The other clerics quickly raised their holy symbols against the zombies that followed. For each holy symbol, at least one zombie was turned to slime, but in their place followed even more zombies, along with some of the most frightful creatures of legend-wraiths, the ghostly mists that kill. Tarl could no longer quell his own terror. Shimmering clouds, gruesomely magnified images of giants, ogres, and other terrors closed in all around the clerics. By the dozens they came, from every corner of the graveyard. "Back, you spawn of evil!" shouted Brother Sontag, still wielding his holy symbol. "Press on, brothers! We must flee this place!"

The Hammer of Tyr clenched tightly in his hand, Tarl plunged forward. The other clerics followed, holding their holy symbols high, but the wraiths were undaunted. Tarl heard a hideous scream behind him. He recognized the voice as Brother Seriff's. The next scream was Brother Donal's. More followed in rapid succession.

Anton and Sontag ran on either side of Tarl, their shields held up at their sides. The ethereal hand of a wraith reached through Brother Sontag's shield as though it were air and clawed at his face. Sontag didn't have a chance to scream. Before he could finish his next step, he dropped to the ground, a withered husk. Tarl spun belatedly to the aid of the elder brother who had initiated him into the Brotherhood. Three wraiths floated over the body, their slime-green eyes bulging in the excitement of the kill.

"Abominations! Get away from him!" Tarl screamed. The Hammer of Tyr burned hot in his hand, and he threw it with all the fury pent up inside him. The sacred weapon blazed a brilliant blue as it spun toward the misty visages. Tarl watched in awe as three wraiths exploded the moment the glowing hammer passed through their bodies. He realized at the same instant he saw the hammer's power unleashed that he had just discarded the holy object he was sworn to protect. "No!" he shouted, furious at his own stupidity. But before he could do anything, the hammer was sailing end-over-end toward him. Somehow it had reversed directions like a boomerang and was headed back straight toward his waiting hand. Without conscious effort on his part, the handle pressed into Tarl's palm as though someone had slapped it into place.

Instantly the hammer blazed with an even greater radiance, bathing Anton, Tarl, and the three other remaining clerics in its holy aura. The skeletons and zombies were held at bay by the light. They shielded their faces with their bony arms. It was as if the eyes in their empty sockets were being blinded by the blue-white glare. The undead giants and ogres screamed in agony as they were touched by the light, and as one they turned and ran in fear. But the light from the mystical implement of Tyr didn't stop the oncoming wraiths-or the creatures that followed.

"Back the way we come!" Anton shouted. "Run as you've never run before!" Anton shoved Tarl in front of him and wasted no time following. The big man was as fleet as any as he leaped over graves and slammed skeletons, splashing holy water on the bodies of the dead as he ran. "Bless… ya, brothers!" he gasped.

Tarl threw the Hammer of Tyr repeatedly as he ran. Wraiths exploded, and cries of the undead were everywhere. The other brothers continued to use their clerical powers-turning the undead with their holy symbols, throwing holy water, and muttering prayers to Tyr as they ran. Their powers were strong and undoubtedly would have been enough to save them under other circumstances, but the sheer numbers of undead made it impossible for the clerics to protect themselves completely. Tarl heard the screams of two more of his brothers, and then a third. Only Anton ran beside him now.

"Give usss the hammer." Tarl pulled up short, and so did Anton, as they faced a line of six ghostly creatures, their distorted, taloned hands outstretched. "Give ussss the hammer," they said once more.

Anton grimly assessed the situation. "They're specters, lad, and a vampire leader."

Tarl was overwhelmed by revulsion, rage, and unadulterated terror. Left by himself, he felt he would die of fright, but the Hammer of Tyr became a living extension of Tarl's innate strength. Blue beams erupted from the hammer, blasting the remaining wraiths into cool white bits of fog. As more beams followed, the six specters were driven back.

"Well dooonnnne, lad!" A deep, evil-sounding voice echoed all around Tarl. Where the specters had stood only a moment ago, a handsome, white-robed man now floated in the air. His deep-red eyes shone, and his gaze seemed to burn into Tarl's soul.

"No, Tarl! Don't meet his gaze!" shouted Anton. "Get back, ya wretched vampire, ya spawn from the Abyss! As Tyr is my god, leave us alone!"

The robed figure seemed to flinch at Anton's words, but then he stiffened and floated closer, smiling evilly. His deep voice echoed again throughout the graveyard. "Yooour puny god has no hooold over me!"

"Blasphemer! My god will swallow your unholy flesh and vomit you back to the Pit where ya belong!" Anton held out his holy symbol and quickly recited prayers to Tyr for turning the undead.

Tarl clutched his own holy symbol in one hand and the Hammer of Tyr in the other, but the creature's glowing red eyes showed no fear. Even as the specters cowered back, the vampire floated closer. If it weren't for the grisly fangs revealed when he smiled, the vampire would appear almost friendly, Tarl took a step forward, no longer afraid but drawn to the handsome figure.

"No!" Anton shouted, and Tarl felt the man's huge paw clamp down firmly on his shoulder. Anton jerked Tarl back behind him and hurriedly incanted another clerical spell. "Let the flames o' Tyr strike ya dead!" he shouted at the creature, and he threw a handful of sulfur toward it.

With a whoosh, a torrential column of blue flame shot down from the sky and bathed the robed figure in white-hot fire. It screamed in agony, and its robes disintegrated as it fell to the earth in flames. Naked, the vampire was revealed as a creature of nightmares. Its translucent skin was stretched taut over its bones. Its coloring remained a ghostly white, except where the flames had blasted patches of skin from the bones, leaving black, charred holes. There was no sign whatsoever of blood.

Then the creature rose and threw back its head in a laugh that forced Tarl to imagine the unholy depths of the Abyss. It was a horrid, hollow sound that Tarl would never forget. "Deeeear brother," the vampire growled, "yoooour spell was powerful, but yoooou wished the wroooong thing. Yoooou can't strike dead what is already dead!" Once more the creature laughed.

"Run, brother!" Anton whispered. "I'll keep this abomination at bay till you can flee with the hammer!"

Tarl wanted nothing more than to flee, but he wasn't about to leave his only remaining brother in the faith. "I'm with you, Brother Anton, and so is Tyr and the power of the hammer!"

"Then, by the gods, we'll beat this bastard!" Anton swung his arm, shouted an arcane syllable, and released a blue symbol from his hand.

Thwack! The blue character, the holy symbol of Tyr, rocketed through the air and embedded itself in the forehead of the vampire.

"Aaaaghhh!" The creature dropped to its knees as the character sizzled and burned deep into its ghostly white skin. Still kneeling, the vampire lifted its head and cursed. "Noooow I trade yooooou word for word, doooog of Tyr!" The creature spit the word "Gnarlep!" at Anton. A black shape flew from its bloodless white lips and seared itself into Anton's forehead.

Tarl gasped as he saw Anton bellow in agony and clasp both hands to his forehead. The big man clawed at the black mark with all his strength, but the unholy symbol was already burning its way deep into his flesh. He let out another agonized bellow and dropped to the ground, flailing and writhing like a madman.