by Jean Rabe
"What manner of creature is this?" someone sputtered.
Iryl Songbrook made her way through the crowd, eyes wide, mouth opened at first in a yawn, then open wider in amazement.
"He's nothing but a monster!" an elderly man shouted. He wriggled a crooked finger. "A demon from the Abyss!" The woman at his side gaped at the creature as her husband continued, "He's not human. He's a creature of Chaos!"
"I'm not human!" Gair cut in, "and they're not human." The elf pointed to the dwarves. His sword was held protectively now, letting the settlement folks know he was defending the creature.
"It's a creation of some foul wizard," the old man went on.
"Look at all that blood on that thing!" another cut in. "It must have killed someone, it did. We've got to kill it. It's probably part of the band that attacked you and killed Harrald!"
"He didn't attack us!" Gair returned. His free hand was in his pocket, feeling the arrowhead. "It wasn't him."
The creature growled softly. A trace of spittle edged over his lower lip and ran to the ground. He growled again. It seemed as if he were trying to say something.
Several settlers gasped. "A demon for certain!" someone cried.
"Goldmoon, save us from the dog-beast!" a young woman cried. She clutched the hands of two young boys. "Save us!"
Cries of "Save us," "Demon," and "Dog-beast" echoed around the camp.
The healer padded toward the growing throng and tried to calm them. Behind her, Gair sheathed his sword. Jasper's inebriated friends took another look at the creature and swayed unsteadily on their feet.
"It's all right," Gair said to the creature, who grunted and brushed by the elf, heading toward Goldmoon. The crowd backed away instantly. The old man stabbed his finger at the air, pointing at the creature and leering.
Goldmoon shook her head. "Shame on all of you!" she said. "I don't judge any of you by how you look." She held a hand out to Orvago, and the creature took it with his clawed paw. "Gair and I met Orvago earlier today. His clothes are bloody because he fought a boar."
"The monster's not staying here!" This came from a young man standing next to the elderly couple, one of the tent town's more affluent members.
"He's not a monster," Gair said.
"I believe he's a gnoll," Camilla said suddenly. The knight's face was grim, and her hand was tightly clenched around the pommel of her sword, though it remained sheathed. "What in the name of Kiri-Jolith is a gnoll doing on Schallsea Island?"
"A gnoll?" Iryl found her way to the knight's side. "What's a gnoll?"
"I never saw one before," the knight was quick to reply. "Only pictures, and I've heard tales, but I don't really know anything about them, other than the fact that they're not native to anywhere around here. According to Solamnic records, Lord Toede captured gnolls and used them as servants."
"Well, whatever he is, he's welcome to share my tent tonight," Gair said, stifling a yawn.
"There," Goldmoon said. "The matter is settled. Orvago will stay with Gair as long as he likes."
She didn't notice the elf's wide eyes.
"Orvago can stay," she continued, "just as anyone here can stay as long as he likes. If you cannot abide by this, then this place is not for you." She stood defiantly amid the throng, listening to their whispers. Some seemed to accept her words, while others seemed merely curious. Still others seemed frightened. Finally the crowd began to disperse back to their tents.
Goldmoon watched the creature follow Gair toward his tent, then motioned to the sentries. One would be stationed near Gair's tent for the rest of the evening, just in case some of the people in the tent town opted not to abide by Goldmoon's decision.
Gair ducked through the low tent flap and stepped inside. The gnoll stepped forward, his head catching the top of the tent. The creature howled as canvas billowed around them, and then the tent collapsed.
It took the elf nearly an hour to set it up again.
6
A New Threat
Orvago woke with a start, snarling loudly to get Gair's attention. The elf glanced at the floor, where the gnoll had fashioned a makeshift bed out of blankets, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
"What are you howling about?" the elf grumbled. "I haven't had more than an hour or so of sleep, and…" Then he cocked his head. The gnoll wasn't howling; it was the wind, and the tent was flapping threateningly. Gair jumped to his feet, stuck his face outside, and instantly pulled it back in, sputtering and blinking furiously.
