Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"I did not ask for your healing," Camilla began, "though I suppose I should thank you for it. You probably saved my life, but I will not allow you to use your mysticism on me again. I truly want no part of it."

"As you want no part of this settlement," the healer added. "Commander Weoledge, I understand that you do not want us here. More precisely, you do not want me here. However-"

"However, the Solamnic Council does not share my opinion." Camilla fixed her eyes on the top of the healer's head, avoiding meeting her gaze. "The council is elated that you are building a center dedicated to your new mystic order. They have doubled the number of Knights of the Sword and soldiers under my command and have instructed me to protect you at all costs and afford you whatever other assistance is possible. Now that we know the threat is from a band of renegade Que-Nal, we can better defend you."

Camilla continued to stare, unblinking. "I understand from Iryl that the Que-Nal still revere the old gods, though they call them by names unfamiliar to us."

Goldmoon smoothed her hands on her tunic. "Let us hope I can make my own peace with the Que-Nal in the spring. I want no discord between them and the settlement. Commander, do you feel well enough for a walk?"

The women walked shoulder to shoulder, presenting a sharp contrast-Camilla young and very much the warrior, walking stately, though she was without her armor, the aging Goldmoon clad in soft browns, soft like her hair and expression and tone, her cloak shushing about her feet. Orvago followed several paces behind them.

The sky had darkened overhead, with clouds obscuring most of the stars, and the tents farthest from the few fires that burned loomed in a row like the bony spine of a great black beast.

"Have you walked the Silver Stair, Commander? The visions I've received there are quite illuminating."

She shook her head. "I have no need of visions. My own faith serves me well enough."

Goldmoon's path took them by each tent in the settlement, then around the construction site, where a dozen dwarves and humans continued to work by the light of a few large lanterns. Jasper and Redstone were putting the finishing touches on a doorframe, and they slowed their work long enough to nod their greetings and eavesdrop a little. The healer noted that Camilla made eye contact with each person in the settlement, as if she were constantly measuring them.

They passed by the row of closely spaced tents belonging to the knights and soldiers. Willum saw them and said he'd heard nothing yet from the search parties of knights and volunteers that had been sent out after Gair and his "whisperers." The men who went to collect the armor and the blankets on the trail to Heartspring had also come up empty-handed.

Goldmoon finished the tour at a small bay southeast of the tent town, taking Camilla down an overgrown path that led to an imposing cliff.

Camilla let out a long breath between her teeth, making a soft whistling sound. "Pelican Cove," she said, looking down at the water. "I was here with Gair not too long ago." Pilings rose above the choppy surface. "So you'll build a dock here when the weather breaks, which means you won't be needing the docks in town."

"This will be for visitors' use. The cove is not nearly deep enough to accommodate ships of much size. Materials can't be unloaded here." Goldmoon pointed down the cliff face. "In the spring, we'll build steps here."

Camilla glanced across the cove to the Straits of Schallsea and to the New Sea beyond. The water looked as black as ink, and the light from the few stars that showed in the cloudy sky was too faint to reflect on the surface.

"I know you do not want me here." Goldmoon finally brought up the subject again.

"It is because I do not agree with what you are doing."

"I am offering my students hope, teaching them to heal others."

The Solamnic Commander shook her head. "You teach them magic that comes from within."

"The power of the heart."

"Magic comes from the gods, Goldmoon. You were a priestess of Mishakal, and so you of all people should know that."

"You truly don't understand, do you, Commander? The power of the heart is from the gods, the last gift they gave men before they left to wherever Chaos bade them go. Mysticism, some call it. It is still god-magic, and I still believe in the gods. I am a priestess of Mishakal, to my last day."

Camilla's gaze softened. "I thought-"

"That I had forgotten the gods? I revere Mishakal with each breath." The healer sighed and drew Camilla back toward her tent. They paused outside a lean-to, where a family inside was singing an old elvish folk tune about the forest, some of the words mispronounced by their human tongues. "There is something you must know… about Gair Graymist."

Camilla pursed her lips, her brow furrowing. She followed Goldmoon back inside the tent. Orvago was quick on her heels, failing to duck in time and rattling the tent pole when his head hit a support. He scowled and offered an apologetic grin. He tried to right the pole, and in the process, he knocked down one of the blankets that was hung to keep the tent warm. He bent to pick up the blanket, butting heads with Camilla. Goldmoon stepped out of the way and patiently waited for the pair to repair the damage.

"Camilla, Gair came to Schallsea Island because of me. It is because of me that he consorts with the dead." The healer's shoulders sagged noticeably. "I am to blame for what happened to Gair. I taught him how to speak to spirits. I thought it would give him peace. The deaths of his father and sisters troubled him greatly."

"According to Orvago, he seems to have gone beyond speaking to them," Camilla returned, a slight edge to her voice.

"Gair somehow misused what I taught him. I'll teach no one else how to open the door to the spirit realm. Camilla, I should not have taught him this dark side of mysticism. It was a door best left closed to him… and to everyone."

The commander paced in the small confines, careful not to bump into the gnoll, who was standing, crouched, by the table. "If my knights and your followers find him, can you-"

"Heal him?"

Camilla's gaze was fixed on the design of a blanket that hung against the interior of the tent wall.

"I hope so. That is my intention, anyway."

Silence held sway for several moments. Even the gnoll breathed softly, careful not to make a sound.

"Three search parties we've sent," Camilla finally said. "One of them should find him. My knights, your followers… good people who know what they are up against."

"No." The word was a growl. "Men do not know at all. Men will not come back." Orvago shuffled to the tent flap and looked outside. "Whisperers will kill men."

Goldmoon watched the gnoll leave, certain by the shuffling outside that he was walking around her tent on a self-imposed patrol. Her face looked pale in the glow from the lone lantern on the table.

"Do you think the gnoll is right?" The knight showed concern on her young face.

"I will pray to Mishakal that he is wrong," the healer said softly, "but… I can see if the men we sent out are safe."

The healer sat, shoulders rounded, fingers steepled against the coarse wood. She closed her eyes and decided for the first time in her life to contact a spirit other than Riverwind's. Inside her mind, her husband urged her to try another tack, but Goldmoon paid his warning little heed.

"It will be all right," she told him. "I'll be careful."

Camilla looked curiously at her.

"I will try to contact the spirit of a man with a good heart. If I cannot reach his spirit, dear Riverwind, I will be grateful that he is not dead. And I will go myself to search for my people-and Gair-come morning."

She laid her hands flat on the table now, her thumbs drawing imaginary circles. The flickering lantern made her hair gleam like thin chains of silver and gold and made the shadows dance behind her.