Paul Kemp - Realms of War

"I never thought the day would come when I'd use a crossbow," the moon elf captain murmured.

"Did you ever suppose," Elaith said coolly, "the day might come when you'd have to shoot an arrow that size with enough force to send it all the way through an ogre's chest?"

"A longbow arrow, well shot, would have killed them just as surely," the Suldusk elf put in.

"True," Elaith said. He took hold of one of the taut ropes and gave it a brutal tug. When the arrowhead slammed back into the dying ogre's ribcage, the point sprung apart into four hooks.

"Civilized arrows would have pulled free when we yank the ogres out," Elaith said. "These will not."

The elves waited in grim silence until the ogres' death throes ended. When Elaith gave the signal, the elves cut the lines and the young trees strung upright, jerking the ogres well away from the mythal-cursed ground.

The creatures stirred and rose, their red eyes dull and staring.

Captain Korianthil stared at the undead ogres with open revulsion. "I never thought to find myself in league with such creatures."

"If they weren't dead, they'd probably feel much the same about us," Elaith said shortly. He took several amulets from his bag and handed them to the moon elf. "Put these on them, and you wear the blue one. That will allow you to command their movements."

The moon elf stared at the amulets for a moment, then raised troubled eyes to Elaith's face. "This is.. necromancy."

"Do you know a better way to command the undead?"

A short, rueful laugh burst from Korianthil. "In all candor, Lord Craulnober, I have never given the matter much thought."

Elaith responded with a thin smile. "That's why I'm here."

Koranthil lifted the amulets. "Will the magic hold? Even though the charm spell you cast on the ogre faltered?"

"They will hold. The necromancer who fashioned them takes pride in his evil deeds-and charges accordingly," Elaith said with a wry smile.

"I see. And that would also explain how you maintained an illusion on the very borders of Myth Rhynn?"

Elaith's smile dropped away. "You do not wish to know the origin of that spell. Trust me on this."

"Forgive me," Korianthil said hesitantly, "but if you are willing to learn and use such magic, why did you not simply slay the ogres and animate them yourself?"

"I would have, if I'd been able to cast that spell," Elaith said bluntly. "I've never learned it. For some strange reason, I'd thought such magic beneath me."

"Of course," the moon elf said immediately. "Forgive me for asking."

"Tell me, captain, do you always ask so many questions of your commanding officer?"

"If you'll permit me one more, may I ask why you don't command the ogres yourself?"

In response, Elaith held up the amulet of ogre-shape. "I'll be busy."

The battle that followed was hardly worthy of the name. It was a slaughter, plain and simple.

Before it began, Elaith selected the sole survivor: the youngest soldier among the party sent into the forest to track the unknown assassin.

Wearing the illusion of an ogre warrior, Elaith crept into the camp and seized the young soldier's ears. The lad awoke with a start to find himself staring into red eyes and wicked, curving tusks. Before he could cry out, Elaith jerked his head up and slammed it back into the ground. The soldiers eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

Elaith placed huge, talon-tipped fingers against the lad's throat. Yes, the soft leap of blood continued, faint but steady. The lad would awaken to a nightmare, and carry word back to his garrison, he would survive the solitary trek through the forest; the forest elves would see to that.

The disguised moon elf rose and joined the undead ogres in the slaughter.

When it was over, Elaith took the soldiers' weapons-many of them as yet unsheathed-and hacked the undead ogres into final death. When the young soldier awakened, he would believe that his comrades had fought bravely and well.

Elaith reclaimed his amulets from the ogres, and as a final touch, placed Captain Lamphor's cap on the ogre whelp's disembodied head.

"An ogre assassin," murmured Kivessin. "Do you think the humans will believe such a creature infiltrated their garrison?"

"I plan to make sure they do." Elaith raised his eyes to Ferret. "One thing remains."

The forest elf nodded and turned to her comrades. "You go ahead. This is nothing any of you need to see."

The elves regarded each other in silence. Finally Captain Korianthil touched his fist to his forehead and then his heart, a gesture of respect for an elflord. Then the three guardians of the forest elves-Evermeet captain, Suldusk warrior, and lythari-disappeared into a shimmering circle.

"There are spells that will bind the spirits of the men you killed so that they cannot identify their killer," Elaith said. "It's much easier to cast these spells on the corpses. I know a spell that will mask the killer, but it is not pleasant."

Ferret shrugged impatiently. "Get on with it."

"I'll need blood."

The forest elf didn't even glance at the gore-drenched campsite. She held out her forearm, ready for his knife.

"This is necromancy," Elaith warned her.

"Yes."

"Some would consider such magic evil."

Ferret's smile was both sad and terrible. "I think we're both past such considerations. Do what needs to be done."

And because it was his destiny, Elaith did precisely that.

Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)

"I still say ye're a fool to go out there in this storm, Rytagir! Better to stay on the ship where ye'll be safe whilst this maelstrom descends upon us! That shipwreck's been there fer hundreds of years! It'll be there awhile longer yet!"

"Duly noted, Captain," Rytagir Volak replied as he gazed out at the heaving swells of the Sea of Fallen Stars. There was no denying the anticipation that filled him. It had been nearly a year getting that far. "If that treasure ship would see fit to come up off the bottom of the sea and sail into port by itself, why, our lives would be even better, wouldn't they?"

Captain Zahban scowled. "Ye don't even know if Peilam's Nose is down there," he squalled back through the gale.

Rytagir held a hand up in the wind and spattering rain and said, "I believe you're right. Better we should wait for a more hospitable day."

The ship's captain was a broad, burly man in a modest shirt and coat. His pants and boots had seen better days. A heavy-bladed cutlass hung at his side. A queue held back his gray-streaked black hair. More gray stained his curly black beard. The years hadn't been overly kind to Zahban, but he had all his limbs. For a man who had sailed the Sea of Fallen Stars all his life and always against those that flew a pirate's flag, it was a considerable accomplishment.

"Now I wasn't sayin' that." Zahban knotted his fingers in his beard. His broad hat shadowed his craggy face and the dark storm clouds overhead further obscured his features. "Them books what ye found this location in, there's other scholars what could cipher that out, ain't there?"

"Any man that can read and cares enough to look, Captain," Rytagir replied. He enjoyed toying with the captain's conflicted feelings of greed and worry for his charge.

The ship's crew, a loose but hungry-eyed gathering of seadogs that had faced years of the sea's cruel affections without any of her fortunes, listened anxiously.

"Well," Zahban said, "we can't be dilly-dallyin' about this treasure hunt none neither." He paused, then finished, "If there be treasure to be had down there at all."

Rytagir grinned at the man. "There's only one way to find out." He peered over the ship's side. Azure Kestrel, a cog named much prettier than she was and so called because of her light blue sails, strained at her leash. So far the anchor held on the sea bottom.