The Best of the Realms, Book I

DARKSWORD

Troy Denning

20 Flamerule, the Year of the Moat (1269 DR)

Lost on the Road Across the Bottomless Bogs

Out of the fog ahead came mist-muffled voices, many ofthem and not far off, mothers singing, children crying, fathers shouting …oxen bellowing, hoarse and weary. Melegaunt Tanthul continued walking asbefore-which was to say very carefully-along the road of split logs, whichbobbed on the spongy peat with every step he took. Visibility was twenty pacesat best, the road a brownish ribbon zigzagging off into a cloud of pearlywhite. Not for the first time, he wished he had taken the other fork at thebase of Deadman Pass. Surely he was still in Vaasa, but whether he wastraveling toward the treasure he sought or away from it was anyone's guess.

The voices grew steadily louder and more distinct,until the hazy outline of the road ahead abruptly dissolved into nothingness.Strewn along a narrow band at the end of the road were a handful of head-shapedspheres, some perched atop a set of human shoulders with arms splayed wide tospread their weight. Farther back, two sets of nebulous oxen horns rose out ofthe peat, the blocky silhouette of a fog-shrouded cargo wagon sitting on thesurface behind them.

Melegaunt pulled his heavy rucksack off his back andcontinued up the road, already fishing for the line with which he strung hisrain tarp at night. As he drew nearer, the head-shaped blobs seemed to sproutbeards and wild manes of unkempt hair. He began to make out hooked noses anddeep-set eyes, then one of the heads shouted out, and with a terrible slurpingsound, sank beneath the peat. The cry was echoed by a chorus of frightenedwails deeper in the fog, prompting the nearest of the remaining heads to cranearound and bark something in the guttural Vaasan dialect. The voices fellimmediately silent, and the head turned back toward Melegaunt.

"T-traveler, you would do well to s-stopthere," the Vaasan said, the frigid bog mud causing him to stutter andslur his words. "The 1-logs here are rotted through."

"My thanks for the warning," Melegauntreplied. Still fifteen paces from the end of the road, he stopped and held upthe small coil of line he had pulled from his rucksack. "My rope won'treach so far. I fear you have spoiled your own rescue."

The Vaasan tipped his head a little to the side andsaid, "I think our chances b-better with you out there, instead of in herewith us."

"Perhaps so," Melegaunt allowed.

He peered into the fog beyond the Vaasan's tribe,trying in vain to see where the road started again. As annoying as it was inthe first place not to know where he was going, the possibility of being forcedto turn back before he found out absolutely vexed him.

"Where does this road lead? To Delhalls orMoors-town?"

"Where d-does the road lead?" the Vaasanstammered, his voice sharp with disbelief and anger. "What about mypeople? After I saved you, y-you are not going to help us?"

"Of course I'm going to help you. I'll doeverything I can," Melegaunt said. Somewhere deeper in the fog, anotherVaasan screamed, and sank beneath the bog with a cold slurp. "You might,uh, disappear before I pull you free. If that happens, I'd still like to knowwhere this road leads."

"If that happens, the knowledge w-will do you nogood," the Vaasan growled. "Your only hope of reaching yourd-destination is to rescue my clan, so that we can guide you wherever you aregoing."

"Something is dragging your tribe underone-by-one and you are trifling over details?" Melegaunt demanded. Hepulled his black dagger, then dropped to his hands and knees and began to probethe logs ahead for rot. "This is no time to negotiate. I won't abandonyou."

"Then your patience will be rewarded," theVaasan said firmly.

Melegaunt looked up, his brow furrowed into a deliberatescowl. "Am I to understand you don't trust me?"

"I trust you to try harder if you have n-need ofus."

"An answer as slippery as the bog in which youare mired," Melegaunt snapped. "If I am successful, you will have noneed of me. How can I trust you to guide me then?"

"You have the word of Bodvar, leader of the MoorEagle Clan," the Vaasan said. "That is all the trust you need."

