The aged healer had one hand on Jasper, the other on Redstone, and she was using her magic to heal two individuals at the same time. The elf had never seen such a feat but did not doubt Goldmoon's ability to handle it.
He returned his attention to his own patient, working hard to find the healing spark and coaxing it to grow like the flames grew behind him. For an instant, he wondered if he possessed the ability to heal the gnoll, the creature being so different from a man. Then he recalled Goldmoon healing Orvago after the incident with the boars. He focused on that memory, pictured it in the back of his mind as the warmth radiated from his chest and down his arms into the gnoll. At the same time, the air grew warmer still from the fire.
Behind the healers, the citadel shuddered one last time. The flames, sucking the last of the life out of the building, rose ever higher, then erupted outward in a great show of sparks as the last few walls collapsed into the basement. Screams of terror and shouts of anger cut through the night as the settlers watched the flames finally begin to grow smaller.
A crowd formed around Goldmoon and Gair. Roeland was telling of the gnoll's heroic rescue of the dwarves. Others were crying over their lost possessions, some over the weeks upon weeks of work that had been for nothing.
"What started the fire?" It was Amanda's mother.
"Someone set it, that's for certain." It was one of the Thorbardin dwarves. "Redstone's resin. A barrel of it was dumped around the foundation."
"To feed the fire," another dwarf added. "Someone doesn't want the citadel built."
"Who? And why?"
Gair kept quiet, focusing on his spell and trying to shut out their words.
Dawn found the dwarves and Orvago in new clothes and with less hair. Jasper was speculating if he would have to shave off what little was left of his beard. He looked forlornly at the gnoll, who appeared much the worse for wear.
"Saved us, you did," Jasper stated, slapping the gnoll gently on the back. "Didn't think anyone would come down to get us."
"No one should have," Redstone cut in. "You could've been killed, Orvago."
The gnoll grinned sheepishly and scratched at the bandage on his chest.
Goldmoon hovered around them, and Gair stayed in the background, listening to his father and pondering whether he should reveal his knowledge of a Que-Nal named Shadowwalker.
"Guess this means we're not buildin' again until spring," Jasper said. He wrapped his stubby fingers around a steaming cup of tea and stared sadly at the charred remains of the once-impressive building. Occasional wisps of smoke still curled upward from the site, disappearing in the gray sky overhead.
Goldmoon shook her head. "We start again tomorrow, my friend, though I don't want any of you three lifting a nail until you've properly mended."
"Tomorrow!" Jasper gasped. He nearly dropped the tea. "Goldmoon, you can't be serious! It's obvious someone set the fire."
"And therefore obvious someone does not want the citadel built," she added.
"Exactly."
"All the more reason it must be built." She turned and walked toward the charred ruins. "We start again tomorrow."
Jasper let out a deep breath and looked back and forth between Redstone and Orvago. They were silently watching the healer.
10
Gair insisted on going to the port town for Goldmoon to arrange for more building supplies to replace everything that had been destroyed in the fire. He didn't tell the healer that he had planned the trip anyway, intending to stop at the scribe's. Willum accompanied the elf, determined to inform Camilla of the sabotage against the settlement and to ask for a larger garrison. They rode horses to cut the time of the journey considerably.
Gair thought that he might tell the knight commander about the Que-Nal and Shadowwalker, since he had not yet mentioned either to Goldmoon-or to Iryl, who claimed friendship with the Que-Nal. Camilla might not think to press him for information about how much he knew. The elf worked at being pleasant and plied Willum with questions about Camilla to keep his mind off the fire and his dilemma.
"Why don't you ask her yourself tonight?" the lieutenant said as they neared the town's gates. "Over dinner. You'll be my guest."
Gair accepted, of course, and was exceptionally amicable company, silent only when Willum discussed the tragedy of the citadel. Camilla politely expressed remorse for the fire, then astonishment that Goldmoon would consider proceeding.
As the evening wore on and the subject finally changed, she found herself eating everything placed on her plate, and at the elf's encouragement, having a second helping of plum pudding. The Solamnic commander's eyes drifted often to the elf, then quickly stared at her plate each time others noticed her. As soon as dinner was finished, she excused herself. "Letters to write," she told Gair and her men.
In her tower room, she paced in front of the desk, glancing at a letter that had arrived for her on the Solamnic ship still anchored in the harbor. It was in reply to one she'd written a little more than four weeks ago, asking the Solamnic Council to give her the authority to oust Goldmoon from Schallsea Island. She read the reply again and again then paced some more.
She let an hour drift by. As the stars winked into view, she strode to the window and looked out over the city. She peered toward the harbor. The full moon reflected off the waves, illuminating the docks and the Solamnic ship moored there, and illuminating Gair Graymist. What was the elf doing up so late? Couldn't he sleep either?
Gair sat on the dock, wrapped tightly in his heavy wool coat and staring at the water. The waves danced with color, the black of night, the bright yellow splashes of light reflected from the residents' windows, the iridescent white of the mirroring moon. His fingers were stretched over the frosty rough planks, and his senses extended deep into the harbor, where he'd detected slivers of human bones, broken skulls, pieces of rusty chains, and the boulders that were used to drown the Que-Nal.
The spirits weren't screaming at him this time. He was picking through them, as his keen eyes picked through the shadows, and he was listening to the musings of those who had lived the longest and had the most memories to share. Sadness, vengeance, fear, hope-the emotions were so strong they nearly overwhelmed him. He fought to remain in control and continued to sort through the words and feelings, attempting to put faces to them, trying to reach them and communicate. He almost talked himself out of coming here, since his experience with Darkhunter had so unnerved him. Darkhunter's was a tainted soul, and these spirits could not possibly be so malevolent.
The elf focused his efforts on only a few of the voices, urging at least one of them to talk to him. "Nothing! Why can't I contact them? When I was here weeks before, I almost…" He slapped his forehead with his hand in frustration. "I sensed someone reaching out to me then! Are there too many, Father? Is this beyond my reach?"
Not beyond, his father answered supportively. Just more difficult. Don't give up, Son.
Gair filled his lungs with the frigid salt-tinged air, searched harder, and opened his mind wider to the harborful of thoughts, allowed himself to drown in them. In a vision in his mind's eye, his surroundings melted around him, his father disappearing, the dock beneath him disappearing. He was swimming in the water with the spirits, who appeared as ghostly waves. Now he was diving to the bottom, the surface of the harbor far above his head. The spirits didn't carry the images of their living selves, but at least he could see them now-diaphanous clouds in the water. He strained his senses to their limits and began to talk to the ghosts.