Baratholon had never been so afraid in his life. Not when he plumbed the depths of abandoned mines; not when he and other members of the Order laid waste to Orcish encampments near Lakeshire; not even the first time he'd seen those mechanical scarecrows in the supposedly haunted fields of Westfall. He knew the fear of going into battle - of facing almost impossible odds. This was different. This was a fear that crept up on you. It stalked you. It watched you from the shadows and laughed at your feeble attempts to banish it.
It would appear that the keep's reputation for being haunted was not mere peasants' superstition, as had been the case in Westfall. Still, this was supposed to be a Paladin's specialty: protecting the people from unnatural evils. The Holy Light was certainly more than a match for ghosts and even demons, and yet...
He stopped moving and listened. There it was again, an odd scraping sound. As if something were being dragged along the stone floors of the keep. Echoes in the darkness made it virtually impossible to tell where the sound might be coming from. Baratholon's torch was well-made and blazed fiercely, but the oppressive dark of the abandoned keep seemed to press in on the lonely light of the torch. Of course, Paladins could call upon the Holy Light at any time, but even they were not possessed of limitless energy. Even the most powerful magic was only as good as its practicality and usefulness allowed.
It was the unnatural quiet of the place, Baratholon realized, that had him most on edge. Not even a whoosh of air or the scuttling of rats' feet. Nothing. Except that odd scraping sound that had returned.
He turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. The noise stopped, but just before it did he'd become certain it had been coming from the room he was now standing in front of.
Slowly he drew his sword, a quick blessing of the Light causing it to glow with supernatural power. He kept the torch in front of him and carefully stepped into the cavernous room.
It took him a few more steps to realize he was in what was once a guards' bunkroom. A few long minutes later the light from his torch finally fell on something besides dusty bunks as he approached one of the corners of the room.
It was a boot.
"Oh no," Baratholon said, his groan sounding hollow as it echoed around the empty, dead room. He stepped closer, his torch revealing a pair of legs. One more step fully revealed the leader of the group that he had entered this place with.
"Everyone have your torches?" Franklan scanned the other four faces critically. This would be a good test for them. Not so much a test of their abilities as a test of their character. Paladins had to be more than mere warriors with magical healing abilities in this day and age. They must be leaders - their heart, courage and mettle beyond question. Those were what would be tested tonight. And not everyone would pass.
That one, for instance. The boyish-looking one with the blond hair and short stature, Baratholon. Quivering in his little boots, despite his attempts at a brave face. He probably will not last ten minutes. Or that redhead Jaleanna, barely more than a girl. Already scared green, and not even bothering to hide it! Franklan would be surprised if she lasted five in there.
Leyirra, now, and Chadren - they were much more promising. The grim determination in their faces would serve them well, Franklan was sure. Leyirra had the intelligence to rise quite high in the Order, he thought.
He turned to the youngsters and gave them each a wicked grin. "We shall each have a section to ourselves this time. You will be all alone."
Franklan was not grinning now. In fact his face was frozen in a grotesque expression of pure terror: eyes bulging and staring, mouth wide open in a silent scream. Baratholon hardly needed to, but with an instinctiveness born of training he checked for any sign, any flicker of life in Franklan's body. There was none. What troubled Baratholon, as he inspected the body, was that there did not seem to be any wound or damage that would indicate a cause for Franklan's demise. Other than the expression on his face.
That face made Baratholon jump every time his torch light touched it during his inspection; so much so that he began purposely avoiding it with his light. In a sense that only made its effect worse. Baratholon imagined those bulging, terrified eyes staring at him, following his movements. He shivered until he could not bear the image any longer and shone the light directly on the distorted face again. His impulse was to shout, and for a long moment or two he struggled to resist it. Had the eyes moved? Had they moved?!
No, no, it was only his imagination. He leaned close to the dead man's face, trembling. Nothing. No movement, no hiss of breath. Stiff as a...corpse.
