Realms of War

'No.' Ferret cut him off abruptly and decisively. 'Foxfire is too pure of heart to do what must be done. Why else would I have come for you?'

Her words stung Elaith more than they should have. 'These are strange words to speak over Zoastria's tomb.'

'If I'd known how you would respond to this place, I would have spoken them elsewhere.'

'Then why did you bring me here?'

'It is traditional for the sy Tel'Quessir to honor ancestors before a battle.' Ferret pointed to the Craulnober moonblade on Elaith's hip, sheathed and peacebound. Bringing it had been an act of impulse. The symbolism was important to Elaith, even though he could not wield the sword.

'I do not know the places sacred to your line,' Ferret went on, 'so I brought you here to honor another moonfighter's legacy.'

Something in Elaith's face made her falter. 'Did I do wrong?'

'No,' he said in a dull, soft tone. 'You did not do wrong.'

You did not, he repeated silently, but it appears that I must.

And just like that, his decision was made.

Some men called Elaith impulsive, though usually not to his face. That wasn't quite true. Elaith believed in destiny.

There was a reason the Craulnober moonblade rejected him, a reason Amnestria's moonblade had spared his ill-spent life. There was a reason he was thrice-pledged to the Moonflower family: raised by the elf queen, trained by her warrior king and made captain of the royal guard, betrothed to the youngest princess. And the reason for a life entwined with the royal family seemed suddenly, bleakly evident.

He could do things they could not.

Amnestria had been pledged to the service of the forest elves. It was strangely fitting that Elaith take her legacy upon himself. There was a great need in the Wealdath, but this time, the forest people did not need a hero.

They needed him.

* * * * *

Thanks to Ganemede's magic, five elves stepped into the shadows of the Mytharan Woods, a place that was old and strange even by the standards of this ancient forest. The small band included the lythari and two recruits Ferret had brought back from the elven settlement Suldanessellar. One was Kivessin Sultaasar, an elf of the Suldusk tribe. The other, to Elaith's astonishment, was Captain Uevareth Korianthil, a moon elf from Evermeet. Apparently Queen Amlaruil had sent representatives to the Wealdath four years ago, after the forest elves fought off an incursion of human mercenaries. She'd made it known to Tethyr's humans that another such attempt against her forest kin would not go unanswered.

That raised the stakes considerably.

Elaith turned to Captain Korianthil. 'Are you certain you wish to be a part of this?'

The moon elf nodded, his face grim. 'The Lady Shalana is right; the humans who followed her into the forest cannot carry tales of an elven assassin. There would be reprisals, and Queen Amlaruil would honor her promise. I will not see Evermeet dragged into Tethyr's so-called Reclamation War.

'And I have other reasons,' Korianthil continued softly. 'You were my first commanding officer. It is an honor to serve under your command once again.'

Elaith's brows rose. 'Even in such a task?'

'Even so.'

'We all have our reasons for killing humans,' growled the Suldusk elf. 'Should we hire a bard to set them all to music, or should we just get on with it?'

Elaith found himself liking the gruff warrior. 'You're the expert on the Wealdath's ogres,' he told Kivessin. 'We'll follow you.'

The elf headed off into a deep stand of ferns. Soon they heard the murmur of running water. A small creek wound its way through the forest floor. As they followed it north, the ground became rockier and the creek deeper and swifter. They walked without talking, keeping close watch on the forest around them.

Elaith could smell the ogre camp long before it came into sight. The humid forest air held the scent of campfire, seared meat, and the sharp, musky odor of the creatures themselves.

He raised one hand to indicate a halt. He took an amulet from his bag and looped it around his wrist. The world shifted weirdly, and suddenly he was looking down at his companions from a great height. The four elves staring up at him wore identical expressions of astonishment and revulsion.

'Green, I take it, is not a good color for me?' He spoke lightly, but his voice came out as a deep-throated growl.

'I'm serving under an ogre,' Captain Korianthil muttered. 'This just keeps getting better and better.'

Elaith sent him a tusk-filled grin and turned toward the camp.

Three ogres left to guard the camp; the others were out hunting. The guards were busily arguing over a game of dice, so Elaith had no problem creeping into the younglings' den.

There were a half-score of the creatures, some huddled together like a pile of hideous puppies, others scattered around the small cave. A scrawny runt off to the side looked to be about Ferret's height and size. Elaith quickly cast a charm spell over the young ogre. The creature twitched as if trying to brush off the magical disturbance, but after a moment it rose, yawning. Elaith beckoned for the ogre to follow. The creature absently lifted its loincloth—his loincloth, Elaith could not help but note—and scratched himself rudely. He yawned again before following Elaith out of the cave.

The ogre guards glanced up and went back to their game. So far, so good, Elaith noted with relief. He'd feared such spells might not function well so close to the twisted remnants of an ancient elven mythal.

Suddenly the young ogre's heavy-lidded eyes widened. He looked around frantically, like a sleepwalker who'd 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 retali­ate; 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 moved, twining sinu­ously against the cloud-tossed moon. Black roots groped their way along the forest floor as if seeking prey. The only appar­ently living thing was the abundance of dark ivy that threaded its way among the roots. The vines were studded with purple and red flowers—lovely, but for the scent of rotting flesh that rose from them.

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.