, Jasper. Goldmoon's hands remained on his chest, continuing to warm him. He could breathe deeper with her here. The ache was lessening.

"Stay quiet," she said, drawing back. "You will be all right, but I don't want to move you for a while. I want you to get a little stronger first."

Jasper edged closer and placed his hands on Orvago's chest. The dwarf took over for Goldmoon, continuing to mend the gnoll's wounds. "We'll move you to your tent in a little while," the dwarf said. "You'll have to stay there for a few days. What did you run into that chewed you up like this?"

"Indeed. What happened?" It was Camilla's voice. "Who… what… did this to you?"

"Gair," he croaked. "Gair and the whisperers did this."

They were shadows against shadows, deep in the Que-Nal woods. The wraiths, recently given life by Gair, slipped across the drifts and clung to the darkened tree trunks, chasing their prey toward the ruins of Castle Vila and reveling in the fear the men radiated.

The elf followed the wraiths, moving almost silently across the hard-packed snow and down the winding path of a frozen stream. Darkhunter was at his side, his father floating somewhere above them beneath the spidery branches of dormant maples.

"They stood their ground longer than most men would," Gair said. "Knights are like that, uncharacteristically brave. I know two of them."

You knew them , Darkhunter corrected. The wraith floated through a tree stump that Gair had to step around. You knew them when you were with Goldmoon and her doting disciples, but you are beyond them now, as far beyond them as the stars are above the face of Krynn.

A part of Gair shuddered at the thought, the part that was being smothered by the darkness still growing inside him. That small part regretted his hand last night in killing a half-dozen Solamnic knights who had been sent to search for him, and that small part had suspected that sweet Camilla, concerned about him, sent the men. The darkness within the elf had relished watching the knights die.

The darkness helped Gair understand Goldmoon better now than he ever had before. She was too caring and sympathetic. She put other people's welfare before her own, and all of that made her emotionally weak. The night that she taught him to open the door to the realm of the dead-because she believed it would give him peace-he sensed that he had forged a bond with her. He wondered if she sensed the link as well. He could somehow tell when she was thinking about him, which she was now. However, he hadn't yet been able to divine precisely what she was thinking.

"That will come," he said to himself. "I will strengthen our bond, Goldmoon, use the magic in the Silver Stair. I will learn what you are up to and if-and how-you intend to stop me." He realized it was a newfound obsession, this wanting to know what Goldmoon was planning. "Perhaps I will question these men about Goldmoon's plans and about where she takes her walks now with Riverwind."

The elf continued to glide along after the wraiths, talking to Darkhunter. The trees were thinning out, giving way to scrub and small oaks bent by the weight of the snow on their branches. The sky loomed dark to the west, with only a smattering of stars poking through the clouds. Gair strained his eyes and saw a finger of blackness prodding up from the flat expanse of snow-covered ground.

Castle Vila, Darkhunter announced, where we chase our prey.

"Camilla's knights and Goldmoon's men. You will help me become as powerful, magically, as Goldmoon." It was more of a statement than a question.

No, Master, the wraith hissed. I will make you more powerful.

"When I am, I will face her. I'll kill her, and I'll capture her spirit as I've captured yours. She will serve me. I cannot have her remain alive."

Slay her, Gair's father agreed. The wraith fluttered down to float at Gair's other side. She might be the one person who could stop you. Her citadel must fall, and she with it. And then, my son…

"And then I will raise the spirit of every Que-Nal who died on this island. When I am finished with that, every Dark Knight, every farmer, every one of Goldmoon's followers, Smithsin's father, the elf of Red Creek…"

Schallsea Island will become the realm of the dead, Darkhunter finished.

The elf slowed his pace and watched the wraiths dart around the fleeing men, all of them shadows against the snow. The wraiths circled the men, though they did not yet know their path to Castle Vila had been cut off.

"The tallest is Roeland Stark," Gair said, his voice as soft as the small icicles gently clicking together on the branches in the breeze, "a miller from the port town. He came out one day in the early fall to meet the famed Hero of the Lance. Goldmoon impressed him, as she impresses nearly everyone. He went back to town the next day, closed his shop, gathered his belongings, and joined the settlement. He is strong-minded, just learning the rudiments of healing magic. I like… liked… him."

He shall die swiftly, Darkhunter pronounced. His body shall feel little pain.

"He'll not die until I've spoken to him. Do you understand?"

You've left that life, the spirit argued. You've no need of their company, no need to talk to them.

The elf chuckled. "I need only the company of the dead?"

Darkhunter's eyes seemed to glow a little redder.

"I only want to question him," the elf explained, "and then he will die. Yes, kill him quickly. That would please me. You may take your time with the others."

And then they will join us, his father's spirit whispered, all of them.

Made stronger in death, Darkhunter said.

The words were echoed by the elder Graymist and repeated in the distance by the other wraiths until they swelled into a chant. Darkhunter flowed away from Gair and moved to join the other undead.

In Goldmoon's tent, Camilla faced the healer across her makeshift table, sitting stiffly, as if she were at attention. Orvago sat on a crate near Goldmoon's bed, yawning and watching both of them, idly rubbing his heel in a small pool of spittle on the ground. He hadn't left Camilla's side since the fight with the Que-Nal band. He had hovered around both women throughout dinner, had followed them in here even after Goldmoon had said she needed to talk to Camilla alone. However, she finally relented and let him stay. He listened closely to their conversation.