A sudden scream made him drop his torch, losing his balance and almost his wits as well. Another scream followed the first, and Baratholon realized with profound relief that it was not the hideous face of the dead man screaming, but someone else in another part of the keep. His torch had gone out when he dropped it, and he tried not to think of the dead man beside him as he sat in the darkness and gathered his courage. Finally he stood, shuddering with revulsion as his hand brushed the corpse. He drew his sword and blessed it again. The sword's glow was much smaller than the torch's had been, but at least he could avoid walking into walls. The thought of Franklan still put a chill in the pit of his stomach, but he set out to find the source of the screams and, the Light willing, offer assistance. The voice, he was reasonably sure, had been a woman's. That meant the East wing.
"There are two wings to this keep, and two levels. That makes things rather simple, eh? Leyirra, you have the downstairs East wing. Chadren, you take the downstairs West. That leaves the upstairs to our rookies."
Franklan had led them all to the Main Hall in the center of the keep before splitting them up. With everyone else' mailed footsteps clanking in endless echoes, Baratholon had not at that time noticed the tomblike silence of the place. Neither had any of the others, for that matter.
"'Lonnie, you have the honor of sweeping the upstairs West wing. Which means you, my dear, have the upstairs East." It was not hard to see that Franklan had no confidence in either of them, especially Jaleanna. The poor girl was quite pale in the dim torchlight, and her arm was trembling slightly. But her voice was steady enough in her reply. "Thank you, sir."
Franklan went on as if she had not spoken. "I shall remain right here in the middle, waiting for each of your reports."
Chadren and Leyirra protested, saying they should be in pairs, but Franklan would have none of it. With baleful glares at him, they each set off into their separate wings.
"Well, rookies? The ghosts are waiting."
Baratholon gave Jaleanna a confident nod and was a bit surprised to receive one every bit as reassuring back from her. He must have looked a bit pale himself. Then he was climbing the stairs, where the darkness and oppressive silence started bearing down on him.
Somehow he had found his way to the East wing. He had not been in Jaleanna's section for long, however, when he heard footsteps echoing in the stairwell behind him.
In a cold sweat, he backed into a corner in the stonework lining the corridors, placing his sword behind his back to hide its glow. He tried to calm his breathing as the footsteps slowly approached.
A torch came into view, momentarily blinding Baratholon. With an oath, the figure holding the torch spun round to face him.
"Lonnie," Chadren exclaimed, lowering his warhammer. "Light above, I nearly killed you!" Unlike Baratholon, Chadren was quite a tall and imposing man. With dark hair and deeply tanned skin, he drew the admiration of many inside the Order and out. His dark brown eyes peered accusingly at Baratholon, still cowering against the wall.
Baratholon stuttered, feeling quite foolish. "I am sorry sir, I do not know what came over me to panic so."
Chadren clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I understand. This place seems to be affecting us all rather oddly. I do not like it. Have you found anything yet?"
Baratholon opened his mouth to mention Franklan, then thought better of it. No sense in distracting Chadren from whoever had screamed and may still need help. "No sir."
"Heard the screams, did you?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose I should have checked on Leyirra first, but it sounded more like Jay. This place was having an effect on her before we even set foot in it, although I do think she's made of sterner stuff than Franklan seems to give her credit for."
"Yes, sir."
"Let us get going, then."
As they went further down the corridor, Baratholon realized it was laid out much like the West wing. Clearly they were headed toward another bunkroom, like the one where he had found Franklan. He tensed, preparing himself for the worst.
"Stay close," Chadren muttered, and entered the upper East bunkroom.
"Stop!" The command was loud, clear and laced with sheer panic.
"It's Chadren, Jay. I have Lonnie here with me too. It's all right now."
Jaleanna had backed herself into a corner of the room, holding her torch out like a weapon so that all Baratholon could catch of her face was a dim impression of a pair of wide, staring eyes.
"H...how do I know it is you?"
Chadren moved his torch closer to his face, then did the same for Baratholon. "Why would you doubt us, Jay?"
Baratholon felt chills all over as Jaleanna replied with a single word, "Franklan."
"He was here?"
"Well...something that looked like him, anyway..." Baratholon could hear her taking a deep breath, trying to steady her voice with some success. "He... it...was in here, right behind me when I turned around, but I did not hear him approach. Gave me a start, he did, and I asked him why he would sneak around like that. But he was just standing there, grinning at me."
