"No 'winders' in this building," one of the Thorbardin dwarves told him. "At least not on this level."
The man shrugged and thrust the charcoal in his coat pocket. "Can't spread resin," he said as he stood over the dwarves and watched them work. "Stuff makes my hands itch. Can I help you here? I wanna do something."
One of the dwarves tugged on the man's coat, indicating he should kneel. He passed the fellow a sanding stone and whispered, "You can help us as long as you'd like. Just no singing… okay?"
The sound of hammers drifted up from the basement. Fishermen from the Schallsea port town were boxing off more rooms down there. They had volunteered to help because they said the weather was too cold to take their boats out onto the bay. They were a cheerful lot, though not the most talented with hammers and nails, and they were closely supervised by one of Jasper's friends.
Two young girls threaded their way into the building, passing biscuits to the dwarves and the artist, setting a plateful in front of the family from Christyne. They carried more to the people downstairs. On their way out, they dawdled as they watched a burly woman working on stairs that would lead to the upper floors.
Outside, a dozen men were hard at work making the walls that would be hoisted up to the second story and nailed in place. They were a varied lot: men young enough that some would call them children, old men that age had bent and who favored clothes that looked as worn as themselves. Everyone worked at his own pace, resting when he needed to and never complaining. Even a patrician with rings on every finger worked hard, outfitted in fur-trimmed boots and a sealskin coat. He was at the shoulder of Roeland, the miller who had given up his shop to join the assembly. Roeland never took a day off and worked until he was too tired to lift a hammer, and though his clothes were not the warmest, he never complained about the cold.
The largest worker wore a blood-red woolen cloak that hung to his ankles and shadowed his face. The boots on his feet were new, a rich brown leather, the tips of which had been cut off and replaced with the ends of heavy wool socks, or else his hairy gray-green feet would never have fit inside. His tunic was a dark purple shade, gathered at his waist with a thick tan belt. The sleeves were of a purple a few shades lighter, and except when they were pushed up to his elbows, as they were now, they covered all but the ends of his claws. His trousers, which fit surprisingly well, were forest green, with deep pockets roomy enough to hold hammers and nails.
Orvago presented an all-too-colorful picture for Gair's tastes. The tailor had provided quite a bundle of oversized garments, many of which were reasonably color-coordinated, given the short notice. However, the gnoll favored things that clashed, reveling in putting together outfits that were visually disturbing.
Orvago had growled about the clothes for the first two days. However, after a stern but gentle lecture from Gair, the gnoll seemed more accepting of the outfits. The people in the settlement didn't stare quite so long when he was dressed in the human garb, and the occasional visitors from town, which prompted him to roll down his sleeves and retreat into his hood, simply thought he was a very big man.
Goldmoon's followers were gradually getting used to the gnoll, and even those who initially opposed his presence had to admit he was useful to have around. His exceptional hearing and sense of smell made him a natural sentry. He could carry as much as three men, which made him a boon at the construction site. Unfortunately, he was also sometimes as clumsy as any three men, and hence everyone gave him a wide berth when he was toting logs. He was not such a bad sort after all, they decided.
"Watch out!" Jasper hollered.
Orvago had plucked up a stack of finished boards. As he carried them to where Jasper pointed, he inadvertently clunked three dwarves in the head along the way. The builders rubbed their noggins and glared at the oblivious gnoll. Jasper made apologies for Orvago as the gnoll retrieved a second stack of boards and accidentally knocked over Redstone, who was trying to assist him.
Jasper mouthed "I'm sorry" to her as she struggled to her feet, then motioned where the gnoll should put this load. Orvago was quick to comply, dropping the wood with a clatter. He cocked his hairy head, looking for new instructions. His upper lip curled back and he snarled softly. A ridge of hair stood up on the top of his head, and his nose quivered. He padded toward the edge of the construction site, eyes locked onto the pines in the distance. Jasper followed him, his hand on his hammer.
The situation was not lost on Goldmoon and Gair. They watched the gnoll move closer to the trees, with Jasper following, the snow practically thigh-high on the dwarf.
Suddenly a hawk cried and rose from the pines, scattering other nearby birds. They flew over the settlement and dropped down over the cliff toward the sea. The gnoll cocked his head again and sniffed the wind, growled louder, and he eventually returned to the construction site, accidentally knocking over a kender who was carrying a sack of nails.
"I wonder what that was all about?" Gair mused.
Goldmoon's face showed concern. "I don't know," she answered, "but I'm going to double the sentries tonight, just in case."
The elf returned to planing boards, something he wasn't especially good at. He quickly covered his smile when he spotted the gnoll dropping a log on the foot of an unsuspecting dwarf. "Orvago," the elf whispered. "When the gods created gnolls, they must have-" Gair scowled as an internal voice interrupted his train of thought. "I like the creature well enough, Father."
Like a boy enjoys the company of a pet dog. The elder Graymist had opened the door and intruded on his son's ruminations. He is an animal, and you share your tent with him.
"I'm curious about him, that's all," Gair replied. The elf didn't see Jasper looking quizzically at him, so he continued. "I want to know where he came from and how he came to be on this island. And I want to know about that flag one of his fellows was wearing… ."
And you think you will gain that information by sharing your tent?
Gair shrugged. "Possibly. Besides, I doubt that anyone else would take him in."
You are too kind.
"Another shipment." Camilla stood on the docks, watching workers unload crates and bins, all destined for Goldmoon's settlement.
"Any word, Commander?" the young knight at her side was attentively watching the activities on the dock. "It's been nearly four weeks since you sent that letter to the Solamnic Council."
She shook her head.
"It shouldn't be much longer, Commander," he offered cheerfully, "and then Goldmoon will be gone, and you will rest easier. You won't have to come to the dock every day and watch for ships, and we can concentrate solely on protecting the people in this port."
She folded her arms across her chest, covering up part of the sword etching on her breastplate and continuing to stare out across the water, watching a white speck on the horizon. It grew to be a tiny flag, signaling the arrival of yet another ship that she feared carried more fanatics who wanted to see Goldmoon and the Silver Stair. There was little room left for newcomers in town, though the carpenters were much closer now to finishing the new row of houses, working feverishly in spite of the weather.
"Shall I return to the Sentinel, Commander?"
She didn't answer. She was watching the ship that was closing on the harbor. It carried a Solamnic flag.
It had been four weeks since Gair had taken his etchings to the scribe in the port, and the elf was upset that he had not been presented with the opportunity to return to the town. Everyone had been consumed by the building project. Still, he intended to head back tomorrow and see if the man was finished-and visit Camilla. He had hoped she would have returned to the settlement by now.