suddenly been jarred from sleep.
Cursing under his breath, Elaith thrust a wadded gag into the ogre's mouth. He swept the creature up, slung him over his shoulder, and ran.
When they were a reasonable distance from the camp, Elaith tossed the young ogre to the ground and yanked the amulet from his wrist. The return to his own size and shape was so abrupt that for a moment he felt as if he were falling.
An almost comical look of astonishment flooded the young ogre's face. His cowed submission to an older member of the tribe gave way to rage. He leaped at Elaith, his hands reaching for the elf's throat.
Ferret dropped from the tree above, taking the creature down in mid-leap. He hissed at her like a cat and raked the talons of one hand across her face. She raised one fist to retali shy;ate; Kivessin seized it and jerked her away.
The lythari and the moon elf emerged from the bushes.
Each of the four elves with Elaith took hold of one of the ogre's wrists or ankles, and together they bore the struggling, cursing creature to the prepared site.
Fortunately, the elves did not have far to go. A few hundred paces took them to a place where the forest bordered a nightmare realm.
Skeletal night birds winged silently though swirling mists, kept aloft by some fell magic. The trees were twisted and charred as if by fire, but their branches
The lythari shook his head sadly. 'The price for such magic is too high.'
Elaith could not disagree. This was the remains of a corrupted mythal, a powerful magic cast in a long- vanished elven city. As a result of that twisted magic, every creature that died within the magic-blasted landscape rose as undead. No elves could enter it without becoming deathly ill-or without alerting Mallin, the undead wizard who had ruled over the grim realm for more than six centuries.
'Drop the beast here,' Elaith directed, pointing to the moss under a large duskwood tree.
Kivessin and Ferret quickly bound the struggling creature, then tied him to a rope dangling from a high branch. The other three elves hoisted the ogre whelp off the ground and tied off the rope. Kivessin yanked away the ogre's gag pulled him back toward the tree, and let him swing toward the mythal-cursed ground.
It took a couple more pushes to get the ogre swinging high enough. When Elaith judged the distance to be right, he cut the rope. The ogre whelp flew free, howling in rage and fear. He landed hard and rolled to the very edge of the poisoned forest. The creature began to shriek in earnest, writhing as if in terrible pain.
The elves took to the trees. In moments the three adult ogres crashed into the clearing. The whelp's cries had subsided. His struggles were weaker, and his small, red eyes were glassy and staring.
'Stupid elves,' one of them sneered. 'Got too close. Got sick. Probably off puking up their guts.'
The other two did not appear convinced. They turned this way and that, peering into the forest, weapons raised and ready.
'We watch, you untie Gloove,' one of them growled.
The three advanced toward the young ogre, two of them backing slowly toward the blackened realm, their small eyes sweeping the forest.
Suddenly the foremost ogre stopped. Its green face twisted into a puzzled scowl. For no obvious reason, the creature stumbled and fell. There was a sharp cracking sound. Blood poured from a wound on the ogre's twisted shin, and a jagged edge of bone thrust out of the wound.
Before the guards could react, the thud of crossbows resounded through the forest. Four large arrows streaked down from the nearby trees, trailing thin ropes. Each arrow sank deep into an ogre's chest and punched through the other side. The ogres fell, twitching.
The elves slid down from the trees. Elaith made a quick, sharp gesture with one hand. The illusion he'd painstakingly cast disappeared, and the boundary between healthy forest and cursed land shifted a dozen paces closer to the elves. Black roots and carrion flowers appeared in the place where the ogres had fallen, replacing the illusion of green moss and living plants. The ogres, accepting Elaith's illusion as real, had walked right into the cursed ground.
'Tie off the ropes, quickly,' Elaith snapped. 'They must be pulled out as soon as they're dead. An undead ogre under Mallin's control is no use to us.'
The four elves seized the ropes attached to the impaling arrows and tied each one to the tall, slender saplings they'd prepared earlier. Four of these trees had been carefully bent until their uppermost branches brushed the ground, then tied in place.
'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
