by Jean Rabe
The spirit of his father continued to guide his son until Gair heard the cries of Goldmoon's throng and could find the way on his own. "Are there any more lost children?" Gair demanded of his father. The spirit reluctantly told his son where, and Gair thrust the child at Iryl Songbrook and disappeared again into the swirling snow.
Nearly a hundred yards away, Orvago found Jasper. The dwarf was hunkered down behind a large crate, which was shielding him from the worst of the wind. Jasper's eyes were closed and his snow-covered body was drawn together into a ball. The gnoll had to feel around to find the dwarf's arms.
Jasper's eyes popped open wide and he blinked furiously trying to see through the snow. The dwarf let out a howl when he spotted Orvago's snow- and icecovered visage. The gnoll rocked back on his haunches, the snow drifting up to his waist. The dwarf howled again and fumbled in the folds of his cloak until his hand found his hammer.
He tugged it free, but suddenly Orvago's paw shot forward, long fingers closing around the head and yanking it away. The gnoll rocked back again and waited, and Jasper blinked once more and finally calmed down.
"Orvago?" The gravelly voice was a whisper in the blizzard. "You startled me."
The gnoll leaned forward, returning the dwarf's hammer and taking his arm. This time Jasper didn't resist. Following the gnoll through drifts that were nearly waist-high for him but came almost to the top of the dwarf's head, he allowed himself to be led to Goldmoon's gathering. The gnoll left the camp again immediately to search for more dwarves, who had a strong scent and were easy to find.
The blizzard stopped shortly before noon, and Goldmoon and Iryl counted heads. About a dozen people were missing, but a thorough search turned all of them up. Many people were suffering exposure and needed tending. However, despite the fierceness of the storm, there was only one fatality, an elderly man who had frozen to death in the remains of his tent.
The snow seemed impossibly deep. Only the tallest of the building crates reached above the drifts, and though here and there chair legs, tent poles, and cooking pots and pans poked above the snow, the drifts had all but obliterated signs of the settlement. Camilla and Willum searched where their tents had been, looking for their armor. Nearby, the dwarves grumbled that they couldn't find the section of the foundation they'd finished.
By midafternoon, Goldmoon and her followers had retrieved the settlement's horses, uncovered the wagon, and cleared away a swath of snow around it. The gnoll had gathered wood, which, with considerable effort, was coaxed into flame. The settlers gathered close to the fire, thawing out their limbs, murmuring about lost possessions, and offering prayers for the elderly man who died. Jasper fussed over Gair, bandaging his cut hands and chastising him for not wearing warm enough clothing.
"Undoin' all the healin' I did," the dwarf sniffed. "I got better things to do than patch you up all the time. Where's your coat?" More softly, he said. "Heard you saved that little girl on the cliff. Turnin' out to be quite the hero, you are, Gair Graymist. I'm proud of you. An' I guess I'd better stop lecturin' you about takin' more chances. Just don't take too many, okay?"
Gair tried to hide a grin, thanked the dwarf for his ministrations, then headed toward where his tent used to be. He started digging in the snow, looking for his treasured books and any pieces of clothing he could put on to help keep him warm.
Iryl was directing some of the stronger men to pull the settlement's wagon toward where the trail used to be and hitch the horses to it. They finished the task and had started knocking the ice out of the wagon wheel spokes by the time an armored Camilla approached.
"Iryl Songbrook," the Solamnic commander began, "my men and I will help you load the weakest individuals on the wagon and will lead the way back into town."
Willum tromped through the snow behind her, fastening an icy breastplate as he went. Another knight followed in the path he was forging in the snow.
Iryl looked at her curiously. "I don't understand, Commander."
"I said we will help you escort these people back to the port. We can house some of them in your hostel, the rest at the Sentinel. There's a large fireplace, and—"
"I'm the only one leaving," Iryl said. "Everyone else is staying here."
Camilla stared at her.
Goldmoon joined the women. "Commander, Iryl has volunteered to return to town and gather more supplies and to send word to the mainland that we need more—more of everything, I'm afraid."
