Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [50]
Powerful undead creatures, wraiths were the spirits of long-deceased humans who hungered yet for the blood of life. The presence of two living creatures had awakened them from their slumber, and now they intended to feed.
The wraiths drifted closer, their eyes glowing. Kern drew his hammer from his belt, but he didn't know how much good one weapon-enchanted or not-would do against a mob of wraiths.
The shadowy forms reached out dark, spindly arms, ready to bestow death upon their victims.
"May Tyr protect us," Kern murmured.
Suddenly a brilliant sapphire light burst into existence behind Kern and Listle, radiating from deep inside the crypt.
"That he will do, young paladin!" a voice boomed.
The blinding radiance shone forth from the entrance of the crypt, its beams piercing the nebulous bodies of the wraiths. The undead creatures let out soundless screams, writhing in agony as the magical light tore into them. With a collective sigh, the remnants of the wraiths sank back into the dank earth and were gone. The cerulean light dimmed but did not altogether vanish.
Kern and Listle spun about. They saw two things.
The first was that the heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus was askew.
The second was that they were not alone.
A man stood before the sarcophagus. He was clad from head to toe in burnished steel armor, armor that was ornate and oddly archaic looking, bespeaking the customs of another, bygone age. Emblazoned on his breastplate were the golden scales of Tyr, marking him as a paladin. In his gauntleted hand was an unadorned shield, this the source of the holy light.
"Who… who are you?" Listle gasped.
In answer, the paladin flipped back the visor of his helm. Listle clamped a hand over her mouth in terror. The face revealed was not that of a living man. It was a skull. Withered skin, as brittle as parchment, clung to its bones, and a few wisps of dry, strawlike hair hung to either side. The paladin seemed to gaze at them with dark, hollow eye sockets.
"Miltiades!" Kern whispered in awe.
The undead paladin nodded solemnly. "In the flesh." The perpetual grin of death he wore widened even farther. "Er, figuratively speaking, that is."
9
The Quest Begun
The questers gathered in the courtyard before Denlor's Tower in the steely predawn light.
Kern saddled his white palfrey, making certain the saddlebags bulging with provisions were securely fastened. Listle was already sitting astride her dappled gray, but then the nimble elf never bothered with tedious details like saddles or reins. Nor did she need saddlebags. Countless small pouches-bulging with myriad spell components-hung around the wide strip of leather she had used to belt her oversized tunic of green wool.
Kern frowned as he glanced at the silver-eyed illusionist. He didn't recall asking Listle to accompany him on the quest. Not that he minded. Her magic was bound to come in handy. It just might have been nice if she had at least pretended the decision was up to him.
A thought struck him. "We don't have a horse for you, Sir…er…Sir Miltiades."
The undead knight had been standing silently on the edge of the courtyard in his archaic, intricately wrought armor. "There is no need to call me 'Sir,' Kern," Miltiades said. There was a faint note of humor in the ghostly voice that echoed inside the knight's faceplate.
Kern swallowed hard. "All right, Si-er, Miltiades. Should I go see if I they have a horse we can buy at the city's livery? It would only take a few minutes."
The paladin shook his head. "That will not be necessary. I have my own steed to bear me."
From a black velvet pouch, Miltiades drew a small ivory figurine carved in the likeness of a horse. He set the carving on the ground, uttering a single sibilant word. The figurine flared brightly, and suddenly a magnificent, snow-white horse stood in the courtyard. The animal tossed its shining mane, its silver-studded barding jingling pleasantly.
"That's a handy trick," Listle said, gazing at the equine in open admiration. "Instantaneous horse."
"It is good to