Tree, only this time it's gentle, like a soft whisper in my mind.'
Taen nodded. 'I understand,' he said uneasily. Though he knew that powerful magic items could sometimes manifest intelligence and an independent will, the half-elf was more than suspicious of whatever sentience lurked within the confines of that staff.
'Look,' he continued, 'I know we're right in the middle of something really big here, but we need to talk.' He had schooled himself against her anger, and he was prepared to defend himself on any number of grounds, all eminently logical and rational.
Instead, she simply nodded her head.
'Yes,' Marissa said with a familiar twinkle in her eye-one that Taen found particularly alluring. 'I have much to say to you, Taenaran of Avaelearean, but now is not the time.'
He started to protest, but she cut him off. 'Peace, arael'sha,' she said gently. 'Let us meet with the othlor, then'-she paused-'we shall see what we shall see.' With that, she turned and walked away.
Taen stood there, stunned, and watched her go.
Arael'sha.
She had called him arael'sha, heart-friend, a term so laden with meaning that in the subtle Elvish tongue it had nearly a hundred uses. Somehow, with just a few words, the druid had managed to confuse him even further.
Taen shook his head and stared into the night-shrouded underbrush a moment before continuing on.
The track wended and twisted its way forward, sometimes wide enough to walk two abreast and sometimes collapsing in upon itself so much that Taen and the others were forced to move slowly, almost creeping forward, in single file. As the moon began its lazy descent, the darkness deepened. By the time they had reached the end of the trail and stepped out on to the road, it was nearly pitch black, save for the faint glow emanating from the Staff of the Red Tree.
They huddled in that darkness, waiting for Selov to scent the trail and lead them forward. When he did, there came a great stirring from the treetops. An explosive beating of wings and the harsh-throated caw of a great raven echoed in the night. Rusella, aloft and flying wildly, circled thrice around the group before alighting on the tip of Marissa's staff. The creature's albino-red eyes whirled and glared as it darted its head in all directions, calling madly.
'Something's wrong,' Marissa said in between snatches of a mumbled song meant to sooth the agitated bird. 'I… I can't understand her. She's nearly mad with fright.'
That's when Taen felt it-a tightening of the silence, as if the walls of the world were shrinking in upon themselves and pressing down with an abominable weight. He gasped from the force of it, trying at last to suck air into his lungs. None would come.
A faint mist had begun to form along the ground. Taen screamed silently as it leeched the warmth from his bones. He wanted to run but couldn't. His legs remained rooted to the ground. If he didn't escape, the half-elf knew that there would be nothing left of him but the bitter, cold emptiness of the grave.
'Look,' Selov hissed and pointed down the old trade road.
Shadows swirled where the old man pointed, deeper pits of darkness against a landscape of black. Points of red light stabbed out from the darkness like the embers of a long-dead fire. Taen could sense the need behind those baleful eyes, the implacable hunger of death rising up out of the night to swallow the living.
'Wraiths,' Roberc said, though his voice came out as a barely breathed whisper.
As the creatures advanced, Taen could make out the dim outline of black robes flowing with each incorporeal step. There were six of them, floating silently down the road like nightmares. Even in his panic, Taen noted that the last one held a scepter in one hand while a gilded crown wreathed its shrouded head.
Roberc struggled to draw his weapon as Cavan backed away from the oncoming wraiths. The war-dog whined and yelped in a high-pitched tone as his rider fought for control.
'Enough,' Marissa said at last through clenched teeth. Lifting her staff high into the air, she intoned a brief prayer. Immediately the chill disappeared, replaced by warmth and the sweet fragrance of a spring evening. Taen nearly stumbled as the terror drained from his body.
'Quick, everyone form a circle,' Taen shouted. 'Don't let them surround you.'
As they fell into formation, the half-elf grabbed Selov and pulled him into the center of their position. Once the innkeeper was secured, the half-elf raised both hands into the air and uttered the words to a spell. At first, he stumbled over the torturous pronunciation but soon found the rhythm of the arcane formula. Of all the disciplines of magic, none were as distasteful to him as necromancy. Even when the spell worked against the forces of undeath, it still left its mark, like a bruise upon the soul. There were powers in the world, he knew, best left untouched. Still, their need was great, so as he finished the spell, Taen thrust out both arms, as if embracing the oncoming wraiths. A soft, golden radiance emanated out from the space between his arms, enveloping the advancing creatures. As the light struck the wraiths, they recoiled as if struggling against a tremendous wind. When at last the mystical light faded, three wraiths remained frozen, enveloped in a thin cocoon of golden energy.
At that moment, Marissa took a single step forward and shouted a supplication to her god. Immediately, a brilliant column of flame roared into existence, consuming one wraith in a coruscating shower of fire.
With a single command to Cavan, Roberc broke rank and charged at an oncoming wraith. The war-dog danced nimbly to one side as the undead creature thrust out a shadowy hand, allowing Roberc an opening with his sword. His blade gleamed in the dying moonlight before it plunged into the wraith's form-to little effect. The weapon simply passed through.
Roberc cursed but kept the wraith busy as Borovazk moved into a flanking position. The ranger's warhammer and sword moved in a deadly dance. Both struck the wraith hard, causing ripples in the creature's form.
Taen had time to watch his friends' battle only for an instant. Confident that they could hold their own, he returned his attention to the crown-bearing wraith now looming before Marissa. The druid fell back, barely avoiding the wraith's attack as the undead creature swung its scepter in a wide arc. It gave a soft moan, like the wind whistling through an empty graveyard, before pressing forward.
Taen loosed a series of magical bolts from his fingertips, hoping that the arcane missiles would distract the creature. The creature shuddered as the energy struck its form, but it continued to advance toward Marissa. Desperately, she swung the length of her staff at the creature. Pure white energy erupted at the point of contact, causing the wraith to fall back in pain. It glared at her from the depths of its red eyes but made no further move to advance.
Borovazk's cry of pain and anger drew Taen's attention. He watched in horror as a wraith withdrew its long, black arm from within the ranger's chest. Roberc beat madly at the undead monster with the edge of his blade, but his opponent remained focused on the wounded Rashemi. Without thought, Taen summoned the words to another spell. When he had finished, a single bolt of blue lightning sped from his outstretched hand to strike the wraith. It shuddered like an unfurling sail in the midst of a gale wind before fading out of existence.
Too late, Taen realized that casting his spell left him vulnerable to attack by the wraith lord. He managed to stumble away from the creature's first swing, but it quickly followed through with a thrust from its outstretched arm.
Taen gasped as the wraith's long fingers passed through the skin of his neck and reached deep into his being. Instantly, the world spun away, replaced by a thick haze of gray fog. He stumbled forward, anxious to find his companions, trying to avoid the follow-up blow that would surely fall, but the fog swirled around him, filling his lungs. Taen's chest burned. His heart had stopped beating, and was replaced by a single ball of white ice that sat in his chest like a lodestone. Choking and retching, he nearly didn't hear the woman's voice that called out to him from the depths of the fog.
'Murderer!' it shouted, and again, 'Murderer!'
Taen wanted to protest, to deny the accusation, but he knew the truth. He was a murderer. Talaedra's face formed in the fog swirling around him.
'Murderer.' This time several voices accused him-then several hundred, until the air reverberated with the word-'murderer.'
'Talaedra!' he shouted-then knew no more.