The wind keened furiously, a great low whistle that drowned out everything except the flapping of the canvas. The elf hurriedly searched through his clothes for his warmest pants and shirt, then struggled into them as the canvas continued to flutter madly and the center pole began to wobble. Orvago growled softly and edged toward the tent opening, cautiously crawling on his hands and knees, a ridge of hair standing up on his back.
Gair continued to hop about, pulling on stockings, then one boot, then another, all the while cursing in his native tongue. "We've got to get outside," he said as much to himself as to the gnoll. "I think this tent is about to…"
Before he could get the rest of the words out, the smaller poles tugged free of the ground and the center pole tipped, bringing the beating canvas down on the elf—but only for a moment. The wind continued to batter the tent, pulling it loose from its stakes and sending it flying away. Blankets and books followed it. Gair gave a shout as his cot spun over, banging into the back of his legs. He made a mad grab for a red leather-bound book, and the cot turned end over end away from him to disappear in the snow.
Howling, the gnoll crawled out of the path of Gair's tumbling belongings, then pressed himself into the snow as more objects passed quickly over his back. Orvago propped himself up on his elbows, only his face above the thick blanket of snow, and cupped a hairy hand over his eyes and tried to get a better look around.
The world was totally white. Snow was driven practically sideways from the south, reminding the creature of the fierce storm at sea he had endured more than a year ago. Through the nearly opaque whiteness, he saw faint shadows moving about slowly. It took several seconds to realize the shadows were people from the settlement. Above the terrifying wind, the creature heard the shouts of men and women and the frightened whinnies of horses. He heard Goldmoon. Orvago crawled on his hands and knees toward her voice.
Gair clutched his precious book to him, thrusting it inside his shirt and buttoning the shirt up to his neck to keep the book safe. The elf's teeth were chattering, and he reached out his mind to his father while he fumbled in the snow for his green woolen coat.
The elf closed his eyes against the threatening snow, bundled his coat tightly around himself, and thrust his hands deep into the pockets. "Father, can you see through this?" He concentrated on the mystical ability Goldmoon had taught him but a few hours ago, opened the door to the realm of the dead, and heard an answer in his mind, though it was difficult to understand with the roar of the wind around him. "If this snow is nothing to you, then guide me through it, Father," he implored. "I must find Goldmoon and Camilla."
The spirit, unhampered by the blizzard, unerringly guided his son around chests and crates too heavy to be tossed by the wind but hidden by growing drifts of snow. Slowly he directed Gair in the direction where Goldmoon's tent used to be.
The gnoll and the elf arrived at nearly the same time, finding the aging healer bundled in blankets, surrounded by a few dozen men, women, and children, and calling out to the rest of her followers. Some of the people were hysterical, unable to find loved ones in the blizzard. The healer was trying to gather everyone close and was counting heads.
"Jasper!" The word was lost in the wind. A dwarf at Goldmoon's feet, looking like a tree stump covered by snow, shouted that she hadn't seen Jasper since last night.
Orvago pushed himself to his feet, draping an arm across his brow in an attempt to keep some of the wind and snow out of his eyes. He leaned into the wind and headed toward wher
e he'd hidden himself last night at the construction site. The scent of the dwarves would be strongest there.
"My baby!" A woman huddling near Goldmoon cried. "I can't find my baby!" The woman made a move to dart away, but a man held her fast and Goldmoon tried to calm her.
"My wife!" a young man blurted. "She was right next to me when we were awakened by the storm, but then we became separated on the way here. Help me find her." He, too, was entreated to stay put.
"We've got to stay together!" It was Iryl Songbrook's voice. "Call out and the others will find us."
"Amanda!" the woman wailed.
Goldmoon began calling out names again, and others joined her chorus. Their words began to cut through the wind. Camilla and Willum appeared at the edge of the group, bundled in cloaks and blankets and carrying a rope. Camilla tied it about her waist, handed the end to Willum, and headed out in search of people lost in the snow.
