"Oh? Why not?"

Kern growled. "Just keep out of my way, all right?"

"That could be difficult, what with your big feet," Listle whispered.

Kern ignored her, stepping through the archway leading into the crypt of Miltiades, Listle on his heels. Though the monument in memory of the esteemed paladin had been erected a scant twenty-two years ago, it seemed to have already fallen under the blight that afflicted the rest of Phlan. Dark moss covered the granite walls, and damp, musty-smelling water pooled on the floor. A stone sarcophagus dominated one end of the crypt. On its lid was carved a likeness of Tyr's scales of justice.

"Do me a favor, Kern," Listle whispered, crossing her arms to protect against a shiver. "If I die, don't bury me in this creepy graveyard. You can just cover my body with a pile of leaves in the forest instead. That would do just nicely."

"That's fine talk," Kern grumbled. "Can't you simply be quiet for a change?"

"Don't be silly," Listle said indignantly.

Kern found a dry patch of stone before the sarcophagus and knelt down on the ground, while Listle stayed close to the crypt's entrance. He gripped his holy symbol and bowed his head, trying to clear his mind before beginning his prayers.

"Er, Kern…" Listle interrupted.

Kern muttered another oath as the elf's voice broke his concentration. "Now what?" he asked in annoyance, standing and turning to face the elf, hands on hips.

"Sorry to bother you." Her silvery eyes were wide. "I just thought you might like to know that there are shadows moving out there. Lots of shadows. And they're coming this way."

Something in the elf's voice told Kern that this was not another one of her pranks. He gazed out the crypt's entrance. At first he could see nothing. Then the moon passed from behind a cloud, and he took in a sharp breath.

A dozen smoky shapes flitted among the rotting tombstones, creeping toward the paladin's shrine. A dozen burning pairs of eyes stared hungrily. Kern's heart lurched in his chest.

"Wraiths…" he breathed.

"What can we do?" Listle asked tremulously.

"Get ready to fight. And at all cost, don't let them lay a hand on you. One touch is all it takes to freeze your heart."

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."

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 see you again, Eritophenes." Miltiades greeted the horse, and the magical stallion snorted, stamping a hoof in reply. The feeling was apparently mutual.

Kern shivered, but he wasn't certain if it was from the morning chill or from standing so close to the undead paladin. While everything about Miltiades' manner was noble and kind, it was hard for Kern to forget that the paladin was… well, dead, for lack of a better description. A coldness always seemed to linger near the knight, along with a faint, dusty aroma that reminded Kern of the graveyard. Needless to say, the paladin's presence was going to take a little getting used to.

The wild mage, Sirana, appeared out of the shadows, astride a skittish roan stallion with a perfect white star on its forehead. When she saw Kern, she smiled.

"Are you ready for your quest, paladin?" she asked in her sultry voice.

Kern blushed, mumbling something unintelligible in reply. Sirana's stunning smile widened.

The wild mage wore only a cream-colored traveling cloak over her thin white robe. This warranted a clear look of disapproval on Listle's part. However, before the elf could comment, Tarl and Anton stepped out of the tower, bearing a few more odds and ends the travelers might find useful on their journey.

Both clerics had been astonished to see their old friend Miltiades that morning, but pleased, of course. It was certainly a sign that Tyr favored them, Anton had said.