by Jean Rabe
Goldmoon hoped she could use the Silver Stair to shut down her link with Gair so he could not eavesdrop on her thoughts. She sensed he would rather have the Silver Stair destroyed than to have her use it. Goldmoon loathed the idea of channeling power from it to effect a spell. That was obviously how the steps became cracked, but Gair had to be found.
"Goldmoon!" Orvago was tramping across the snow toward her. He, Camilla, and a detachment of soldiers had arrived late yesterday.
She paused, as if suspended in the air, and stared down at the gnoll. "I do not need a guard here, my friend. Gair is nowhere near." She had explained the link to the commander and Orvago last night.
The gnoll left her, backing away and watching as she climbed something he couldn't see. Even when he could see the mystical site in the light of the moon, it raised the hair on the back of his neck. When Goldmoon was more than thirty feet above the earth, he turned and loped toward the knights' tents, kicking up snow as he went.
"What are you planning, Gair? And whatever caused you to stray?" Goldmoon sat on the unseen steps, high above the settlement. A pair of kestrels flew past, circling her, then continuing south.
The air was still, and it carried the scents of pine trees and breakfast and the sounds of the waking settlement. Goldmoon liked the settlement the way it was: tents and lean-tos, people existing on hope and hard work. A lot of hard work would go into the Citadel of Light. When it was finished, as Goldmoon knew it eventually would be—no matter the delays and the weather— things would be so very different. The settlement would not have the same feel, and she knew she would miss this.
"It is my fault, despite what you say." Goldmoon was talking to Riverwind. "It was my choice to teach him the dark side of mysticism. I let my emotions, not my common sense, get involved. He missed his family just as I missed you."
He would have eventually learned the dark mysticism without you, beloved, just as he's learned all manner of dark things.
"Perhaps, but I pointed him in the wrong direction and essentially gave him a shove. Now I have to stop him. How can I find him?"
I cannot help you. Each night he calls me. The door is always open for him, and each night he pulls spirits through. I have resisted.
A shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't bear the thought of Riverwind becoming an undead creature.
The life he offers is not truly life. It is an abomination of an existence.
" I have to find some way to stop him, beloved. I have to save him. Gair—the Gair I took on as my student— would not have wanted this to happen to him."
The seed was there, Goldmoon, planted long before you met him.
She sensed him back away from her just as she sensed another presence intruding in her thoughts. Gair! She could almost see his face inside her mind, and she could hear his voice as if he were right in front of her.
The Silver Stair is mine, Goldmoon!
"No! By the blessed memory of Mishakal!" Goldmoon felt instantly faint and grabbed on to the steps.
16
Conflagrations
Jasper pounded his ale mug down on a log that served as a table and gave a cockeyed look at Redstone across a merrily burning campfire. "Good ale," he pronounced. "The perfect finish to an evenin' meal." He patted his stomach. "An' now I need to take a walk and work some of this off. If you'll excuse me?"
She grinned politely her thick upper lip coated with foam from the ale. The blisters on her face and hands from the fire were healing, and they didn't look quite so bad in the firelight. Behind her, great chunks of crystal sparkled, brought this morning by a team of dwarven miners, who turned right around and headed back to the mines. There was no rest for anyone. Work on the citadel had resumed in earnest again.
Jasper touched her shoulder and glanced up at the winking stars. The moon would be full tonight, he noticed as he watched it edge its way up from the horizon. "I shouldn't be gone too awfully long, Red. Just takin' a walk. An' then you can tell me all about those domes you've got on your mind." Then he was heading down the path away from the building site and toward the Silver Stair, which was shimmering into view.
The dwarf stared at it in amazement, which was how he looked at it every time the moon revealed it. "The gods summoned fireflies, I think," he said to himself as he trundled forward, touching the bottom step and sighing deeply as the energy tingled into his fingers. "Summoned fireflies and talked 'em into holdin' this pose forever." He pressed his palms against the step, as he did each time as way of a ritual rather than a confirmation that the stair would hold him. Then he took a step up and then another.
