Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

Windfisher turned to address the assembled Que-Nal. "Shadowwalker says whatever Goldmoon and her followers are building is a blight on the face of this island. Some of you obviously agreed with him and helped him set the fire at their camp. He says that Goldmoon's very presence is a slap in the face of all the villages. Yet the magic she practices is not so different from that commanded by Shadowwalker himself. Perhaps he is jealous of her and is trying to stir up all of you just for his own benefit.

"I cannot stop how he thinks," Windfisher added, "but my brother and I will stop him from provoking a senseless fight. There is room for the Que-Nal and for one Que-Shu on this island."

Windfisher led the way back to the village, unaware that several of the youngest warriors slipped away and headed to the ruined castle. Shadowwalker and Gair welcomed them inside.

There Shadowwalker continued to fume. "Skydancer could not dignify the gathering with his presence," he snarled. "He sent his brother instead. Both of them are soft."

The young warriors gathered close and hung on the old shaman's every word, cheering when he repeated that the Que-Shu and her followers must die.

Gair edged away from them. The shadows were thick inside what was left of Castle Vila, since the narrow windows on the first floor let in little of the morning light. The stone walls were covered with dirt and the remains of moss that had died when the cold weather set in. His fingers brushed at the dead moss, crumbling it.

"Everything dies," he whispered.

There were bolts in the wall where the elf imagined grand paintings once hung, images of the wealthy people who built this place overlooking the sea. There were thick, rusting chains hanging from the ceiling from which the remnants of wrought-iron chandeliers dangled. In the center of the room, a great, rotted rug spread, and atop it were splintered chair legs. A large piece of wood, oval-shaped and molded by exposure to the salty air, had a hint of beveling at the edges; it might have been an impressive table decades ago. There was a lone chair still intact, far from the windows. Rickety, it was nevertheless still sturdy enough to hold the elf. He'd cleaned the dirt off it on a previous visit, and he eased his lanky frame into it now as he continued to listen to the barbarians.

"Skydancer is a weak chief," Shadowwalker snarled. "He does not respect our heritage. If he did, he would be ordering the deaths of the Que-Shu sheep and her blind followers."

"Perhaps he should not be chief!" one of the young warriors shouted.

"Shadowwalker!" another cried.

Gair listened another few minutes, then slipped from the room and followed a winding staircase up to the second floor. There had been a carpet running down the center of the steps, thick and undoubtedly expensive. Gold and silver threads remained in the remnants of the age-worn nap. He paused on the landing, listening to the warriors swear to follow Shadowwalker to the death.

"Everything dies," the elf repeated as he was swallowed by the shadows of the level above.

And in death becomes stronger. Darkhunter waited for him.

The elf decided that decades ago this must have been a music room. The stone walls had been painted, and curled chips of pale yellow-had they been white?- clung here and there. He stared at strings lying amid a jumble of rotted wood. Strings from a harp, he guessed as he imagined a beautiful woman playing exquisite music to which others danced.

"A place of ghosts," he whispered.

In the center of the room lay the bodies of five knights and one of Goldmoon's students-the final of the three search parties sent after Gair. Darkhunter had promised to teach him a new trick with them.

Shadows separated from the wall-Gair's father, and the wraiths of Roeland and the other Solamnic knights. They floated forward slowly, and Gair fancied that they moved to the bygone music of this place. The air around the elf grew colder as the creatures came closer. Gair inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He loved Castle Vila. It was as dead as its occupants.

What do you wish of us, Master? It was Roeland's spirit.

"At the moment, nothing, but soon I will need all of you-and more. With our living friends below, we will journey to the settlement."

And drink of the sweet life there, Roeland said.

"Yes," Gair replied. The elf padded from the chamber, retracing his steps to the lower level.

It was shortly past dawn, the Silver Stair invisible in the pale light, yet Goldmoon stood on the bottommost step. She'd found the relic by touch, and she did not want to wait until evening to climb it. She wanted to tax herself physically to reach the top-and hope that she did not plummet off, since she could not see a single step. She needed the ruin to help her find Gair. Perhaps a vision might provide a clue to his whereabouts.

She had to find him soon, before he hurt more people. Through the link she shared with him, and which she still could not fathom how she was so tied to him, she knew he was pulling energy from the ruin and that he was bent on some dark purpose. She'd discovered the cracked steps-eighteen of them-and she knew if he kept it up, he would destroy the thing. The knights posted nearby last evening to prevent him from using the stair were nowhere in sight, but less than an hour ago a soldier had spotted their tracks heading to the north. Goldmoon suspected that Gair had the knights and wanted her to know that.

Goldmoon hoped she could use the Silver Stair to shut down her link with Gair so he could not eavesdrop on her thoughts. She sensed he would rather have the Silver Stair destroyed than to have her use it. Goldmoon loathed the idea of channeling power from it to effect a spell. That was obviously how the steps became cracked, but Gair had to be found.

"Goldmoon!" Orvago was tramping across the snow toward her. He, Camilla, and a detachment of soldiers had arrived late yesterday.

She paused, as if suspended in the air, and stared down at the gnoll. "I do not need a guard here, my friend. Gair is nowhere near." She had explained the link to the commander and Orvago last night.

The gnoll left her, backing away and watching as she climbed something he couldn't see. Even when he could see the mystical site in the light of the moon, it raised the hair on the back of his neck. When Goldmoon was more than thirty feet above the earth, he turned and loped toward the knights' tents, kicking up snow as he went.

"What are you planning, Gair? And whatever caused you to stray?" Goldmoon sat on the unseen steps, high above the settlement. A pair of kestrels flew past, circling her, then continuing south.

The air was still, and it carried the scents of pine trees and breakfast and the sounds of the waking settlement. Goldmoon liked the settlement the way it was: tents and lean-tos, people existing on hope and hard work. A lot of hard work would go into the Citadel of Light. When it was finished, as Goldmoon knew it eventually would be-no matter the delays and the weather- things would be so very different. The settlement would not have the same feel, and she knew she would miss this.

"It is my fault, despite what you say." Goldmoon was talking to Riverwind. "It was my choice to teach him the dark side of mysticism. I let my emotions, not my common sense, get involved. He missed his family just as I missed you."

He would have eventually learned the dark mysticism without you, beloved, just as he's learned all manner of dark things.

"Perhaps, but I pointed him in the wrong direction and essentially gave him a shove. Now I have to stop him. How can I find him?"

I cannot help you. Each night he calls me. The door is always open for him, and each night he pulls spirits through. I have resisted.