Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"Roeland Stark," Goldmoon said almost inaudibly. "Are you in the realm of the dead, my friend?"

The moonlight edged from beneath a cloud and revealed that four men were still standing, two of them Solamnic knights. An equal number were lying facedown in the clearing, the blood from dozens of deep scratches on their bodies tinting the snow a dark red. Gair lurked at the edge of the clearing and watched, virtually mesmerized, as five wraiths danced around the men. Behind them loomed the ruins of Castle Vila.

The wraiths were the spirits of the Solamnic knights and soldiers who had made up the first search party to find Gair Graymist, their natures corrupted through the magical process the elf had used to raise them. Once kind and generous and honorbound, they were now sinister and hateful of life. They toyed with the four remaining men, darting in and slashing at the woolen clothes that covered those from Goldmoon's ranks. Icy-black claws cleaved through the thick material as if it were paper and sliced into the skin beneath. Insubstantial claws reached through the silver mail of the knights, raking deeply into the knights' chests.

Blood dripped onto the snow and brought peals of hideous laughter from the unseen mouths of the wraiths.

More powerful in death, the five chanted.

One of the men screamed as claws raked at his face. Another had come up from beneath his feet and clawed at his legs, shredding his pants and ripping through skin and muscle. He fell to his knees, and a wraith rose up through him, poking its black head out his chest, the feel of the icy dead creature sending numbing pain through the man's broken body. The wraiths left him, for the briefest of moments, retreating as if to offer him the slightest measure of hope, then darted in again, one sinking its claws into the man's shoulder, the other scratching at his eyes.

The man's screams were so shrill they hurt Gair's ears. The elf gritted his teeth and watched as the two wraiths slowly finished the man. Gair tried to place him. The elf had seen him around Goldmoon's camp before, but he couldn't remember the man's name. It wasn't important, Gair decided. He could learn his name later when he brought his spirit back from death.

The other three wraiths, now joined by Gair's father, cavorted around the two knights.

The tall one with no armor, the elder Graymist directed. He is last. My son wishes it.

"What are you?" the tall man howled at the inky figures. He brandished a club, which passed harmlessly through the bodies of the undead.

Gair smiled at Roeland Stark. Had the man been facing living foes, he likely would have dropped three or four of them by now. The two knights were also armed, one with a long sword, the other with twin daggers, his long sword lost somewhere in the woods. None of the blades gave the undead pause. They were no threat.

The men could do nothing to stop the wraiths, though one of the black creatures cried mournfully each time a weapon passed through it, pretending that it was being hurt. Gair sensed that the wraith savored offering false hope. Finally the wraith fell to the ground, a pool of unnatural icy blackness. It flowed like spilled ale under the boots of the knight with the long sword, then ran up the man's legs and clawed brutally at his stomach through the plate.

"What manner of creature are you?" Roeland howled again as he watched the knight writhe. Clenching his right hand tighter about his club, he swung it in an effort to keep the creatures away. With his free hand, he tried to peel the creature off the knight. The wraith laughed at the futile gesture and sent a bone-chilling wave of cold into Roeland.

Gair stepped forward just as the knight with the long sword succumbed under the assault of the elder Graymist.

Roeland's eyes locked onto the elf. "You! We came out here looking for you!"

"A pity that you found me." The elf displayed a suitably smug impression, cringing noticeably when the knight with the daggers cried out. "Camilla will not cry when she faces my minions," the elf whispered.

Gair's father dragged his claws along the length of the last knight's right leg, shredding the flesh beneath the armor. He fell, twitching in the snow.

Roeland glanced between the dying knight and Gair, then swung his club futilely. The wind whistled from each inconsequential blow. He hadn't been hurt much-just some claw marks on his arms and face, nothing deep, but he was frightened. His lip quivered, and his hands shook in terror.

"These c-c-creatures," Roeland stammered. "Gair, what are they? Do they hold you? Are you their-"

"Prisoner?"

Roeland nervously nodded. Tears flowed from the big man's eyes as he watched the knight twitch and moan and imagined the horrible pain he was feeling.

"That's what you'd like to believe, Roeland, that they hold me spellbound." The elf took a step closer; the wraith of Darkhunter moved at his shoulder. "Dear, gentle Roeland, I am not their prisoner. I am their master."

Master. Master, the wraiths chanted in unison. More powerful in death. The master made us more powerful in death.

"They are people you knew, Roeland. Knights stationed at the settlement. Gregory, Leland, Markus…" The three creatures darted in at the introduction, swiping at the downed knight as they went and scattering his daggers far from his grasp. "Bernard and… let's see… yes, Bolivar. You remember Bolivar? He got along so well with Jasper."

The shortest of the wraiths came near to Roeland, the intense cold of its body making the big man shiver uncontrollably. Roeland's eyes were wide with dread and disbelief.

"You killed them, Gair?"

"Well, not precisely. I had them killed. I didn't really have a choice, Roeland. I didn't want to be found."

"Goldmoon will find you."

Roeland stepped back, bumping into a crumbling wall of what used to surround Castle Vila as the spirit of Bolivar reached forward to touch his stomach. The mere contact with the undead felt like a hammer blow. Roeland's knees shook, and he did his best to steady himself.

"Goldmoon will find me when I want her to."

"She'll stop you."

Gair shook his head.

Nothing can stop the master. It was the elder Graymist, the wraith crouched over the downed knight, poking a jagged black claw into his ear.

"Call off your creature!" Roeland barked. "Take me, Gair. We were friends. Take me and let the knight go. He's not dead yet, but they'll kill him if you don't stop them."

More powerful in death, the wraiths chanted in unison.

"He is in such pain," Gair said, forcing his voice to sound compassionate. "They will kill him, Roeland. It's just a matter of how soon. I can have them end his misery now."

"Do it!"

"Ah, that requires a little cooperation on your part. Tell me about Goldmoon. What is she doing now? You said she'd find me. How? How hard will she look?"

Roeland vigorously shook his head. "I'll tell you nothing!"

The elder Graymist had his claw all the way into the downed knight's ear. The wraith was saying something, but its whispery words were drowned out by the man's screams.

"Look at the pain he is in, Roeland! Look what you are allowing him to endure. Squirming so. Very unbecoming for a knight. Camilla will not squirm."

Gair's father chose that moment to thrust his thumbs into the knight's eyes.

Roeland fell to his knees, sobbing, pulling his gaze away from the knight and the malicious wraith. "Gair, please…"

"Tell me about Goldmoon."

The big man's shoulders shook. "No."

The knight was whimpering now, no longer having the energy to scream. He lay still, only his hands and feet twitching.

"Tell me."

"No!"

Gair nodded, and his father and the other wraiths fell on the knight, insubstantial claws reaching through the armor to tear at the flesh the way a rabid animal might tear apart its prey. The knight was dead long before they stopped their rending.