"Trust has different meaning for outsiders thanfor Vaasans, I see," Melegaunt grumbled, "but I warn you, if you goback on your promise…."

"You have nothing to fear on that account,"Bodvar said. "You have but to keep yours, and I will keep mine."

"I have heard that before," Melegauntmuttered. "Far too many times."

Despite his complaint, Melegaunt continued to advanceup the road, probing ahead for rotten logs. By all accounts, the Vaasans hadbeen a harsh but honest people until the fabled bloodstone mines of Delhallsand Talagbar were rediscovered and the outside world intruded to teach themthe value of duplicity and fraud. Since then, save for a few villages likeMoortown where a man's word was rumored to be more precious than his life, theywere saidto be as corrupt and sly as everyone else in a world of liars and cheats.

Melegaunt was beginning to doubt Bodvar's story aboutthe rot when his dagger finally found soft wood. He pressed harder, and theentire log disintegrated, crumbling into red dust before his eyes. Then theone beneath his hands grew spongy, prompting him to push back onto hishaunches. The log beneath his knees began to soften as well, and a muddy domeof peat welled up not three feet in front of him, a long line of dorsal barbsbreaking the surface as the spine of some huge, eel-shaped creature rolledpast.

Melegaunt dropped onto his seat and pushed away,scrambling backward as fast as he could crawl. By the time the wood ceasedgrowing soft, he was five paces farther from Bodvar, distant enough that hecould no longer make out even the shape of the Vaasans' heads.

Another clansman screamed, then slipped beneath thebog with a muffled slurp.

"Traveler, are you still there?" Bodvarcalled.

"For now," Melegaunt replied. He stood andbacked away another couple of paces. "Something came after me."

"One of the bog people," Bodvar said."They are attracted by vibration."

"Vibration?" Melegaunt echoed. "Liketalking?"

"Like talking," Bodvar confirmed. "Butdo not worry about me. My armor muffles the sound-it is made of dragonscales."

"All the same, rest quiet for a while."Melegaunt's opinion of the Vaasan was rising-and more because of the risk hewas taking for his tribe than because he wore dragon-scale armor. "I'llget you out. I promise."

"A man should not promise what he cannot becertain of delivering, Traveler," Bodvar said, "but I do trust you todo your utmost."

Melegaunt assured the Vaasan he would, then retreateda few more paces up the road and held his hand out over the road edge. Therewas not even a hint of shadow. Melegaunt's magic would be at its weakest, andhe had already seen enough of his foe's power to know it would be follyto duel him less than full strength-even in a world of decay and rebirth, woodsimply did not rot as fast as had those logs.

Doing his best to ignore the occasional screams thatrolled out of the fog, Melegaunt removed a handful of strands of shadowsilkfrom his cloak pocket and twisted them into a tightly-wound skein. In acentury-and-a-half of reconnoitering Toril, he had yet to risk revealing himselfby using such powerful shadow magic where others might see-but never before hadhe been given reason to think his long quest might be nearing its culmination.Bodvar was a brave one, and that was the first quality. He was also wary,neither giving oaths nor taking them lightly, and that was the second. Whetherhe was also the third remained to be seen-and it soon would, if matters went asexpected.

Once Melegaunt had twisted the shadowsilk into atightly wound skein, he uttered a few words in ancient Netherese and felt asurge of cold energy rising through his feet into his body. Unlike most wizardsin Faerûn, who extracted their magic from the goddess Mystra's all-encompassingWeave, Melegaunt drew his magic from the enigmatic Shadow Weave. As universalas the Weave itself, the Shadow Weave was less known and far more powerful, ifonly because the cloaked goddess-she who must never be named-kept ituncompromisingly secret and maddened anyone who revealed its existence.

When he was sufficiently imbued with the ShadowWeave's cold magic, Melegaunt tossed the skein of shadowsilk out over the bogand made a twirling motion with his fingers. The cord began to unwind, but sankinto the peat before it finished and continued to spin, drawing long tendrilsof fog after it.