The knight glared at the healer. "You can't be serious! You can't expect these people to stay out here." She waved her hand at the throng gathered around the fire that the gnoll was continuing to stoke. "Not after that blizzard. You were foolish to be out here in winter to begin with. They'll die of exposure."
"We'll stay together and manage to keep warm. It will be all right."
"These people's lives are in danger here. I won't have it!"
"You have nothing to do with it," Goldmoon returned evenly. "You do not command these people, Lady Weoledge. They are free to do as they wish, and they wish to stay here at the settlement. We've already discussed the matter."
"What settlement, Goldmoon? The blizzard destroyed everything." The knight bristled and took a step forward. Willum grabbed her arm to hold her back. "I don't approve of your mysticism, Goldmoon," Camilla said. "Healing without the gods is preposterous. Blasphemous. I don't approve of this settlement, but these people are mine to watch over, and I'll not have them dying out here because they are too foolish to see that what you are doing is wrong. I have remained civil to you up to this point, since my orders are specific, but my orders do not include allowing these people to die because of your absurd dream."
Jasper approached the confrontation, careful to give the two women room.
"These people are staying," Goldmoon repeated. "I will watch over them."
"Like you watched over the old man who died?" Camilla paused to let her words sink in. "I am returning to the Sentinel." She squared her shoulders. "I am taking all of these people with me." She tramped away from the healer, heading toward the throng gathered around the fire. Jasper moved quickly out of her way just in time to avoid being trampled.
The knight strode purposely into the center of the gathering, glowered at the gnoll, and pointed to the wagon. "The oldest and the youngest of you will ride on the wagon. The rest of you will walk behind it. Gather whatever possessions you can find, and be ready to leave within the hour."
A woman stepped forward, holding the small girl Gair had rescued. "Commander, I appreciate your concern, but I'm staying here." Amanda, still wrapped in Gair's coat, nodded vigorously.
"I don't think you understand," Camilla continued. "I'm not giving you a choice. You are all coming with me."
The woman shook her head. "No. I don't think you understand."
Other voices were added to hers.
"The blizzard was only a minor setback," the woman's husband said. "We'll find our tent and have it up before nightfall."
"Won't take us more'n a few days to clear all this snow away," another man offered.
"We'll pile the snow up around the tents to keep warm." This from a woman who looked like a walking pile of blankets. "All this snow was a blessing in disguise!"
"Won't take us long."
"You can't force us to leave. This is our new home."
"Goldmoon will help us."
"The winter won't last forever."
"Goldmoon will guide us."
"You're welcome to stay with us, Commander. There is room for everyone."
"We're not going anywhere," the woman holding Amanda added firmly.
The knight seethed but managed to keep her temper in check. "This is foolishness," she said finally, the words hissing out between clenched teeth, "and I want no part of it." She paused and caught her breath. "Any of you who are sensible enough to return with me to town, gather your things now."
She whirled, bumping into Willum, who'd moved up behind her. He lost his balance and fell into a sn
owdrift. He floundered in the snow, trying to get up but succeeding in only burying himself deeper. Camilla groaned in frustration and helped him up, all the while quietly cursing Goldmoon.
"You can't mean that you're done with them," Willum said as he followed her. "Our duty—"
"Our duty is to watch over Goldmoon and these misguided fools. I know what our duty is, Lieutenant, and I'll not shirk it. But I've a letter to write to the Solamnic Council about Trevor's death, and another letter to write to Trevor's parents. I will send some of the soldiers and a half-dozen knights here to help, and I will follow in a few weeks after I've attended to some other matters. By then perhaps Goldmoon's followers will have tasted more of Schallsea's winter and will have changed their minds. Keep watch over these fools while I am away."
Camilla waited several minutes, standing thigh-deep in the snow. When it became obvious no one would accompany her into town, she turned to the south, where the trail was obliterated by drifts. She ignored the gnoll's wave good-bye and began to trudge through the snow down the trail toward town.
