Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Tanis sighed. "Raistlin," he said patiently, "we'll be all right. The path is in plain sight-not ten feet away. Come on. You've got to rest. We all do. Look"-Tanis held out the map-"I don't think this is Darken Wood. According to this-"

Raistlin ignored the map with disdain. The rest of the companions ignored the mage and, moving off the path, began setting up camp. Sturm sank down against a tree, his eyes closed in pain, while Caramon stared at the smaller, fleeting shadows with a hungry eye. At a signal from Caramon, Tasslehoff slipped off into the forest after firewood.

Watching them, the mage's face twisted in a sardonic smile. "You are all fools. This is Darken Wood, as you will see before the night is ended." He shrugged. "But, as you say, I need rest. However, I will not leave the path." Raistlin sat down on the trail, his staff beside him.

Caramon flushed in embarrassment as he saw the others exchanging amused glances. "Aw, Raist," the big man said, "join us. Tas has gone for wood and maybe I can shoot a rabbit."

"Shoot nothing!" Raistlin actually spoke above a whisper, making everyone start. "Harm nothing in Darken Wood! Neither plant nor tree, bird nor animal!"

"I agree with Raistlin," Tanis said. "We have to spend the night here and I don't want to kill any animal in this forest if we don't have to."

"Elves never want to kill period," Flint grumbled. "The magician scares us to death and you starve us. Well, if anything does attack us tonight, I hope it's edible!"

"You and me both, dwarf." Caramon heaved a sigh, went over to the creek, and began trying to assuage his hunger by drowning it.

Tasslehoff returned with firewood. "I didn't cut it," he assured Raistlin. "I just picked it up."

But even Riverwind couldn't make the wood catch fire. "The wood's wet," he stated finally and tossed his tinderbox back into his pack.

"We need light," Flint said uneasily as night's shadows closed in thickly. Sounds in the woods that had been innocent in the daytime now seemed sinister and threatening.

"Surely you do not fear children's stories," Raistlin hissed.

"No!" snapped the dwarf. "I just want to make certain the kender doesn't rifle my pack in the dark."

"Very well" said Raistlin with unusual mildness. He spoke his word of command; «Shirak» A pale, white light shone from the crystal on the tip of the mage's staff. It was a ghostly light and did little to brighten the darkness. In fact, it seemed to emphasize the menace in the night.

"There, you have light," the mage whispered softly. He thrust the bottom of the staff into the wet ground.

It was then Tanis realized his elven vision was gone. He should have been able to see the warm, red outlines of his companions, but they were nothing more than darker shadows against the starry darkness of the glade. The half-elf didn't say anything to the others, but the peaceful feeling he had been enjoying was pierced by a sliver of fear.

"I'll take the first watch," Sturm offered heavily. "I shouldn't sleep with this head wound, anyway. I once knew a man who did-he never woke up."

"We'll watch in twos," Tanis said. "I'll take first watch with you."

The others opened packs and began making up beds on the grass, except for Raistlin. He remained sitting on the trail, the light of his staff shining on his bowed, hooded head. Sturm settled down beneath a tree. Tanis walked over to the brook and drank thirstily. Suddenly he heard a strangled cry behind him. He drew his sword and stood, all in one motion. The others had their weapons drawn. Only Raistlin sat, unmoving.

"Put your swords away," he said. "They will do you no good. Only a weapon of powerful magic could harm these."

An army of warriors surrounded them. That alone would have been enough to chill anyone's blood. But the companions could have dealt with that. What they couldn't handle was the horror that overwhelmed and numbed their senses. Each one recalled Caramon's flippant comment; "I'll fight the living any day of the week, but not the dead."

These warriors were dead.

Nothing more than fleeting, fragile white light outlined their bodies. It was as if the human warmth that had been theirs while they lived lingered on horribly after death. The flesh had rotted away, leaving behind the body's image as remembered by the soul. The soul apparently remembered other things, too.

Each warrior was dressed in ancient, remembered armor. Each warrior carried remembered weapons that could inflict well- remembered death. But the undead needed no weapons. They could kill from fear alone, or by the touch of their grave-cold hands.

How can we fight these things? Tanis thought wildly, he who had never felt such fear in the face of flesh and blood enemies. Panic engulfed him and he considered yelling for the others to turn and run for it.