by Jean Rabe
The winter wind played around her, teasing her red cloak, which was threatening to become entangled in her feet. With a quick tug, the cloak fluttered to the ground, stark in the faint moonlight against the snow. Camilla opened her eyes and gave her garment a quick glance, as if she were making a note of where she left it. She returned her gaze to the spiraling steps in front of her, and she told herself again she wouldn't be doing this if she hadn't been polite and joined Goldmoon and the gnoll in a drink.
"Polite," she grumbled as she climbed higher. "Politeness had nothing to do with it. I let down my guard, indulged in a bit of melancholic ruminations, and… oh, my."
Camilla glanced down again. She felt herself swaying on the step and spread her legs as much as possible to gain better balance. There were a few lights below, around the construction site. She knew men and women were still working. A few of the tents glowed softly, as if lanterns were burning merrily inside of them, their occupants unable to sleep.
Taking a deep breath, she resumed her climb. "Don't these stairs ever stop? To think Goldmoon regularly climbs them, at her age." Camilla had witnessed truly elderly folks take the climb, hobbling up with canes, and the dwarves from time to time, their stubby legs finding this a real challenge. Jasper had climbed it again just last night.
Their legs? She touched her thighs. Her legs were aching. Camilla considered herself very well conditioned. If she was having trouble with these steps, how did the common folk in Goldmoon's settlement handle them?
Higher and higher. Still there was no end to them. The knight considered climbing back down. This was a waste of time. The chill air had helped to sober her, bringing with it more thoughts that this stunt was absurd. She had no reason to climb these stairs. Foolish though it may be, she decided, it was now a matter of triumphing over this insubstantial-looking relic. She needed to reach the top just to prove that she could do it. She would reach the top and then instantly climb down.
"In the name of Kiri-Jolith," she breathed, "do these stairs indeed reach to the stars?"
Her side ached. The air was thin, and she gulped it in raggedly. Her teeth were chattering from the cold, and when she reached down to touch her legs again, the leggings she wore felt like ice. A mist rose around her; she suspected it was the low-hanging cloud she'd spied from the ground. She stopped to catch her breath and toyed with the notion of sitting here for a moment.
"Just a moment. Sit in the cloud and think and rest." Camilla had no idea how long she had spent in Goldmoon's tent or how long it had taken her to climb this high. If morning came before she was finished, the steps would vanish from sight. Would she plummet to the ground? Disappear with them? Or were the steps always here but you could only see them in the moonlight?
Faster, she urged herself. She climbed above the mist, climbed so high it looked as if she were standing amid the stars. "Stars fallen to earth," she whispered, remembering her stroll with Gair. "So beautiful."
Camilla saw no top step, but suddenly when she thought she didn't have the energy to go any farther, she was standing on it, balanced like a dancer on a gossamer strip of… what? Just what were the steps made of? She breathed only faintly, worried that too much motion might cause her to topple. "Foolishness," she whispered. "Foolishness and cherry wine."
"I much preferred ale, dwarven if I could get it." The voice was strong and rich, coming from in front of her and behind her at the same time.
Forgetting for an instant just where she was, she pivoted and found herself in an oak-ringed glade. It was late spring or early summer, judging by the leaves on the trees and the wildflowers that grew in clumps here and there and at the feet of a towering elderly man in ornate plate mail.
His long gray hair and drooping mustache were teased by a breeze that felt pleasant and warm. All trace of Schallsea Island's winter had vanished in a heartbeat. A long sword and a shield, both gleaming in the midafternoon sun, and a great horned helmet were propped against a large block of black granite.
"Vinas Solamnus," Camilla said in disbelief.
"Ah, fate has sent someone to fast with me" came the rich-sounding reply. "Come!" He crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer.
She didn't hesitate, didn't consider that she was on the very top of the Silver Stair and that one step, which she was taking now, and another and another, might send her hurtling through the air. She wasn't falling, wasn't thinking about the ruin. She was thinking only about the great man several yards in front of her, and she was walking on solid ground. It had rained recently, and the mud was sticking to the soles of her boots. The grass felt fresh with the moisture.