Carrying an armload of snow-covered books, Gair spied her leaving. He hurried to follow, pausing when he drew even with the gnoll. "Orvago, listen. I hope you Can understand me."
The gnoll cocked his head.
"These are books, prized possessions that I have a burning desire to read again and again, things you will never understand. I need you to take care of them for me. Please." He thrust the books at the gnoll and reached for a blanket he'd tied like a sash around his waist. Happing it to chase the last of the snow out of its folds, he tied it about his neck like a cape. "Please. Do you understand?"
The gnoll grinned, a trail of spittle easing over his green-gray lips and freezing before it could fall from his chin.
"Goldmoon!" Gair shouted, turning to get the healer's attention. "I'm going in to town. I'll help gather some supplies, and I'll be back before the week is out." With that, he trundled after the knight, following as fast as his legs would carry him in the path she'd made in the snow. Despite not having to break a path, it took him several minutes to catch up with the Solamnic. When he did, he was quite out of breath.
"I don't require an escort, Mr. Graymist. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Her pace, fueled by her ire over the entire situation, was demanding, and he labored to stay even with her.
"If I needed an escort, Mr. Graymist, I would have brought Willum along."
"But I could use an escort, Lady Camilla," he huffed, "a little Solamnic protection."
"Suit yourself." Her voice quavered, and she slowed her stride.
"There could be bandits in the woods." His fingers drifted into his pocket, feeling the arrowhead he'd taken from the grave. "Though this snow seems a greater threat. No matter. I really have to go into town, and I don't care to travel alone."
You are not traveling alone, my son. Gair's father had opened the door. I will always be with you.
At the snow-covered settlement, Jasper made his way slowly toward Goldmoon, practically swimming through the snow. An unaccustomed frown was etched deeply into his broad face.
"Goldmoon," he began as he closed the distance, "the foundation's covered by a mountain of snow. Covered our timber, nails, hammers, everythin'. We can't work in this… this…" He waved his stumpy arms about as if he were trying to take flight. "This stuff!" He pointed toward a middle-aged female dwarf. "Redstone and I have been talkin' it over, an' we've decided we'll have to wait until spring to do any more buildin'. Until all of this… this… stuff has melted." Jasper paused to catch his breath. "Spring. Better workin' conditions. Much, much better."
The healer squatted, her lined face even with his. "If you don't want to work under these conditions, I understand, Jasper," she said softly.
The dwarf breathed a sigh of relief. "I told Redstone you'd understand. This blizzard made a mess out of the settlement. Maybe we should follow the knight back into town."
"You can ride on the wagon with Iryl. She's getting ready to go."
"What'll you do? When'll you join us?"
"I'm staying here. I will find others to lead the building project and we will continue in your and Redstone's absence," she added. "I'm an old woman, Jasper, and I've little time in my life to wait for the snow to melt or to wait for anything else, for that matter."
The dwarf's eyes popped wide with surprise.
"I will find someone else to replace you," she repeated. Her voice was firmer, her eyes clear. "The building project will go on."
"You can't be serious! This blizzard—"
"Brought snow, and snow can be brushed aside. I'll not let the weather stop me. The Citadel of Light will be built." She rose and trod through the snow toward the wagon, where Iryl was checking the horses.
Jasper slapped the heel of his hand against his head. He whirled on his stumpy legs and waved at the dwarves. "Everybody start clearin' away the snow! We've gotta get back to work. Now! Any thin' too wet to use, take it over there by the fire so it can dry out."
At the fire, Goldmoon's followers continued to warm their hands and make plans for putting up their tents again—this time closer together and anchored with more stakes. A few men threw more wood on the fire. Orvago shuffled closer to the flames, the people parting so he wouldn't touch them. He stared at the fire for a few moments, then tossed Gair's books on it. The gnoll grinned wide when he saw that he'd added to the blaze and had helped keep these people warm."Burning desire," he remembered Gair saying.
