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 have 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."
Darkhunter's icy dead fingers grabbed one arm. His father took the other. The power flowed into them, too, and they soaked it up like inky sponges.
"More!" Suddenly he felt as if his entire body were engulfed in flames. The sensation was too much for him to handle. The fire so hot. So…
He awoke on the ground at the base of the gossamer spiral, the blackness of his father and Darkhunter hovering over him.
We carried you here, Darkhunter explained. You would have fallen. We saved you from death. It is not yet your time to join us, Gair. You must make more of us first.
Many more. Enough to rule the island, the elder Graymist insisted.
Gair shook his head as if to clear his senses. A small part of himself was scrabbling for control, forcing the darkness back. "Why would I want to do that? It would be wrong, evil, to bring more spirits into this world. I have already done enough damage. It would be wrong. And-"