"Can't find any tracks!" she heard from behind her now. "It's dark, Commander, might be easy to miss."
She ran quickly down the center of the narrow path, kicking up snow as she went. The clanking behind her was a signal that her men were close behind. "Watch yourself!" she hollered loudly, an instruction meant for the men with her and for those still at the wagon. "Keep alert!"
Within heartbeats, she was in the center of the small farming community. Everything was eerily silent, the only sounds the ragged breathing from her and the men. She took in several gulps of air and ran toward the nearest home. A soft glow showed out from a curtained window. She pounded on the door.
No answer, and no sound came from within.
Waving to her men, they fanned out, knocking on door after door and getting no answer.
Camilla's chest heaved from running, and she leaned against the home for an instant to catch her breath and watch her men. She spun and kicked at the door and plunged inside and was greeted by a chorus of screams.
People were huddled in front of a fireplace, wide-eyed, staring at her, crying in fright. She recognized one of them, the pregnant woman Gair had tended to. She held a poker in her hand as if it were a weapon.
"It's all right," she started. "When no one answered the door-"
"The creatures came," the pregnant woman cut in. "They came and we locked ourselves in. The Hansons. The creatures got them."
"At the wagon?"
The woman nodded.
"Dead things," said a man next to her. He was cradling a trembling boy to his chest. "All bones and teeth, and they was screaming. All of 'em was screaming something awful."
Camilla pointed to a table. "Push this against door, and don't come out until morning." She rushed back to the center of the village and waved to her men. "In twos! No one alone!" she hollered. "I'm not truly sure what we're looking for, though I believe it's-"
"Undead, Commander!" The first knight who'd left Willum rushed into the village. Out of breath, he haltingly but quickly explained about the skeletal woman and child and that Willum believed it was a trap.
"They're after the settlement, then," she said. "This was a distraction to separate us. A wise ploy, and one I fell for. Still, we can't abandon these people."
She thought for only a moment more, then ordered her men to conduct a fast search of the village and the barns, ordering them to make sure every house was locked tight and that nothing was lurking in the barns.
Several minutes later, they were running back down the trail toward the settlement.
"Gair," Jasper began. "My friend, I-"
"Spare me your pleasantries," the elf returned. "I'm not the same man you knew when we came to Schallsea Island."
The dwarf eyed him up and down. Once Gair had been fastidious, preferring to wear only the finest of clothes, expensive and well made, always cleaned and pressed. Now his leggings were filthy, smelling of dirt and something foul the dwarf couldn't quite place at first.
"Like the grave," Jasper whispered after a moment. "You smell like the grave."
The elf's heavy tunic was snagged in the front, and several pearl buttons hung loosely on fraying threads. His face and hands were dirty, his fingernails chipped. His hair was tangled and dusted with pine needles. The only bit of cleanness about him was a red cloak, which the dwarf recognized that as Camilla's.
"What happened to you, Gair?"
The elf threw back his head and laughed. "Happened? Happened, as in something is wrong?" He slowly drew his gaze to the dwarf's, his dark eyes wide and sparkling malevolently. "I guess you might say I learned a great deal from our teacher, my old friend. She taught me some spells when you weren't around."
"Fortunate for me," Jasper numbly whispered.
"She taught me how to talk to the dead."
The dwarf swallowed and scanned the mist. There was a break in it, and through it, he could see tiny people, the size of big beetles. From the direction of Goldmoon's tent, he saw a few soldiers gathering, identifiable only because of their red tunics. He spotted someone-Goldmoon, he sensed-pointing toward the Silver Stair. He suspected that with her human eyes, Goldmoon couldn't see him up here, not this high anyway. He took a step closer to Gair.
"An' what do the dead have to say, Gair?"
The elf backed down a few steps to accommodate the dwarf and give him more room. The mist of the lowhanging cloud swirled about the elf's thighs. "They tell me many things, my friend. The spirits of the Que-Nal tell me about the island's past. The spirits of the drowned barbarians tell me about the terrible war with the Blue Dragonarmy. Of course, there's always two sides to every story. The dragonarmy general tells me about the battle from his point of view. Then there's the Solamnic knights."
Jasper's eyes twitched.
"Not the ones at the settlement. The ones I killed, or rather had killed. They tell me about Camilla. I do so like the company of the dead, Jasper, but I miss sweet Camilla."
"You're mad!" the dwarf edged down another halfdozen steps. The elf obliged him and kept a respectful distance. The mist was swirling about both of them now.
"Mad?" Gair grinned wildly. "Maybe I am, at that, but I am also powerful."
The dwarf took another step down. This time the elf didn't budge.
"I can raise the dead, Jasper, keep spirits tied to the living world. Would you like to see your Uncle Flint again? I can manage it with the Silver Stair. And Riverwind-I thought I might bring him out tonight, parade him before our dear teacher. She'd be so impressed with my skills."
Jasper's fingers squeezed the handle of his hammer so tightly they nearly lost sensation. He kept his eyes locked onto Gair's, and he slowly pulled the weapon free from his belt. There was an instant shushing sound as Gair drew his long sword and pointed it up at the dwarf.
"You wouldn't want to hurt me, Jasper. We're close, the best of friends. Think of all the secrets we've shared. I've missed you almost as much as I've missed Camilla. The undead talk to me, but they don't argue like you used to. I really miss that."
"Well, climb on down an' I'll argue with you some more." The dwarf gestured with his hammer.
Gair shook his head. "I'll stay right here, thank you." Carefully he crouched on the shimmering step beneath his feet, keeping his eyes on Jasper and the sword pointed up at the dwarf's belly. His free hand drifted down to touch a step. "I need the Silver Stair, my friend. I need its power."
"Let's go talk to Goldmoon," Jasper urged, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness. "She's been worried about you."
"Quiet!" the elf admonished. "I need to concentrate."
"She'll help you," the dwarf continued. "You don't need this kind of magic, Gair. Let her help you. Let me help you."
The elf's expression softened for a moment, as if he were considering the dwarf's words. His eyes lost some of their sparkle, and he lowered the sword a few inches. "Jasper, I-"
"Goldmoon can help, Gair. Goldmoon cares about you."
"I've done things, Jasper, things she wouldn't approve of. Dark and-"
"It doesn't matter." The dwarf's words were sincere, tumbling from his thick lips. "She'll forgive you. Let her help. We can-"
"I've killed people, Jasper. Good people. Knights. Roeland Stark. Do you remember Roeland? I wouldn't let his spirit-"
"Gair, listen to me." The dwarf noticed the bits of red gathering around the base of the Silver Stair, returned his gaze to the elf. "Put down your sword an' come with me. Everythin'll get worked out. You'll see."
"I don't think my new friends would like that. The dead ones."
"Just try."
The elf seemed to be battling some inner demon. His lip was sucked under his teeth and he was chewing on it, and the sword in his hand was lowering a little more.