Iryl and Goldmoon stood by the wagon. "I'll catch up to Gair and Camilla soon enough," Iryl told Goldmoon, a lilt of laughter in her voice, "though it's going to take a good while to ford through this snow. On second thought, maybe I'll dawdle here a few more moments. Give them some time alone. In town, I'll take whatever I can from the hostel, get the merchants to donate supplies, send word out on whatever ships are in the harbor. I shouldn't be gone too long."
"Be careful," the healer cautioned, motioning for two of the settlement's sentries to accompany her. Goldmoon traced a deep scar by the wagon seat, where a spear had ricocheted off it. Her face was etched with worry. "Be very careful, my friends."
7
Reflections
Red Street was neither red nor a street. At best, it could be considered a narrow alley lined with gray cobblestones that ran behind the biggest warehouse off Schallsea's burgeoning merchant district and ended at a stone wall. The three buildings that faced the alley—a leather shop, a tailor's, and a weaver's— were neatly shingled in brown with various shades of yellow, white, and blue trim respectively. There wasn't a shade of red to be seen anywhere. The three buildings that faced away from the street, whose back doors opened onto the alley, were all owned by the same businessman, one Lenerd Smithsin, who also owned Schallsea's newest stable. These buildings were being used as residences for the town's newcomers, who were filling Smithsin's pockets with steel, which he already had plenty of. Smithsin had inherited his buildings from his father, Markus.
Red Street had tickled Gair's ever-present curiosity, and so he sought out its origin, even as he sought out the goods sold along it. He told himself he needed something to occupy his mind other than Lady Camilla, who was busying herself with "Solamnic concerns." So through a string of carefully worded and persistent questions, the elf learned that several decades past a stream had cut through the middle of the port town, which was then little more than a barbarian village. The stream was called Red Creek, named after a Qualinesti elf who homesteaded along its northern bank and who seemed to get along well with the natives. No one Gair chatted with could remember the elf's name, as it was long and difficult to pronounce. They knew that, according to the island's history, the elf dressed only in shades of red, which the natives at that time considered odd for an elf, since the few other elves in the area favored hues of green. Hence, for some reason known only to those long-dead folks, the natives named the stream Red Elf's Creek. It was shortened through the years an
d slips of the tongue to Red Creek.
As more years passed, and the land changed with the addition of buildings and people who'd moved here from Abanasinia and Southern and Northern Ergoth and elsewhere, the elf moved on to the northern end of the island, and the creek dried up-at least on the surface. Below ground, the water still ran from a crystal-clear spring. So the well outside of the building at which Gair now stood pulled water from what was once Red Elf's Creek. The brightly clad elf who unknowingly had the alley named after him was said to have died roughly a dozen years ago, killed during a misunderstanding with a hunter. Gair considered using his newfound skill to attempt to contact the deceased elf's spirit, and perhaps the spirit of Lenerd Smithsin's father, so he could learn firsthand what the village was like decades ago. He would indeed do just that—but not today. Gair had too many other things to accomplish today.
Gair strode into Logan's Bootery and Leather Shop and inhaled deeply. The scents of leather and polish pleasantly filled his nostrils. Carefully tooled shoes and boots gleamed on shelves from floor to ceiling along the right-hand wall, embroidered belts and satchels hung along the back on either side of a counter, and leather trousers and shirts were carefully folded on shelves along the left.
"Good day to you sir!" The balding proprietor beamed at the elf. "What can I help you with?"
"Boots, trousers, a few belts." Gair rattled off a considerable list while the proprietor measured his feet and selected a few pairs for the elf to try on. "And a very large belt—something that would go around me two… no, make that three times."
His choices made, Gair paid the man generously, then added a tip. "Could you have them delivered? To Smithsin's stable? I've obtained a cart there to transport my purchases."
The man set about accommodating the generous elf, nodding politely as Gair exited the shop and strode to the weaver's across the alley. Here he purchased three dozen blankets, all exquisitely made and practically the weaver's entire stock. He made little fuss about his choices, as they were meant to be hung inside his tent—and inside the tents of the dwarven builders and the Solamnic Knights and soldiers—and so they did not need to be of any particular color. They just needed to be thick. Again he had them delivered to the stable.