He smiled kindly at her, took her hand, and led her to the granite slab. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said. Again the wonderful voice. Mesmerizing. "You know who I am, but I've no clue who you are, beautiful lady."
Beautiful? He called her beautiful, but she wasn't beautiful, and she wasn't really here. She was only dreaming.
"Your name?"
"Camilla," she said, her name nervously catching in her throat. "Camilla Weoledge."
He scratched his chin with his free hand. "A familiar name."
Up close, she noticed that he appeared gaunt, as if he hadn't eaten in days. There was a line of stubble along his chin and cheeks, and his hair was tangled at the ends. His boots were worn and dirty, hinting that it had taken him a while to journey here.
"Where are we?"
"Sancrist Isle, beautiful Camilla. Join me?" He knelt at the rock, and she knelt nearby, but a few feet away so she could study him.
"What are we doing here?"
"Fasting, praying, looking for guidance."
"Praying to whom?"
"Kiri-Jolith."
He closed his eyes and a serene expression came over his rugged features. He looked so much like the Vinas Solamnus of the paintings and sculptures she'd seen— the man who had founded the order of the Solamnic knights so long ago and who she idolized above all others. It couldn't be him. He would be bones and dust now, and she couldn't be on Sancrist Isle. She was on Schallsea Island. Wasn't she? On the Silver Stair?
Her stomach growled, and she noticed that the afternoon sun had turned to evening. Morning and evening flashed before her again and again until her belly felt like an empty pit and her lips were cracked like a dry riverbed from lack of water.
It was daylight again, and she was still kneeling, as was the image of Vinas Solamnus. She was hungrier than she ever remembered, so terribly thirsty. She tried to say something, but her throat was so dry, no sounds would come out. Foolishness, she thought to herself. Time to end this dream. She made a move to leave, but her legs felt like tree trunks rooted to the spot. The sky darkened again and the stars came out. Constellations that were familiar to her before the Chaos War. Constellations of her youth, representing the gods Habbakuk, Paladine, and Kiri-Jolith.
The stars shimmered and began to fall like snowflakes, grew and formed transparent images of three humans in shining plate mail. They shimmered more brightly, solidifying before her eyes. The gods were taking human form—the historic vision of Vinas Solamnus.
The celebrated event was played out before Camilla's wide eyes. Vinas rose and was touched by each god image, was instructed to create a knighthood such as Krynn had never known.
"It will last for generations," the image of Habbakuk said.
"Three separate orders will there be." This from the image of Paladine. "Each shall uphold our ideals, and together the knights shall unite the lands."
"The knights will carry on your concepts of goodness and honor," Kiri-Jolith finished.
Honor, Camilla repeated in her mind. Honor. Honor.
The god images vanished, became stars again that climbed to the heavens. Their light reflected on the surface of the black granite slab, which was shimmering and growing taller and narrower, paler and brighter. Camilla gasped as it was transformed into a pillar of white crystal.
The pillar, according to Solamnic history, signified th
e gods' pact to watch over the orders of the knighthood. If the knights strayed, the pillar would crumble. It was standing to this day, Camilla knew.
"Time to leave, beautiful Camilla." Vinas was facing her, hands extended to help her to her feet. His shield was strapped to his back, his sword in his scabbard, his great horned helmet firmly atop his head.
She shivered and accepted his hand, stared up into his face, which was shimmering as the stars and as the granite block had shimmered, shimmering and melting and reforming into another image—a younger man in the armor of a Knight of the Crown.
"Kastil!"
"Dear sister, it is good to see you."
The years vanished in a heartbeat, and Camilla's tunic and leggings melted from her like hot butter, replaced by a flowing blue gown. The holy symbol of Kiri-Jolith hung on a silver chain about her neck. She was little more than a child, an acolyte at the temple.
As she blinked in amazement, her surroundings melted too, replaced by the austere halls of her father's manse. She and her brother stood looking out a window at a rolling meadow. In the far distance was a temple of Kiri-Jolith.