Chadren and Baratholon let her speak, but both glanced around themselves as if expecting to find Franklan there in the room with them.
Jaleanna's voice rose a little. "It...he did not even look real. The grin was all wrong, as if someone had stuck their fingers in the corners of his mouth and stretched his lips out across his teeth."
Baratholon could see it in his mind's eye, and it was almost as horrible an image as the one he had seen himself. Perhaps it was his cursed imagination again, but he felt a presence in the room with them now. Chadren hunched his shoulders as if he were feeling something too.
Jaleanna continued, "After a moment he...he just grabbed at me. That was when I screamed." She hesitated, and Chadren nodded encouragingly. "Go on, Jay."
"Well, naturally I took a swing at him," she brandished her wicked-looking mace, "and he just disappeared. Vanished!"
Baratholon knew the time for silence was past.
"That was not Franklan."
Chadren nodded. "I am beginning to think so myself..."
"No, you do not understand. It could not have been him. Franklan is dead."
"What!"
"Franklan is dead. I found him on the other side of the keep, in a room just like this one."
Chadren stared at him with suspicion.
"I...I found him just before I heard you, Jay. I was worried something had happened to you too."
Jaleanna muttered an oath in a shaky voice and Chadren nodded. "Right," he said, coming to a decision. "We are all staying together from now on."
Baratholon agreed fervently with this plan, but Jaleanna had a question. "What about Leyirra?"
"Yes, we shall find her next."
"Together," Jaleanna emphasized.
It seemed that their show of solidarity was giving whatever evil was in the place pause. The brief search for their last remaining comrade was uneventful. The gloom did not seem so oppressive. The ghostly presence, that up until this point had always seemed to be breathing down Baratholon's neck, was not there. They soon found Leyirra in the armory, inspecting a suit of armor.
"Leyirra! Thank the Light!"
She flipped her long blonde hair back as she turned to greet them with that dazzling smile of hers. With her bright blue eyes and almost insufferably cheerful attitude, there was not a man in the Order that had not been in love with her at one time or another. Baratholon did not mind admitting to himeslf that even here he was quite in awe of her presence. Of course, there was also not a woman in the Order that had not been secretly jealous of Leyirra at once time or another, and a few had even openly declared hatred of her. Jaleanna's cool stare was carefully unimpressed by the glow of the other woman in their little group.
"Oh, hello Chadren! Is something wrong? I thought we were all to go our separate ways until we were ready to make our reports."
"Aye, but there have been some developments that make it wise, I think, to leave together now instead."
"And what does Franklan say about that?"
Baratholon and Jaleanna both started relating their bizarre experiences to her at once, and a few moments of chaos left her laughing at the three of them. Even after things were all explained, she seemed unaffected.
"Franklan dead, you say? And a ghost as well! All right then, it is a fine trick you are trying to play on me, but I shall call your bluff. Let us go and see this body of yours, Lonnie."
Chadren agreed and led the way, Leyirra walking beside him. Jaleanna leaned toward Baratholon as they followed, speaking in a low murmur. "I do not trust her, Baratholon."
"Why not?"
"You and Chadren both heard me scream clearly enough. How could she not have heard, right below me?"
Baratholon frowned. That had not occurred to him. He watched Leyirra closely. Was that an illusion of the flickering torchlight, the way her face seemed to shift every so often?
She turned to look at him and winked mischievously. Baratholon quickly looked away, feeling a furious blush heat his face. He heard Leyirra laugh softly as he muttered to Jaleanna, "You did not trust us at first, either. This place must have truly gotten to you."
Jaleanna's eyes tried their best to burn Baratholon to a cinder. Without another word, she quickened her steps until she was leading the way.
There was no body in the upper West wing bunkroom. Baratholon could not believe he had imagined it, but the others were clearly starting to doubt his sanity. In the presence of the other three, especially Leyirra, the evil of the place had seemed all but vanquished, but now the feelings returned to him in a rush. Something bad was about to happen, he could feel it.
