theTHIRDCHAPTER the silver STAIRS

Far to the north as Mila and her charges were journeying to Warhklem a very different group traveled deep into the mountains. They rode large warhorses of black, armored in glistering platinum with large spikes going up the mane. The riders were draped in thick black cloaks that kept them warm and prevented the snow from getting into the spaces in the armor they wore beneath their cloaks. Upon the back of each cloak was a platinum symbol of a rose growing around a cross, the symbol of the Church’s Paladins. As the chilling mountain snow gently fell upon their path the men kept their heads up, scouting for something specific. It had been months since they had left from Uthstohl and it was only powerful discipline and faith that kept them going.

The mighty hooves of their horses bore down upon the snow in thick crunching sounds and their armor rattled together with that of the steeds’. The sound echoed out along the mountain path and warned all who knew these parts of their coming presence. They did not come for war, however, and cared little if their presence was known. There was one reason alone that these paladins had come to the northern mountains and that was to find the mythic Silver Stairs. The stairs were said to be the only means for which a physical body could reach the Gates of Aegis, the doors into the heavenly afterlife. Before the Ambrosial Contention the Silver had defended the northern mountains strictly, but now that their numbers were sparse and scattered far across the land the Church had no reason not to search for the fabled stairs.

Calling for a halt the man at the head of the troupe dismounted and the others followed suite. They made quick work of unpacking their things and moving them into the small cave they had come to. The armor, however, was much more time consuming and once they had finally gotten all of their armor off of both the men and the horses it was well into the night. Siegfried Wahlcroff, Paladin of the Church and the famed Divine Sword, was more tired than he had been in years. Never before had a campaign expunged so much will and energy from him. He rest against the wall of the cave and brought himself to a relaxed sitting position with his warm cloak pulled tight around him. His long blonde hair helped keep him warm, but there was little more he could do than close his eyes and shiver until the fire was started.

Coming to sit beside him, Tristan Oenschtul, fellow paladin and famed Divine Hammer looked at Siegfried disdainfully, “Look at you Sieg, no more than a pouty apprentice all worn out from a day’s hard ride.”

“Very funny Tristan, I’ll have none of your blabber for the night. This journey is taking a toll on all of us, even you.” Siegfried spoke in clouds of frost.

“Yes, I do suppose you’re right, look at them Siegfried, our men are collapsing and yet not a word of complaint. I’d swear their brains had been turned to steel and cogs, no more than machines forced to go on working.”

“And who is it that forces them, Tristan? It is certainly not the Gods…”

“Oh not this talk again, Sieg. The Cardinal would be hurt to hear your constant challenging of the Church. Ever since the Ambrosial Contention you’ve been spouting all this nonsense of how the Church is going in the wrong direction, losing it’s faith, but I’ll have you know that the coffers have never been so full and more people come to church than ever before.”

“How would you know? We haven’t seen a city for weeks and the last messenger came days ago. Does the Cardinal personally write to you of such menial things as coins and prayers? Faith is about more than that, it’s about love and passion and the feeling that you’re doing something for more than yourself, like for your fellow man for instance.”

“Come now, you can’t really think that those monks deserved any less, they were heretics, worshipping the Old Gods and proclaiming blaspheme to the Church.”

“I grow weary of talking, leave me to my sleep Tristan and if your prayers mean so much to you, pray that we find those damnable stairs tomorrow and can go home.” Siegfried lay down upon the floor of the cave and closed his eyes. The sounds of the crackling, dying, fire lulled him to sleep. It was a fretful night of waking for moments and then falling back to bad dreams and aching muscles. When finally he awoke for the final time it was morning and a few of the men had already began to start packing up their things. He joined them and soon the others woke until the whole company was armored and saddled.

The troupe of fourteen progressed through the mountains once more at attention. Their journey brought them deep into the heart of a valley where there awaited a great tower of silver and stone shining from the reflection off the snow. The report the Church scouts had given them at the bottom of the mountain informed them that somewhere in the mountains was a tower guarded by a few remaining Silver. A similar report confirmed the tower in a forest just beyond the mountain lands and another still said it was at the peak of one of the western most mountains. Apparently this valley was that tower’s fourth location because it met all the descriptions. A half-mile away from the tower’s entrance the troupe dismounted and left two of the men in charge of the horses while the other twelve proceeded to the gate.