"I wish this could be under better circumstances," the image of Kastil continued, "but life rarely gives us the best of circumstances." He smiled, his eyes gleaming mischievously, then drew his lips into a tight line, and a bit of the light faded from his eyes. "I'm leaving the knighthood. Too rigid for my tastes, dear sister. All this duty is nonsense, sheer drudgery. I'm completely bored. I certainly can't deal with giving all my coins to them. This is poverty!"
"This is madness. You can't leave the knighthood!" she protested. "You took an oath."
"Est Sularus oth Mithas," he said flatly. "My honor is my life."
She nodded. She was familiar with the Oath. It was ingrained into her very being. Her great-grandfather had been a knight, her grandfather, her father until an injury took his right arm and with it his fighting heart.
"The knighthood is not my life. It was something expected of me. Dear Cam, don't hate me for failing to live up to expectations." He handed her his sword and backed away, his boots clicking on a stone hallway that melted beneath him, becoming instead the scrabble of a worn trail. In the distance, the temple became a garrison, and Camilla could see knights keeping watch from atop a barbican. Kastil was backing away from them, as he had moments ago left her. His mouth moved, and she caught his whisper on the breeze.
"Do not hate me, Cam. I will always treasure you."
"You're abandoning your post!" she called to him. Camilla thought she saw him smile faintly, though his image was too far away now for her to be certain. "You're abandoning your post!"
She was young when he left the knighthood and disgraced the family. She was an acolyte who was finding the rituals and studies of the temple not to her taste. She had not backed away from the temple, not until the day she was told that he had fled from the garrison, dishonoring himself. She wouldn't have left the priesthood even then had an elder not suggested that her heart lay elsewhere and that there was no dishonor in pursuing another honorable calling.
The last she heard of Kastil, he was making his way across Ansalon by singing bawdy tunes in taverns.
"My honor is my life," she whispered.
The garrison vanished, and the sky turned a brilliant blue. The grass that appeared beneath her feet, each blade carefully trimmed and carrying a hint of dew, was darkened by the shadows of dragons flying high overhead. There were knights on the field around her, one holding a sword and touching it to her shoulder.
She was being welcomed into the Solamnic Order on the day a battle of dragons in the middle of the dragonpurge raged amid the clouds.
"Est Sularus oth Mithas," she stated solemnly. "I do not hate you, Kastil. I just wished I would have told you so."
"You didn't need to." He was suddenly there, behind the knights, smiling proudly at her. "You never needed to. Use my sword well, dear sister. There's a good bit of magic inside."
Again the scene changed, and the top step of the Silver Stair came into view beneath her feet. A blast of winter-cold air hit her like a slap, and she put all her effort into steadying herself. The stars were spread out like a blanket all around her. Breathtaking and frightening.
Was it the wine? Or was there indeed such magic in this ancient construct? The vision seemed so real. Her brother's face, his words.
Turning carefully, she picked her way down the steps. There was no ache in her side or legs now, and the warmth of the alcohol was a distant memory. The stairs did not seem so high on her downward trip.
Safely on the ground now, she looked for her discarded cloak. She remembered leaving it behind. She made a note of where it fell. Nothing. That's odd, she thought. The snow was brushed as if her cloak had been dragged across it. The marks led away from the stair to the north, as if someone had covered his footsteps. Or as if an animal had grabbed her cloak and dragged it away to make a warm bed of it. A wolf, likely, or a big fox.
She had a few other cloaks in the Sentinel, though none so colorful, the one bit of brightness she had allowed in her wardrobe. "I hope it keeps you warm," she mused as she made her way back to her tent, "and that you need it more than I."
"It will help me to think of you," a voice replied after she was well out of earshot. "It carries your delicate scent."
Gair rose from behind a bank of snow and silently crept toward the Silver Stair. It was so late, he suspected no one else would climb tonight. Late and cold, the settlement, for the most part, was asleep.