"No better place." He continued to talk to himself as he went higher. "Goldmoon was right." Talking to himself was also something he always did when he took a trip on the stair. It kept him preoccupied so he wouldn't look down quite so often. "Best place to build the citadel. Goldmoon was definitely right. An' I was silly to think we should wait until spring to begin buildin' again. Right place, right time. Still, I'm kinda tired of startin' it over and over again. The blizzard, the fire. Why can't the fates just let us be? We ain't botherin' nobody."
He tugged on his terribly short beard when a bracing gust of wind struck him. He reached up to touch a step just above his head for support. "Wonder if my Uncle Flint ever got to see this? Hope he did. Hope he got a chance to climb it. Hope everyone in Krynn comes here to see this and takes a climb. Amazin'."
He was dressed warmly, but the cold cut through his clothes as he climbed ever higher and watched the lights of the settlement grow smaller all around him. He paused and frowned when he glanced to the south, where the three-story citadel used to be. "A whole lot of sweat an' work went into that," he grumbled. "Well, the next one'll be even better." The damage the fire caused looked worse from above. The basement was an ugly black scar against the snow-covered earth, reminding him of that night. He pushed it to the back of his mind and continued to struggle up the steep steps. It seemed a little harder to climb each time.
"Maybe I'll see Uncle Flint tonight," Jasper reflected, "or maybe I'll have another vision of that ship. Mmm… what was it called again? Flint's Anvil. That's it. The ship with the barbarian cap'n who carried all the knives. I'd kinda like to see how that's gonna turn out. Can't imagine me on a ship, though, an' in the company of a kender. The ground's much better than the sea. Doesn't move aroun'. The ground an' these stairs."
"Take it easy, Goldmoon." Camilla Weoledge took the aging healer's hand and guided it to her forehead so she could feel the considerable bump.
The healer blinked to clear her senses. She was inside her tent, lying on her cot, the Solamnic Commander at her side and looking entirely sympathetic. She felt a little thirsty, and she made a move to get up. The knight helped her. There was a pitcher of water on her table, next to the lantern.
The lantern. It burned almost cheerfully.
"Camilla, how long have I been here?"
The knight pursed her lips. "Several hours, Goldmoon."
"You've been here with me?"
Camilla nodded. "The entire time. Gave me some time to think… about a lot of things. Primarily what you said about mysticism being a gift from the gods." She made a huffing sound and ran her fingers through her tight curls. "Sometimes I take a rather narrow view of things, I'm afraid. I've certainly been too harsh a judge on you, Goldmoon, when it wasn't at all my place to judge. I've been critical of the citadel, and the citadel's not such a bad idea, really. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that."
Goldmoon found herself smiling. "What happened?" She touched the bump on her head again and cringed.
"You must've fallen quite a way," the knight replied. "Orvago started howling so loud he got everyone's attention real fast. We all came running and saw you on the ground. What were you thinking, trying to climb the stair in broad daylight? None of us could see it, but Jasper said it was there."
"It's always there. It's just unmasked in the moonlight."
"Jasper healed you, and Orvago car
ried you in here. You've been out for hours. You obviously needed the rest, and—"
"By the memory of Mishakal! Did you say hours?" She fought a sensation of dizziness, grabbed on to the table and stared at the lantern.
"Most of the day, anyway. Why don't you take it easy and I'll go get Jasper. He'll be pleased you're awake. I'll find some dinner for you, too."
"Dinner?"
"There's bound to be some left."
"It's that late?" Goldmoon edged away from table and focused on her heart to give her strength.
"Some cider, too, and—"
"No." Goldmoon remembered exactly what had happened. She met Camilla's gaze. "It was Gair. Somehow he made me fall off the Silver Stair. He was inside my head." She swallowed and closed her eyes, reaching inside herself. "Thank the memory of Mishakal he's not there now."