Leyirra was still lecturing the others on letting their imaginations run wild. "Clearly we've all failed Franklan's little test. Now we shall have to go back to the main hall and tell him so."
Chadren nodded with chagrin and turned to leave the room, his back to Leyirra. Jaleanna saw it first.
"Chadren...," she nearly screamed. Baratholon almost missed it, but at Jaleanna's shout he noticed that Leyirra's expression had changed like the flip of a switch, twisting with rage and hate. Before Chad even had a chance to react to Jaleanna's shout, Leyirra was reaching her arm out, her hand moving through his back and into him. Chadren stiffened, jerking for a few moments as if he were a puppet on strings. His eyes widened in sudden terror and his mouth opened wide as if to scream, but no sound came out. He looked just like Franklan's body had.
Quicker than thought Baratholon was charging at the doppelganger that had taken Leyirra's form, sword ready to run it through. But as Chadren collapsed to the floor, she completely disappeared.
"Chadren..." It was a piteous whimper coming from Jaleanna as she slipped to her knees. Baratholon turned away uncomfortably as she started to wail, tears streaming down her face. But when her huge, racking sobs would not stop, eventually he turned back to kneel beside her and put his arm around her.
She clutched at his arm the way a drowning woman would cling to a log. His comfort did at least serve to quiet her down to a soft wheeze as she wept.
Finally she removed her armored gauntlets, tossing each on the floor and wiping her eyes. She forcibly removed his arm from her shoulders. "Enough is enough," she said in a low voice as she stood. "I am hunting down that thing and destroying it...or I am not leaving here at all."
She gave Baratholon a challenging stare, but he nodded grimly and picked up her gauntlets. Rising to hand them to her, his tone was equally serious. "I am with you."
As if to make up for its recent absence, the sense of a presence all around them - hostile but patient and watching their every move - was stronger than ever. Worse than that, though, were the nagging doubts and suspicions that sprang up in each Paladin's mind about the other.
She's not really Jaleanna! Kill her now while you have the chance!
With a guilty start, Baratholon realized the only reason he was able to silence those doubts and suspicions was the fact that it was Jaleanna who had realized something had been wrong about Leyirra before it had been too late for Chadren. And he had ridiculed her for it. He wondered how she was able to trust him.
With only vague ideas on how to engage- much less defeat- such an enemy, they had decided to head back to the main hall where Franklan had assigned the patrols, in the dead center of the keep.
Jaleanna growled with disgust as they entered the hall together and found three bodies lying side by side; Leyirra, Franklan and Chadren. Franklan's body lay in the exact spot he had been standing in when they had all come in here so many hours ago. All had the same haunting expression on their faces that Baratholon had seen on Franklan's body upstairs.
Baratholon regarded the corpses skeptically. "Are they real?"
"Does it matter?" Jaleanna bent down to give the stone floor a blessing of Consecration. "If they are real, they are Tainted anyway. Look." The Consecration had caused the bodies to start vaporizing, fouling the air around them.
As the bodies dissolved, a thick haze filled the room, smelling like rotting corpses. It made them choke, but it also revealed a faint outline of...something. Something was in the hall with them.
"Over there," Baratholon croaked between coughs. Twin hammers, glowing with the Judgement of the Light, instantaneously formed over the figure's head and slammed down on it. A piercing shriek that the two Paladins felt more than heard filled the hall. Baratholon lunged at the shadowy figure, his glowing blade marking a bright trail of yellow light in its ethereal form. He thought his brain would burst from the intensity of the ghost's scream, and missed as it dodged his backward slash.
But his companion anticipated their adversary's move. Jaleanna's mace, also glowing with the Light's blessing, met the shade with the full force of her swing. Like a stained glass window, the ghost's form shattered under the impact. Another act of Consecration, this one by Baratholon, and even the many pieces of the shadow were consumed by the power of the Light.
With the Light's healing power sustaining them through the haze of toxic fumes, they managed to conduct a thorough search of the keep. But they never found any further sign of their fallen comrades. When they finally stepped outside again, it was well past daybreak. They did not remember the sun ever being so bright.
The End.