He skittered up it like a monkey wrapped in Camilla's warm red cloak. Shadows followed him to either side—his father and Darkhunter.
You still think of her too often, his father scolded in his dead, whispery voice. A human… her life is too short, but if she were dead, she could be with you forever.
Gair stopped and cocked his head in the direction of her tent. He was about twenty feet above ground, and with his keen elven vision, he could see a faint glow in Camilla's tent. He stared at it, imagining her inside, lying in bed. He wondered what she had seen on the Silver Stair and decided that she was probably at this very moment thinking of him, as he was thinking of her.
"I'm obsessed with her," Gair said.
Then slay her, Darkhunter suggested. Make her one of us. By your side.
Forever, Gair. No longer would I call you foolish for being smitten with a human, his father added.
"Father, you would have me in love with a spirit? One who has no soft flesh to touch and who does not have flower-scented hair to smell?"
Love is more -powerful in death, my son. I know this. I love you more now than when I breathed.
Darkhunter nudged the elf with an icy claw, encouraging him to climb higher and out of sight of any passing sentries. Gair Graymist, are you not already in love with death? the Que-Nal posed. Shall I slay the human for you to keep your conscience clean?
"I have little conscience left," Gair said with a sneer. "She will die eventually."
He stopped when he was more than fifty feet above the ground. With Darkhunter's and his father's black bodies to shield him, no one would notice him. If, by chance, someone elected to climb the stair so very late, there was always room for one more wraith in his growing army.
The elf's fingers gripped the frigidly cold step, and he concentrated on the energy pulsing in the magical site. So strong! His senses heightened under Darkhunter's tutelage, he was able to picture in his mind the shifting bands of arcane power that ran the length of the ruin. Sometimes dozens of feet long, sometimes hundreds, the ruin seemed not to have a precise height. The elf suspected it varied based on the individual climbing it. The stronger the man—or woman—the higher the stairs went.
The Silver Stair would likely stretch to the very heavens for him if they were to present a challenge, Gair guessed. He was becoming stronger and more magically aware with each passing day. The steps would have to stretch beyond the stars! He did not need the visions, and therefore did not hav
e to climb to the top step. He only needed their power, and that he could get right here.
He focused on the bands of energy and pulled them toward him, felt the arcane aura surge into his hands and arms, stoke his chest as if it were a caldron. His feet felt as if they were on fire; his chest felt as if it might explode.
"More," he coaxed. "I need more."
He felt the step crack beneath his fingers, a spiderweb of fine lines racing away beneath his palm. A chunk of whatever material it was made of fell away, and then another, and he scrabbled down to a lower step to pull still more energy. Another step damaged. And then another.
"More!"
The elf's body shook, mildly at first, then as if he were having a seizure. He wondered if Goldmoon had thought to use the ruin in this manner. He pictured her in her tent.
She was trying to sleep! What are you dreaming of? he asked. In a corner of his mind, he saw her eyes flutter open and her mouth gape in surprise. "I woke her up," he told the wraiths.
Were you dreaming of me, Goldmoon?
"Gair!" she gasped.
Or were you dreaming of Riverwind? I could make him a creature of half-life, too, Goldmoon, if I draw enough energy from these stairs. I've tried before, you know, to solidify his spirit here, but he's very willful and wants to remain very dead. He's just beyond my grasp—but not if I gain more power. He could walk at my side, Goldmoon. He could be unreachable to you until you, also, walk at my side.
He saw her stand. In a woolen nightgown and bare feet, she walked to the flap of her tent and pulled it back, looked in the direction of the stair, but he knew she could not see him.
You realize I am on the stair. You can sense me, as I sense you. Good. The link is stronger; the stair did that. I'll use the link to learn all your secrets. I'd best hurry now, Goldmoon, since I sense you're planning to summon the soldiers. I cannot have you interrupt me, and I cannot have you catch me. Gair withdrew from the healer's mind and returned his full concentration to the stair. So hot. The energy made the steps feel as if he were sticking his hands into hot coals. "Just another moment more. Power. Give me all your power."