Camilla looked puzzled, but she remained silent. She watched the healer gather her cloak and wrap it around herself, then kneel beside her cot and pull out a long, wrapped bundle. She reverently untied it.
Inside was a staff, plain-looking and covered with whorls and knots. It shone softly in the light of the lantern. Goldmoon gently tugged it free. It was wholly unremarkable save for a leather thong that was tied near one end, from which dangled brilliantly colorful feathers and beads. The healer ran her fingers along a whorl.
"It's been a long time since I've used this." Goldmoon leaned on it for support as her eye was attracted to Camilla's hip. A long sword rested there, a different one than the knight usually carried. The pommel was uncharacteristically ornate for the commander's tastes. It was fashioned in the shape of a griffon's claw, the talons gold and gleaming and holding a red gem that glowed with an inner light.
"Have to get to the stair," she told the knight. There was resolve in her voice, in her expression. "I believe Gair is capable of destroying it." She fastened her cloak about her neck and brushed by the knight. "And capable of a lot more."
"Destroy the stair?"
"I believe that is his intention."
Camilla blew out the lantern and followed. "I'll station some of my men at the base—plenty of them this time. And we'll—"
A scream cut through the air, shrill and terrifying.
The healer cocked her head. "From the trail to Heartspring," she breathed.
The knight ran toward the trail, her young legs carrying her quickly across the snow-covered ground and leaving Goldmoon far behind. She motioned to Willum, who had paused to talk to Redstone. He had heard the scream, too, and had his sword drawn.
Another scream sliced through the air, and then another. A child was crying, too, the sobs distant and chilling. "The farmers!" she cried. "Gather the men!" The staccato words cut through the murmurs swelling in the settlement.
The dwarven builders were on their feet, several with hammers in hand, looking about for the source of the screams. The fishermen were pointing at the knights, gathering at the eastern side of the settlement where the trail to Heartspring began.
Parents were clutching their children to them, looking to Goldmoon for direction. The healer was waving everyone into the center of the clearing, save for the warriors among the settlers. These she was directing toward the Silver Stair.
Soldiers were falling into line, and Willum barked orders at them as he rushed toward Camilla. "Guard the settlement!"
Then the knights were clanking down the trail, running in the direction of the ongoing screams.
The top step had just come into view when Jasper heard the screams. The faint clank of armor and the chatter of the townsfolk were so soft from his high vantage point that it sounded like half-imagined whispers. He took another step up and then another, thinking that the screams were part of the vision he was about to have. One step away from the top.
He stopped and scratched his nose, looking down at the mist that cloaked the ground so far below. He strained his ears. "By Reorx's beard, I think somethin's goin' on below!"
The dwarf took another glance at the topmost step, shimmering invitingly mere feet away, then he carefully turned around and started down. "Ship'll have to wait for later." He resumed talking to himself as his stocky legs moved quickly—but not too quickly— down the steps. "Yep, somethin's goin' on. Don't have much built yet on the citadel for anybody to destroy. Got to be new trouble."
There was a shape below him on the steps, just emerging from the mist. "Turn aroun'." He waved to the man. "Trouble at the settlement. Gotta get to it. Hurry up."
The shape paused.
"Go on!" Jasper urged. "I can't get aroun' you. Get movin!" The dwarf waved his thick arms, then slowed his pace as his frantic waving almost made him lose his balance.
"Be careful," the other figure said. "I wouldn't want you to fall, like Goldmoon did this morning."
The dwarf stopped and peered through the darkness, using the light from the steps to help him see the figure. "Gair?"
"I had hoped you hadn't forgotten me already."
A shiver raced down the dwarf's spine, and his fingers edged down to lock around the handle of his hammer.
Camilla raced down the trail, Willum close on her heels. Behind them ran more than a dozen knights, some who were still struggling to put on pieces of their armor. The moon was climbing higher, and that coupled with the starlight reflecting off the snow guided their way.
