Bright light shone in the courtyard and I saw a host of the Undead gathering before the keep.
In the instant that the light of the sword fell upon them I saw Cataplas standing beneath the ruined gates, his arms raised. The corpses shuffled forward with rusted weapons in their hands.
‘Get back!’ I yelled to Mace.
He took a step back, his face ashen, then I saw his jaw tighten. Spinning on his heel he ran into the hall, shouting to Wulf and the others.
The hunchback rolled to his feet. ‘What is happening?’ he asked, reaching for his bow.
There was no need to answer, for the first of the Undead warriors reached the door, his face a twisted, black mask of horror. More of the cadavers crowded in behind the first and Wulf seat a gleaming silver shaft into the chest of a tall, skeletal figure. The arrow passed through the rotted body, which collapsed into the doorway. Piercollo lifted a burning brand from the fire and threw it into the surging mass of corpses; but they were mud-covered and dank, and the torch sizzled and died.
‘To the stairs!’ shouted Jarek Mace, taking up his bow and quiver. Behind us, to the left, was a set of stone steps – the wooden banisters torn down, probably used for firewood by some ancient travellers. Piercollo and Ilka were the first to climb the stairs, followed by Wulf and myself. Jarek Mace was the last and he moved slowly, backing up the stone steps, an arrow notched to his bow.
At the top of the stairs was an empty door-frame, bronze hinges bent and warped, evidence of the door having been ripped away. There was a section of battlement beyond, some five feet wide and twenty long. Piercollo moved out along it.
A blackened arm reached over the crenellated battlement, then a helm appeared, part rusted, the bronze ear-guards glowing with a green patina. The face beneath it was almost completely corrupted, the nose and eyes long disappeared. It hauled itself on to the battlements and Piercollo ran at it, swinging his enormous pack and hammering it against the creature. The dead warrior was hurled back over the wall to fall without a sound.
More arms and hands and heads appeared. Piercollo reached the far end of the battlements to find a locked door. Stepping back, he lifted his leg and kicked out; the lock-bar shattered, the door caving in. The giant stepped into the doorway and climbed the winding stair beyond, the rest of us following. I did not dare to look back. At the top of the stair was a second door, also barred.
‘Don’t break it!’ ordered Jarek Mace. Swiftly he eased himself to the front, pushing his dagger between the dry timbers of the door and plunging the blade into the wooden lock-bar. Then he lifted it clear, the door creaked open and we found ourselves on the roof of a square turret, bathed in the light of a cold moon. A skeletal warrior, cold and still, lay with his back against the wall, a ring on his signet finger glowing in the moonlight.
‘There’s already one of them here!’ said Wulf, backing away from the corpse.
‘No,’ I told him. ‘The ring he is wearing – it carries enchantment. I do not think he is a danger to us.’You’re sure?’ the hunchback pressed.
‘Not entirely,’ I admitted.
Mace shut the door, forcing the lock-bar back into place, then he ran to the battlements and leaned out. I moved alongside him.
Below us the cadavers had started to climb the walls, their dead faces looking up, their skeletal fingers finding the cracks in the mortar and hauling themselves ever closer.
A hammering began on the barred door behind us. There’s no way out!’ screamed Wulf.
‘Be silent!’ Mace roared.
In the bright moonlight I saw the graveyard beyond the castle,
the ground heaving and moving as corpse after corpse pushed up from the soft earth.
‘How can we hold them?’ I asked Mace, fighting to keep my voice calm.
‘You’re the magicker! You tell me!’ he replied.
There was nothing I could say. I had no experience with sorcery – nor ever desired to acquire such experience. Illusions with light and heat were all that I knew.