Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"Fortunate for me," Jasper numbly whispered.

"She taught me how to talk to the dead."

The dwarf swallowed and scanned the mist. There was a break in it, and through it, he could see tiny people, the size of big beetles. From the direction of Goldmoon's tent, he saw a few soldiers gathering, identifiable only because of their red tunics. He spotted someone-Goldmoon, he sensed-pointing toward the Silver Stair. He suspected that with her human eyes, Goldmoon couldn't see him up here, not this high anyway. He took a step closer to Gair.

"An' what do the dead have to say, Gair?"

The elf backed down a few steps to accommodate the dwarf and give him more room. The mist of the lowhanging cloud swirled about the elf's thighs. "They tell me many things, my friend. The spirits of the Que-Nal tell me about the island's past. The spirits of the drowned barbarians tell me about the terrible war with the Blue Dragonarmy. Of course, there's always two sides to every story. The dragonarmy general tells me about the battle from his point of view. Then there's the Solamnic knights."

Jasper's eyes twitched.

"Not the ones at the settlement. The ones I killed, or rather had killed. They tell me about Camilla. I do so like the company of the dead, Jasper, but I miss sweet Camilla."

"You're mad!" the dwarf edged down another halfdozen steps. The elf obliged him and kept a respectful distance. The mist was swirling about both of them now.

"Mad?" Gair grinned wildly. "Maybe I am, at that, but I am also powerful."

The dwarf took another step down. This time the elf didn't budge.

"I can raise the dead, Jasper, keep spirits tied to the living world. Would you like to see your Uncle Flint again? I can manage it with the Silver Stair. And Riverwind-I thought I might bring him out tonight, parade him before our dear teacher. She'd be so impressed with my skills."

Jasper's fingers squeezed the handle of his hammer so tightly they nearly lost sensation. He kept his eyes locked onto Gair's, and he slowly pulled the weapon free from his belt. There was an instant shushing sound as Gair drew his long sword and pointed it up at the dwarf.

"You wouldn't want to hurt me, Jasper. We're close, the best of friends. Think of all the secrets we've shared. I've missed you almost as much as I've missed Camilla. The undead talk to me, but they don't argue like you used to. I really miss that."

"Well, climb on down an' I'll argue with you some more." The dwarf gestured with his hammer.

Gair shook his head. "I'll stay right here, thank you." Carefully he crouched on the shimmering step beneath his feet, keeping his eyes on Jasper and the sword pointed up at the dwarf's belly. His free hand drifted down to touch a step. "I need the Silver Stair, my friend. I need its power."

"Let's go talk to Goldmoon," Jasper urged, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness. "She's been worried about you."

"Quiet!" the elf admonished. "I need to concentrate."

"She'll help you," the dwarf continued. "You don't need this kind of magic, Gair. Let her help you. Let me help you."

The elf's expression softened for a moment, as if he were considering the dwarf's words. His eyes lost some of their sparkle, and he lowered the sword a few inches. "Jasper, I-"

"Goldmoon can help, Gair. Goldmoon cares about you."

"I've done things, Jasper, things she wouldn't approve of. Dark and-"

"It doesn't matter." The dwarf's words were sincere, tumbling from his thick lips. "She'll forgive you. Let her help. We can-"

"I've killed people, Jasper. Good people. Knights. Roeland Stark. Do you remember Roeland? I wouldn't let his spirit-"

"Gair, listen to me." The dwarf noticed the bits of red gathering around the base of the Silver Stair, returned his gaze to the elf. "Put down your sword an' come with me. Everythin'll get worked out. You'll see."

"I don't think my new friends would like that. The dead ones."

"Just try."

The elf seemed to be battling some inner demon. His lip was sucked under his teeth and he was chewing on it, and the sword in his hand was lowering a little more.

"Goldmoon will help you. Let her help you. Come with me."

"Goldmoon…" The elf's sword arm shook almost imperceptibly. "I fear not even Goldmoon could forgive me, Jasper. I-"

"There he is!" One of the soldiers had spotted Gair, and Jasper and was pointing frantically in the air. "The elf! Tell Goldmoon he's on the Silver Stair! Way up there!"

The elf's expression instantly hardened, and he raised the sword to Jasper's throat. The dwarf backed up a step.

Goldmoon had gathered most of the settlers around her, was calming them and telling them to stay together. She watched a dozen soldiers and some of her followers head toward the Silver Stair. Then she spotted more soldiers lining up across the eastern side of the settlement. There were nearly a dozen more Solamnic knights whom Camilla had not taken with her. Fully in their armor now, they were receiving orders from a lieutenant whose name Goldmoon could not recall.

"What's going on?" This from one of the Thorbardin dwarves. "We heard screams."

"From down the trail," one of the fishermen explained. "Maybe them renegade Que-Nal again."

"No." It was Iryl. "I spoke to Skydancer. He said there would be no more trouble. He would keep Shadowwalker in line."

The fisherman scratched his head. "Well, if it ain't the barbarians, who is it?"

"Whisperers." Orvago had emerged from the building site, his clawed fingers wrapped around the ivory pommel of the broadsword. A ridge of hair stood up from the top of his head and ran down his back, disappearing into his tunic. He growled softly, a trail of spittle finding its way over his bottom lip and landing on the bald head of a man who stood in front of him. "Sorry," he added softly.

The bald man growled back and wiped at his head. He glared at Goldmoon and opened his mouth as if to say something, but his words were drowned out by high-pitched shouts coming from the southern edge of the settlement.

Goldmoon threaded her way through the gathering and saw an ancient Que-Nal standing on a crate. The light from the dwarves' campfire showed his face was so deeply lined it looked like the rough bark on a tree. Feathers were stuck, seemingly haphazardly, in his hair, and beads dangled from a wild mane of grayblack braids, clacking as he shook his head. He wasn't wearing much, despite the cold, only a tunic smeared with what Goldmoon suspected was blood, plus furry boots, the tops of which were ringed with bird skulls. With surprising agility for one so old, he leapt off the crate and made a piercing yipping sound. It was echoed by many voices.

More Que-Nal sprang up from behind crates and drifts of snow, from around the edges of tents that were on the fringes of the settlement. They were young and muscular, their faces smeared with blood and ashes, beads clacking. Their eyes were wild and darted to the ancient shaman, who was raising a spear in his hand.

"Kill the Que-Shu!" Shadowwalker cried. "Kill all of them!"

The Que-Nal surged forward, spears and knives in their hands and cries of death on their lips.

Iryl stood stunned for only a moment, shaking her head in disbelief and whispering, "Skydancer promised."

Orvago roused her into action as he brushed by, knocking her into the Solace twins as he thundered toward the shaman. The elf's eyes still held a touch of incredulity as she reached to her belt and pulled free a long knife, then rushed to join the fray.

Goldmoon was shouting for people to protect their children and for those who were able and armed to defend the settlement. Some who carried no weapons made do with makeshift ones, grabbing torches to use as clubs and pulling tent poles loose.

The soldiers on the eastern edge of the settlement were charging the Que-Nal, not bothering to wait for orders. Swords and spears clashed, and in less than a moment there were dead men on each side.