The druid picked up the pace, and Brenna followed his lead. After they had covered several hundred yards, the druid glanced over his shoulder to make sure Wynter was all right. The centaur was tugging at the cloak of a skeleton. When it tugged back, Wynter giggled and left it alone.
The sun set as the army reached an area dotted with farms. The barns and houses looked like black splotches beneath the growing grayness of the sky. Here and there lights came on in buildings as lanterns were lit and families settled in for the evening.
The night heralded the arrival of more troops for Galvin’s and Brenna’s army—two dozen shadows, like the creatures that had attacked them when they camped outside of Amruthar, and twice that many of something the pair could not identify. The latter initially appeared no different than the shadows, until they took a position behind Brenna and Galvin and made the pair’s horses skittish and difficult to control. The air turned cold in the presence of the creatures, and the sorceress couldn’t help shivering.
These new undead first appeared as amorphous blobs, then as man-shaped clouds of darkness insubstantial enough that they could manipulate the shape of their arms, legs, and heads. Those closest to Brenna adopted her form to mock her.
“What in the name of the gods are those things?” Galvin asked the councilwoman. He appeared to keep his eyes focused on hers, but he was actually peering nervously behind her at the undead. The druid was finding it increasingly difficult to see in the growing darkness.
Then he spied something ahead, a small row of flickering lights. They had to be torches along Amruthar’s wall, so far away they looked like fireflies. He wished that Szass Tam had allowed them to bring lanterns so he could check on Wynter and the undead army behind him. He was uncomfortable not knowing his army’s precise numbers and location.
“I only wish I knew what they were,” Brenna replied nervously. “They’re not like anything I’ve ever heard about. They’re certainly not shadows.”
Before she could say another word, one of the creatures laughed hollowly, startling the sorceress and the druid. None of the other undead in the patrol had seemed capable of speech other than an occasional moan, which Galvin at first thought might have been the wind.
“Death,” said a shape that had assumed Brenna’s form. The thing’s haunting tones seemed at once to come from behind and in front of her. “We are death shrouded in darkness. Sweet, sweet darkness.” The thing laughed again, the sound echoing in the night until it finally receded like a tide.
“Sweet death,” another of the strange creatures echoed. Then another and another took up the phrase until the words blended together and sounded like a swarm of insects.
The sorceress wondered how the things could speak. The creatures had no mouths, nor indeed any other visible facial features. Gathering her courage, she turned and was startled to find herself mere inches from one of the creatures.
“How—” Her voice cracked and she shivered. “How do you talk?”
More haunting laughter followed, then a raspy voice filtered through the terrifying cacophony. “The death master makes it so. The death master makes the grave only the beginning. The death master makes us strong.”
“What are you?” Brenna persisted, surprised she found the courage to speak with the undead.
“Wraiths,” the word sounded like a rush of wind and came from the figure closest to Brenna. “Mankind’s lover. We embrace men with the soothing kiss of death.”
“Soothing death,” the others echoed.
“We are the takers of souls, the shapers of destinies, the dark powers mortals fear. We are wraiths. And we hate humans because they are the possessors of life.”
“Human life,” the wraiths echoed eerily over and over.
“But we will help you humans,” intoned a deep-voiced speaker. “The master bade us leave the caressing recesses of our graves to help you.”
“Brenna! Galvin! I’m scared!” Wynter’s voice cut through the haunting banter.
Galvin whirled his horse about and dug his heels in its sides to urge it through the crowd of wraiths. The stallion protested, feeling the cold touch of the creatures, but obeyed nevertheless. Galvin felt an unearthly chill as his mount passed near the bodies of several wraiths and finally found Wynter surrounded by a ring of the dark undead.
“Galvin?” Wynter whimpered.
The wraiths mocked the centaur, hovering around and above him, taunting him.
Galvin nudged his mount closer until he reached Wynter’s side. His once-strong, confident friend was trembling and broken. Once again Galvin found himself wishing the plant had killed the centaur.
The druid growled defiantly at the disgusting undead creatures, thrusting out an arm in an attempt to push one aside. But Galvin’s hand passed straight through the inky body. It felt as if he had submerged his fingers in an icy spring.
He growled again, this time his voice sounding more like a wild animal than a human, and the undead finally backed away.
“Take my hand, Wyn,” the druid said gently, his emerald green eyes locked onto the closest undead. “Come with me.” The centaur whimpered in fright, then followed Galvin timidly toward the front of the procession.
“You said you were here to help us!” the druid cursed at the undead. “Then help us. Leave Wynter alone!” He noticed the centaur relax a little as the forms dropped back several yards.
“They did as you said,” Brenna whispered in surprise.
“For now, at least,” Galvin observed. “Stay close to Wynter and keep moving toward the city.” The druid slowed his stallion until the first few wraiths were even with him.
He glared at them and marshaled his fear of the strange creatures. “Maligor’s army will be strong,” the druid began. “How can you help us against the gnolls?”
“We drink life,” one moaned. “We drink the essence of man, leaving behind only decayed husks. Husks to wither and crumble and blow away on the hot breeze. Husks to fertilize our graves.” The creature held up its black hands, which appeared to have long talons. “We rake life, clawing, tearing, spilling life’s blood on the ground, on us.”
“Humans first,” another added in a raspy whisper. “Always humans first because their life is so short and sweet.”
“Sweet death,” the assembled wraiths murmured.
Shivering from the cold air that surrounded the wraiths, Galvin left the undead to rejoin Brenna and Wynter.
The enchantress and the druid kept an uneasy silence for the remainder of the journey to Amruthar. The wraiths continued their frightening banter, making the pair wish Szass Tam hadn’t sent these creatures along. However, some of their dialogue proved interesting and valuable. Galvin and Brenna learned that the wraiths, in life, were powerful, evil men and women who coveted wealth and authority and now were forever damned to be under the influence of Szass Tam. Most had died from the touch of other wraiths. Galvin was curious to find out if the lich had ordered these formerly living people to be killed because they had become an annoyance to the lich or because the lich desired more creatures. However, he decided against questioning the foul creatures. He didn’t trust them, and he hoped to be rid of them soon.
The druid glanced at Brenna and saw her shivering. Reaching into his mount’s saddlebag, he withdrew a blanket and passed it over to her. She wrapped it about herself gratefully.
Smiling her thanks, she dug her heels into her horse’s side. They were beyond most of the farm land now and almost to Amruthar’s walls.
The light from dozens of torches, spaced almost evenly in heavy iron sconces about the walls, played eerily over the stonework and softly illuminated the tent town full of peasants and merchants that stood beyond the city’s gates. The people had spotted the army coming and were huddled near the massive gate.
Above, on the barbicon, scores of guards readied longbows and kept careful watch on the parade of undead. Also on the barbicon were a trio of scarlet-robed men—Red Wizards, no doubt, waiting to see if their enchantments would be needed to keep the undead at bay.