Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"I've made arrangements for the horses coming with the next ship," he began. "The stable near the harbor was-"

"Already full," she finished for him.

He made a humming noise in his throat. "Yes. Well, it looked like there was a stable at the Sentinel-rather run-down, however. If we are stationed here long enough, perhaps we can repair it and keep most of the horses there."

" If we're here long enough."

He made the humming noise again. "I took the liberty of having your belongings placed in the Sentinel's tower room. It has a nice view of the harbor and the docks, and I unpacked a few things for you."

"Thank you, Willum."

"The people in town say it is a few days' walk. Bread?"

She took one of the satchels from him and effortlessly slung it over her shoulder, and he passed her a roll. Obviously it had come from one of the town's bakeries. She paused as if inspecting it, then ate it slowly as they fell into an easy gait. The town of Schallsea grew smaller behind them.

The clank of the knights' armor drowned out the whistling of the cold breeze as they made their way along the winding path leading northward. A rut ran down the middle, the original trail that led out of town. As more and more people had used it, the path had widened and pushed back the vegetation. There was evidence of wagon wheels and shod horses at the outer edges. Some of the tracks were very recent, making slight impressions despite the winter-hard ground. A mix of pines and shaggybarks sheltered the inland side of the trail. Low bushes, their leaves long since chased away by the cold, were set back from the western side of the trail, and through gaps in the scrub the knights spotted the sea in the distance.

The sky was gray, the color of Camilla's eyes, and she cast her head back to watch a lone gull fly to the west and drop toward the water. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of salt water and pines, and the clouds overhead hinted of snow. The padding beneath her armor, coupled with her red wool cape, kept her warm, though her fingers stung a little from the cold air. She flexed them in time with the knights' steps and watched as her breath formed a misty cloud in front of her face.

Willum walked with a stoic gait at her side, his face twitching. He hummed in his throat and concentrated on the trail ahead.

They paused briefly at noon, then resumed their trek, stopping again at sunset to set up camp. In the morning, Camilla afforded little time for breakfast before they were off again at a brisk march. Two hours into their journey, a scream cut through the wintry air.

Camilla sprinted ahead. Willum and the rest of the knights trailed after her, the clamor of their armor practically drowning out what sounded like a battle ahead. She dropped her pack and churned her legs faster, rounded a turn in the trail, drew her sword, and instantly assessed the situation she saw ahead.

One man lay dead at the side of a large wagon, a thick spear protruding from his chest. A thin elven woman was at his side, glancing furtively into the trees on the inland side the path. A dwarf stood with a hammer held high in one hand, the reins of a quartet of dappled horses in another. He was trying to keep the animals from bolting and taking the wagon with them. Near the dwarf was another elf, this one a lanky man in black who was weaving a sword back and forth in front of him and peering intently into the trees. On the seaward side of the wagon, more than a dozen townsfolk crouched for protection.

There was no immediate sign of the enemy, save for several spears lying on the ground. The attackers must be keeping to the trees. As Camilla closed the distance, the knights coming fast behind her, another volley of spears streamed from the trees, followed by the screams of frightened townsfolk. Three spears landed several feet short of the wagon, a fourth cleared the wagon and elicited another scream from a young woman when it fell near her. The last two spears shot toward the dwarf, who was still trying to keep the horses under control. At the last moment, the dark-clad elf knocked the dwarf aside. One spear lodged deep into the elf's thigh and pinned him to the ground. The other bit into his shoulder.

"Gair!" the dwarf hollered as he dropped the reins. He started toward the downed elf just as the lead horses reared. The dwarf cursed himself and made a grab for the reins, but the horses were already charging forward, the wagon clattering behind them.

The elven woman left the dead man's side and rushed toward the other townsfolk, yelling at them to get down, pushing them onto their bellies.

At the same time, Camilla cut toward the dwarf, motioning for her men to follow. Arrows rained from the trees, most of them striking the ground or bouncing off the knights' armor, but some finding their marks among the townsfolk.

"I don't know where you Solamnics came from, but praise the memory of Reorx that you're here!" the dwarf huffed above the cries of the townsfolk. He was on his knees next to the male elf, who was trying futilely to push him away.

"Jasper," the elf groaned. "I'm all right. See to the others." His dark eyes were demanding. "I can heal myself. Help them."

"Don't have to tell me," the dwarf grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet and whirled to see two men with arrows in their shoulders. The female elf was ordering the others to keep their heads down.

"They'll live!" she called to the dwarf. "Look out!"

A second volley of arrows came from the trees, one striking the female elf in the leg. Jasper rushed toward her as more arrows arced from the trees. "They've got us pinned down," the dwarf called to the Solamnics. "Can't see 'em. Don't know how many there are."

Camilla could barely hear him. She was charging toward the trees, feet pounding, armor clanking, peering into the shadows as she ran, trying to locate the archers. Willum and the other knights were fast on her heels, spreading out and batting away arrows with their shields.

She hollered, "Find the archers! If we can engage them, they can't fire on those people! Move!"

Camilla and her knights thrashed through the woods, sending a cloud of birds erupting from the trees. The knights were shouting, but the noise of their armor and the breaking branches muffled their words.

"They move fast! Can't make them out!"

"Find them!" This came from Camilla. "Spread out, but try to stay in sight of your comrades!"

On the trail, Jasper's thick fingers worked quickly, prodding the female elf's leg. At the same time, he told the other townsfolk to watch the trees and stay low. Two men ignored his advice and helped him stop the elf's bleeding.

"This'll hurt," the dwarf said as he gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow out. The elf cried out and fell back into the arms of one of the men. "Not too deep. Nothin' too serious."

"See to the pilgrims first," she pleaded.

The dwarf muttered, "Fine. I'll get right back to you. Press down on the wound," he said as he moved toward the injured men. "An' keep your head down!"

"This'll hurt," he repeated twice more as he pulled arrows from the men's arms. Blood flowed freely from one man, and Jasper held his hand over the wound, closed his eyes, and mumbled something in his native tongue. The words weren't necessary for the spell the dwarf was invoking. They merely helped him focus his thoughts. He reached deep inside himself, visualizing his heart, concentrating on his heartbeat, feeling a warmth spread from his chest and down his arms, centering on his hand and flowing into the wound. "The power of the heart," Jasper whispered. Goldmoon had been teaching him to nurture his healing power.

"Not too good at this yet," he told his patient. The words came haltingly as he continued to concentrate on the enchantment. His hand was warm and sticky with the man's blood, warmer still from the energy of the spell. He deepened the enchantment and felt the heat leave him and radiate upward from the wound. "That should do it."