The trail to Heartspring still remained buried beneath several feet of snow, but there was a path through the drifts, cut by people traveling back and forth. It was narrow, and no more than two of the knights could move side by side without finding themselves in thigh-deep snow.
The screams continued, panicked and terrifying.
Willum was humming in his throat. "Must be a family," he huffed. "I think I heard a child."
Camilla nodded and picked up the pace. She spotted a figure ahead, crouched a few yards off the path, slight, probably a woman. A small form was lying on the snow in front of her, and she was sobbing over it. The screams continued farther along the trail.
The knight commander motioned Willum and two men to investigate the woman, then she and the others raced on, their breath puffing away from their faces like chimneys. Camilla saw more figures in the distance as she neared the village. There was a wagon turned on its side; people had gathered around it. Someone was screaming.
She looked frantically to the right and left, trying to spot any renegade Que-Nal warriors who might have been responsible. Seeing no sign of any, she pushed herself and her men toward the wagon.
Dozens of yards behind her, Willum plodded through the snow toward the woman. He could make out her cries now. "My baby. My darling baby!"
"Let us help you!" he hollered to her as he nearly stumbled in the thick drift. Unlike the woman, he was too heavy to move about on top of the snow. He sank through it with each step. Two knights followed in the path he was blazing. "There are healers at the settlement. We'll take your baby there."
"My baby. She's dead," the woman sobbed. "Poor baby."
A moment more and Willum was at her side, reaching out to the small shape lying on the snow. Then a moment more and he was gasping, recoiling in terror, and bumping back into his men who were just catching up.
"My baby." The woman pulled back her dark cloak, the moonlight revealing a face more bone than flesh. Hollow eye sockets looked out at the knights, and her jaw dropped open. "My baby."
The small form at her feet stirred, and Willum struggled to speak, but his throat had gone instantly dry.
The creature sluggishly stood. It was a child, a Que-Nal, with beads and feathers in its matted hair. Not so long dead, there was more flesh on the small bones, but now the flesh that remained was swollen around the throat, revealing that some terrible disease had claimed her.
"My baby," the dead woman cackled as she struggled to her feet. The cloak fell away from her. In the moonlight, the bones showed through her rotting flesh, glistening like the snow.
"It's a trap!" Willum yelled as loudly as he could, fi
nally finding his voice. He stepped forward and swung at the adult creature, slicing through an arm and sending it flying away. "Warn Camilla!" He barked to the knights behind him. "Go!"
Despite the order, only one of the knights trudged hurriedly away. The other came up to Willum's shoulder, drawing his sword and pointing it at the smaller corpse. "What manner of creatures are these, sir?"
Willum shook his head. He was humming nervously in his throat and weaving his sword in front of him. The large corpse advanced on him, cackling "My baby" and clacking her bony jaws. She reached out for the lieutenant just as he swept the blade to the right, and her clawed hand darted to scratch at his mail. A finger broke from the impact with the metal, and her hollow eyes stared at it hanging limply on her hand.
"They can't hurt us!" Willum said, his voice a shout, though the knight was only inches away. "They can't get through our armor. I'll be all right. Go warn Camilla." The knight turned reluctantly. "No!" Willum shouted. "Get back to the settlement. I think these things were meant to draw us away!"
The Solamnic lieutenant turned his attention back to the corpses. The smaller staggered forward, wrapping her arms around Willum's waist. The knight ignored her for the moment, concentrating on the larger foe.
Jaws clacking, cackling, the larger female corpse shuffled forward atop the snow, too light to sink beneath the drift. She lashed out at Willum's face, but the knight turned, and the bony fingers raked only air. At the same time, he brought his sword up through her rib cage, what would be a mortal blow to any living creature. She only cackled louder.
He pulled his sword free as she threw herself at him, arms wrapping around his sword arm and shaking hard. The corpse was strong and persistent, eventually forcing the knight to lose his grip on the pommel. The blade fell into the snow and disappeared.