At the same time, Gair chatted softly to his father, confident the wind and the people's cries would conceal his conversation. "Help me find the children," he urged. "They must be brought to safety first."
There is one nearby, his father replied, and the spirit began guiding his son. Gair kept his eyes closed, wrapped his coat even tighter around him, and trustingly followed the voice in his head ever closer to the cliff.
The elf softly cursed the island as he went, so hot in the summer, so cold in winter. And this blizzard! Despite his travels, he'd never been caught in something so fierce and so cold. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, his face stung horribly, and he imagined his skin was as red as a cherry. He paused for only a moment when something tumbling along in the wind struck his legs and almost made him lose his balance. He plodded on through the deepening snow until he heard the rush of the waves beating the rocks below and heard his father practically scream in his mind for him to stop.
Careful. Kneel down, the elder Graymist instructed. Be very careful. The edge of the cliff is only inches away, and a child is just…
"Over the ledge," Gair finished, shouting to hear himself over the wind. "I think I can hear her. Barely." The elf knew it was his acute hearing that allowed him to detect something over the pounding water and the howling wind. "Must have fallen over the side. Couldn't see in this storm." I can't see in this storm either, he added to himself.
He crept forward, his bare fingers painfully cold in the snow, feeling for the edge of the cliff.
That's it! his father encouraged. Off to your right. Just a little farther! That's it…
The elf lay on his stomach, the spine of the book beneath his shirt pressing uncomfortably into his chest. He found the ledge and pulled himself to it, until his head and shoulders hung over the edge and were buffeted all around by the blast of cold and snow. He was certain he heard the girl crying now, soft and desperate for her mother. He called out to her and relied on his hearing and his father's directions to find her.
She was on a shelf several feet below the ledge, and Gair leaned over as far as he safely could, until only his hips and legs were anchoring him against the edge. "Child!" he hollered as loud as his voice could muster, sputtering when the wind whipped snow inside his mouth. His tongue felt thick and stiff from the cold. "Child!" he repeated. The crying stopped, and he felt something brush his fingertips, achingly sore now from exposure. "Grab my hand! I'll pull you up!"
He felt the faint brush of her fingers, then heard wails of "I can't… reach it." The elf turned his thoughts inward to his father, whose presence hovered in the elf's mind.
She will not climb up the rocks. She is too frightened. You must leave her, Son. Together we will search for others whom we can save. Her death will be swift, and we will welcome her into our realm. The cold is claiming her even now.
Gair hesitated and opened his eyes slightly. He knew the cliffs were steep, with few handholds in most places, and he couldn't see anything to grab on to. He could see only the never-ending sheet of bone-chilling white. It would be risky.
Too risky, my son. Don't take the chance.
"My friend is always telling me I don't take enough chances," the elf replied as he maneuvered around until he lay parallel to the cliff edge and carefully swung himself over the side. The rocks bit into his fingers, slicing into his skin as the elf struggled to hang on. His feet flailed about along the cliff face until he found a lip of rock so narrow it accommodated only the toes of his boots. He found another handhold and worked himself farther down. The rocks were coated with frost and terribly slippery, but somehow he managed to hold on until he had worked himself down to a shelf. The crying was louder here.
Slowly he inched his way toward where his fretting father said the child cowered. A heartbeat later, a small pair of arms wrapped around his leg and held tight. The crying eased a little.
Gair's fingers walked down the rock, over trails of ice, steadying himself until he could kneel without slipping. He drew the girl into his arms in the same instant he reached inside himself and searched for his mystical strength. He felt his heart, heard it beating even as he heard his father's worried words, sent the thrumming outward to wash over the child and to calm her as he had calmed the boars.
She was trembling from fear and from the cold, and Gair shuddered when he felt around her to make sure she hadn't broken any limbs. He discovered she had on only heavy socks and a nightshirt. He fumbled at the buttons of his own coat and wrapped it around her like a blanket.
