have a job to do. If you're going to make it off this plain, you've got to save your magic for yourself. Leave me."
Halisstra didn't argue. She merely stared at Ryld, her eyes watering.
Lips pressed in a tight line, she took his hand and squeezed it. He nodded at her, encouraging her, and she started to turn away.
Then she stopped.
"No," she said, turning back to him again. "There must be a way. Let me think. There must be a spell I can use - something that will help me to move more quickly."
Ryld nodded, staring dully at the falling snow. The flakes drifted straight down from the sky; there wasn't a breath of wind. Strange, then, that patches of falling snow seemed to be swirling, taking vague shape and breaking apart again . . .
With a start, he realized what he was seeing.
Halisstra,he signed, not daring to speak out loud.Ghosts. We're surrounded by them,
"We m-m-may be among them, s-s-soon enough," Halisstra said through chattering teeth. "It's nearly d-d-dawn. C-come closer s-so I can c-c-cast - "
Quiet,Ryld signed.They can hear you.
One of the ghosts had glanced briefly in their direction as Halis-stra spoke. As it did, it seemed to solidify a bit. Ryld recognized it as a soldier, his face so smudged with soot it was almost as dark as Ryld's own. The front of his wooden shield was burned nearly to charcoal. The ghost remained corporeal just long enough for Ryld to recog-nize the emblem on the back of its tunic - the tree of Lord Velar's army - then it dissolved into a swirl amid the snowflakes.
Ryld could see dozens of the ghostly figures, moving in the same direction he and Halisstra had been. He caught only glimpses of them - like the first soldier, they seemed to be shifting between solid and mistlike form - but those glimpses were enough to tell him that it was an army in retreat. Shoulders slumped and eyes staring dully at the ground, the soldiers listlessly dragged their weapons behind them. Every now and then a ghostly animal of the Surface Realms would race past, the rider on its back whipping it frantically. When-ever that happened the foot soldiers would glance fearfully over their shoulders as if looking to see what was pursuing the rider, and some would break into a run. After a few stumbling steps, however, theyslowed to a trudge again, some of them falling and failing to rise, their ghostly forms sinking into the snow.
The army of ghosts took little notice of Ryld and Halisstra. The soldiers seemed to sense, somehow, that the drow were also walk-ing wounded - that they too were trying to retreat from that cold, lifeless plain. One of the soldiers - a standard-bearer who still car-ried an iron pole topped with a pennant emblazoned with the tree emblem - crumpled to the ground right in front of Ryld, taking no notice of him. Though the pennant brushed Ryld's arm as it fell toward the snow, the pole itself made no mark in the smooth white surface. Like the standard-bearer's body, it sank into the snow with-out a trace.
Ryld noticed that the snow in front of him was slightly humped. Curious, he reached into its cold depths and felt a skeleton, and be-side it a cold metal pole, its surface flaked with rust. Like the ghostly officer Ryld had met earlier, the soldier had acted out the final mo-ments of his life, crumpling once again in the same spot where he had died, centuries gone by.
Ryld, feeling the pain in his gut start to grow, wondered if he was about to join him.
Halisstra touched the symbol of Eilistraee that hung from her belt.
"The s-s-spell," she said, shivering violently, then switching to sign language.I should cast it soon.
Ryld's attention, however, was focused on a ghostly rider racing toward them on one of the surface mounts - a "horse," Ryld sud-denly remembered it was called. The horse's feet did not disturb the snow, yet Ryld could hear - faintly - the sound of hooves strik-ing the ground. The horse was still strong, still capable of running swiftly - and was corporeal, at least for the moment. And that gave him an idea.
Grasping the fallen standard-bearer's pole, he wrenched it up out of the snow and stood as straight as the wracking pain in his gut would allow.
"In the name of Lord Velar, halt!" he shouted. "I bear a message that must reach your commander's ears."