Siegfried was close to the front, watching the tower’s gates with cautious eyes. He continued to proceed until the man at the head signaled for a stop. Two men went ahead and took a hold of the large handle on either door. Tristan had in his hands an axe and a hammer, untied from his saddlebags before they left the horses. The others took up their weapons as well and prepared themselves as the two men at the gate pulled open the doors to the towers. Standing in robes of silver, black, and white that hid their faces beneath large hoods were three figures within the tower, facing the other direction. Siegfried and Tristan went in first, fanning out along the walls in opposite directions, their fellow filing in behind them until they had the three figures surrounded.

The presence of the paladins seemed to not faze the three monks, their hands were clapped together and their heads bowed in prayer. A hum came from beneath the hoods, a hum of words of worship to the Gods. The paladins waited, giving their own prayers to their Gods, their weapons at the ready the moment the prayers ended. Siegfried held his two-handed sword with a firm grip and when the hands of the monks fell to their sides and they lifted their heads he gave a battle cry and charged forward. The other paladins came in upon the monks in sequence, giving their own battle cries. Siegfried brought his sword first up and then down at the head of one of the Silver, who took a step forward so that only Siegfried’s hilt struck him. When his hands collided with the man’s shoulders he lost his grip on his sword and the Silver took hold of Siegfried’s arm and brought him around to face a crushing blow from another paladin’s mace.

Tristan was having similar luck, one of the monks having swooped behind him and gripped his cloak, using it to trip him up and take him down in a flash. Lying on the floor he was suddenly pinned by the weight of his armor and the monk suddenly standing on his back. The Silver on top of Tristan used this advantage to take Tristan’s cloak and wrap it around the blade of an attacking paladin. The monk that had brought Siegfried to blows with his own ally was now being assaulted from all sides by four of the twelve paladins. He was quick to dodge, and agile enough to redirect the paladins’ weapons to collide with each other. This gave him enough time to get in a few attacks to their unguarded faces. Siegfried removed his dented breastplate quickly so that it would not continue to dig into his chest and then took up his sword once more.

The monk positioned on Tristan brought another paladin down upon the Divine Hammer and then used them to prop himself up so that he could kick one of the paladins so hard that he went spiraling to the tower floor. This was effective, but left him open to an attack from behind where another paladin brought his hammer to the back of the man’s head. With a muffled crack the back of the monk’s head broke open and he fell to the ground, allowing Tristan and the other paladin to get back up. This left two monks and an assortment of disoriented and disbelieving paladins left.

Siegfried approached the monk who had brought down four of his fellows and took a similar swing as before. True to his prediction the Silver attempted to take a step forward only this time Siegfried brought his knee up into the man’s chest. The force combined with the sharp metal of Siegfried’s knee guards cracked the man’s ribs, but he continued to step back and stand tall until Tristan’s axe dug into his back. Before the two could congratulate each other on an attack well played the remaining monk sent a paladin flying into Siegfried, bowling the two to the ground. Tristan found now that he and two others were the only ones currently standing save for the monk. These three formed a triangle around the monk and placed their blades upon his shoulders so that his head was stuck in a pincer. “Stand down, you have lost, there is no more need for bloodshed.” Tristan’s answer was the man’s sudden ducking beneath the weapons and a circular low kick that brought the three paladins to the ground.

Standing and pulling his hood back the Silver was in fact a black haired woman with deep emerald eyes. She looked down upon them in disappointment and held her hands out in gesture to the tower, “This place is sacred ground, you have no right to bare arms here and commit sacrilege by doing so!” Lying on the floor and looking up Tristan noticed that the tower seemed much taller than he remembered it being from the outside. The girl looked at him and then at the other two in order before she started to pull her hood up. As she did so a heavily armored gauntlet collided with her head and sent her sprawling to the floor. Siegfried quickly helped Tristan up and the man the monk had thrown into him assisted the other two. “How many do you suppose survived?” Siegfried asked.

“I would only imagine those of us still standing…” Tristan answered.