"You'll be all right," he said firmly, his mouth against her ear. "I'll get you out of here. What's your name?"
A whisper.
"Amanda? That's a pretty name. I'll get you out of here safely, Amanda."
He closed his eyes again to shut out the white. With one arm, Gair cradled her to his chest, and with the other, he began searching for handholds in the rock. There were small cracks here and there that his aching fingers found, but they were too narrow to get a good grip. He barely felt his fingers as he continued to grope about.
"Damn!" he swore softly. "Father!"
The elder Graymist's words swirled in Gair's head, encouraging him to keep searching. The spirit said he perceived the cliff, but seemed unable to judge a precise path up and could not make out enough details to help with handholds. The elf's sisters joined in the spirit chorus, murmuring that Gair must not give up and that it was not yet time for his essence to join theirs in death.
"Help! Goldmoon!" He hollered loudly, realizing instantly that there was no way the healer or anyone else could hear him. Gair had no idea just how long he'd been gone from the camp. The intense cold and driving snow made it seem like hours. He held his eyes clamped shut, since they were useless to him in the whiteout. "Please," he whimpered to the departed gods as he continued to feel about.
When his sense of touch had all but abandoned him, he found a horizontal crevice just above his head large enough to squeeze most of his hand inside. He did so and pulled himself up slowly, scrambling to find footing against the cliff face, his boots scraping against rock and ice and finding nothing. He lowered himself back down, still clutching the child tightly. "It will be all right, Amanda," he said into the folds of his coat. There was no answer, and he pressed his face into the gap of his coat and opened his eyes. The child looked at him mutely, her lips a ghastly bluish tint and trembling. "My magic can't warm you," he said. "Perhaps Goldmoon can help, but I've got to get you out of here first."
He gritted his teeth and focused all of his strength into his right arm, flexing it and pulling himself up until his chin struck the edge of the crevice and his wrist. He hung there, trying to find something to wedge his boots into, but the leather was too thick and only scraped against the rocks and ice. "Nothing," he cursed as he dropped back down and stared at the cliff. Through the whiteness of the blizzard, he saw only the shadow of the rocky cliff face. He closed his eyes again.
Don't do this! his father warned. It is not yet your time! Leave her here! Use both your hands to save yourself! Don't do this!
"I've no intention of dying," Gair told him, as he struggled out of his boots and gasped when the frigid air hit his stocking feet. He tucked the boot tops under his belt at his back. "But I am getting both the child and myself out of here." He clamped his teeth together and again searched for the crevice, wedged his hand into it, and his fingers gripped the rocks. His muscles bunching, he slowly pulled himself and the child up. He flailed his feet around, searching for even the slightest of outcroppings, something he could sense with his toes. The rocks cut through his stockings and slashed at the flesh beneath, the pain keeping him alert and making him more determined.
He continued to wriggle about until his fingers felt numb and he feared he would lose his handhold. At last he found something to wedge his toes into. Plastering himself against the rock face and whispering words of comfort to the child, he cautiously released her, holding her body between his chest and the cliff. He searched with both hands now, finally finding another handhold. He held her again with one arm and pulled himself higher.
At last at the top, he lay down, gasping for breath. Even through the coat, he felt her shiver against his chest, and he struggled to pull his boots back on, all the while cradling her. Finished, Gair slammed his eyes shut again, blotting out the hateful white, and forcing himself to his feet.
"Father!" he yelled, though he knew the spirit could hear his thoughts. "Guide us back! Hurry!"
The elf stumbled along, falling more than once to his knees when he tripped over objects that had been scattered about by the wind. Each time it was harder to get to his feet, which had lost nearly all sensation and continued to move through the snow only because of Gair's force of will and his father's urging.
The wind continued to whistle unmercifully and tauntingly, stinging his face beyond feeling. Where, Father? His questions were inside his head now, his lips so horribly chapped he didn't want to move them. "Where?"