The healer pushed all these noises to the back of her mind, then directed her thoughts to her heartbeat and to the stair and to a doorway she was picturing inside her mind.
At the construction site, several wraiths feasted on the dead and dying forms of soldiers and renegade Que-Nal whom Goldmoon's followers had not been able to pull back. A handful of Solamnic knights had succumbed to the icy touch of the undead creatures. Camilla had sent several of the wraiths back to their graves in response.
Redstone left her side only when the knight ordered her to follow the black cloud that rose above the construction site and headed across the camp. Orvago was following them, too, howling and leaping, trying to slice at the whisperers.
"Willum!" Camilla cried, when she caught sight of the lieutenant out of the corner of her eye. "I was worried about you!"
There were other Solamnic knights marching out of step behind him, all of them coming from the east.
"Hurry," she cried to him. "I need your help."
It didn't initially register to the Solamnic commander that the knight's plate mail was coated with dried blood, that Willum was lacking a sword and a leg plate. She didn't notice until the knights were practically upon her that one of them held his head at a strange angle, and that he was missing a hand.
"Willum?"
The Solamnic lieutenant stared at her with sightless eyes, chest unmoving.
"Willum!" Startled and horrified, Camilla hesitated. In that instant, a wraith darted in, his icy hand reaching through her breastplate and into the flesh beneath. The undead squeezed her heart, and she screamed.
Pain coursing through her, Camilla fought to stay conscious. She swept her sword up, piercing the form of the wraith. It exploded in a burst of black rain. She clamped hard on her lower lip and swung the blade again, this time at Willum.
The enchanted sword struck the plate mail and cut through it, shattering the corpse's ribs. Willum staggered from the blow, and from a series of blows striking his legs. Jasper had moved up behind the dead knight and was pummeling him.
"Hammer doesn't work against them black things," he huffed, "but it seems to work against these." Willum fell to the dwarf's repeated strikes; then Jasper turned to face another corpse.
Camilla glanced at her fallen lieutenant and fought the tears that welled up in her eyes. She turned her attention back to the wraiths.
The black cloud that continued to float away from the construction site was dotted with bright red specks that glimmered like bits of flame-twelve pairs of eyes. There had been thirteen, but Orvago had slain one of the low-flying creatures. They floated through the tops of tents, some of which still burned, slowing the dwarf and the gnoll, who had to go around the obstacles. As the cloud neared the base of the Silver Stair, they dived on the people gathered there, scattering most of them like dry leaves tossed by the wind.
A few of the wraiths toyed with the handful of men and women defiantly remaining, feigning pain when swords and clubs passed through their insubstantial forms, but most of them glided up the staircase, circling it, heading toward Goldmoon.
Redstone shouldered Goldmoon's staff, swung back, and soundly struck a particularly large wraith just as it felled one of the Schallsea fishermen. Orvago cleaved another wraith in two as he pushed by the Solace twins and reached the bottom step of the Silver Stair.
The hair rose in a ridge from the top of Orvago's head and down his back. The steps glimmered like captured starlight. He growled softly, glanced up at Goldmoon, and took a step up when he saw the wraiths close on her. The gnoll continued to growl as he advanced, his paws shaking from fright of the magical construct.
"Whisperers," he growled. "Kill the whisperers."
We are more powerful in death. Sweet, sweet death.
High overhead, Goldmoon felt the icy touch of a wraith, the sensation like a massive blow that threatened to knock her from her perch. She kept her hands locked on the step and made no move to defend herself, concentrating on the doorway in her mind.
"Best left closed," she breathed.
You are nothing, fleshy one.
There were pinpoints of red and white lights beyond the doorway, the eyes of spirits Gair had touched. They cursed her, and the vilest among them frightened her with visions of death. Their eyes were so bright, they made the doorway gleam. There was no door, and Goldmoon knew the vision was symbolic of her student breaking down the barriers between the realm of the living and the dead.
"Closed!" She screamed the word as another inky talon sliced into her, drawing blood and sending such a frigid jolt into her chest that she lost her grip on the step. She felt herself falling, tumbling down the steps, arms flailing for a hold.
You cannot defeat us. Everyone dies. The wraiths continued to cackle in their whispery voices. Death makes us powerful. Join us!
"No!" She found a step to hold on to, her legs dangling over the side of the Silver Stair. Her hands gripped the edge tightly, even as another wraith floated down to take a swipe at her back. Goldmoon slammed her eyes shut and concentrated on the step she was clinging to so precariously, concentrated on its energy, pictured the doorway, and pictured a door forming to blot out the glowing eyes of the dead.
Again talons raked her, though this time they did not hurt so badly. The heat of the stair's energy was pulsing through her and shutting out some of the pain.
A growl cut through the whispers of the creatures, loud and close. It was followed by a keening wail, then another.
"Whisperers!" Orvago shouted. The gnoll was perched on the stair. His sword reflected the light of the Celestial Ladder as he arced it above his head and drove it down into a wraith diving for Goldmoon. Black rain fell on the steps, sizzling and boiling away.
Only a half-dozen of the black creatures remained, and they backed away as Orvago slowly climbed higher. He was near Goldmoon now. Keeping one paw firmly on the sword, he carefully bent over and locked the other around the healer's arm. He pulled her up until she was lying on the steps beneath him.
"Goldmoon?"
The healer didn't answer him. Eyes closed, hands still touching the Silver Stair, she was focusing all her attention on the realm of the dead. "Closed," she said.
"Noooo!"
The new voice drew the gnoll's attention, and he looked all about to find its source. There, a dozen feet above his head, perched on the Silver Stair, was Gair. The elf looked mangled. Hand broken, leg twisted terribly from Orvago's sword blow, he somehow managed to balance himself on a step.
"How did you get here?" the gnoll asked. Orvago narrowed his dark eyes. "Whisperers."
Gair did not reply, but he hobbled closer, leading with his undamaged leg.
Orvago didn't wait for the elf to close. He swung madly at the retreating wraiths, and he edged by Goldmoon, stepping over her to get beyond her and nearer to the elf. "Whisperers!"
"I have no weapon, old friend," Gair said. He was balancing on a narrow step, favoring his wounded leg. "I cannot possibly… Goldmoon, don't do this!"
The gnoll growled and hesitated. Behind him, he heard Goldmoon murmuring something.
"Closed," she repeated. In her mind, she was picturing the door, growing more solid with each passing heartbeat. The eyes that were shining through it were becoming softer. Suddenly they were gone, the door thick and unyielding.
"Noooo!" Gair hollered again.
The wraiths that had been retreating from Orvago's enchanted sword vanished.
"They're gone!" Redstone shouted from the base of the Silver Stair. The few wraiths remaining there were nowhere to be seen.