An oxen bellowed in alarm, then there was a hugeglugging sound followed by the crackle of splintering wood and the shrieks ofterrified women and children.

"T-t-traveler?" called Bodvar, soundingweaker and colder than before. "H-have you left us?"

"Stay quiet, Vaasan, or there will be no reasonfor me to stay," Melegaunt shouted back. "I am working as fast as Ican."

Judging by the restless voices that followed, the clanof the Moor Eagle took little comfort from his assurance. Melegaunt urged themagain to be patient. While he waited for his first spell to do its work, heprepared himself for battle, girding himself with magic armor and shields ofspell-turning, readying power word attacks and casting enchantments that wouldallow him to walk on mud or swim through it with equal ease. By the time hefinished, his spell had thinned the fog enough that he could see a long line ofmired Vaasan men and overloaded wagons curving away toward the jagged gray wallof a distant mountain range. The end of the column was perhaps two hundredpaces distant, and fifty paces beyond that, he could see the brownish ribbon oflogs where the road resumed again.

Instead of looking impressed or grateful, Bodvar andhis equally bearded warriors were all searching the blue sky with expressionsof alarmed expectation. Those with free sword arms were holding their weaponsready, while on the wagons, women and old men were stringing longbows andraising spears. Melegaunt glanced around the heavens and found nothing exceptsnow clouds-then heard two loud slurping sounds as another pair of warriorswere drawn down into the muck.

He stepped to the end of the log road and held his armout. Finding that there was enough light to cast a shadow, he swung his armaround until the dark line pointed at Bodvar. Though a good twenty pacesremained between them, the fog was so thin that Melegaunt could see that withsapphire-blue eyes and hair as red as bloodstone, Bodvar was both handsome andfair-haired by Vaasan standards.

"You caused this clearing, Traveler?" Bodvarasked.

Melegaunt nodded, then lied, "I like to see whatI'm fighting." Actually, he was more comfortable fighting in darkness thanlight, but if he could keep the Vaasans from pondering the nature of hispowers, there was a good chance they would be unfamiliar enough with outsider spells to thinkhe was using normal magic. "The battle goes faster."

"Indeed," Bodvar answered. "Let us hopenot too fast. There is a reason the Mountainshadow Bog is crossed only in thickfog."

Melegaunt frowned and asked, "That wouldbe?"

"On its way."

Bodvar raised his hand-the one that was not trapped inthe bog-and pointed west. The nearby peaks had grown distinct enough that theyresembled a line of snowcapped fangs, and curving down from their summits, Melegauntsaw several lines of pale specks.

"Griffons?" he asked. "Orwyverns?"

"You will wish."

"Well, as long as they're not dragons,"Melegaunt said. "Anything else, I can handle."

"You have a high opinion of yourself,Traveler."

"As shall you," Melegaunt replied.

With that, he spoke a few words of magic, and theshadow he had lain across the bog expanded to the width of a comfortablewalking trail. Melegaunt stepped off the logs and, continuing to hold his armout, followed the shadow forward. To prevent the path from vanishing as hemoved forward, he had to utter a spell of permanency-and that was when thesodden peat let out an explosive glub beside him.

Melegaunt turned to see a pair webbed hands clutchingthe edge of his shadow-walk, between them a slimy reptilian head shooting up toattack. The face itself was rather broad and froglike, save that its dead blackeyes were fixed on Melegaunt's leg and its lips were drawn back to reveal amouthful of needle-sharp fangs. He lowered a hand and spoke a magic power word,unleashing a cold black bolt that drilled a fist-sized hole through the thing'shead. The hands opened, and its lifeless body slipped back into the sodden peat.

"What magic is that?" Bodvar gasped,watching from a few steps ahead.

"Southern magic," Melegaunt lied. He stoppedat the Vaasan's side and stooped down, offering his hand. "You wouldn'tknow it."

Bodvar was not quick to reach for the shadow wizard'sswarthy arm.

"Who would?" he demanded. "We are notso backward here in Vaasa as you may think. We know about the dark magic ofThay."

Melegaunt had to laugh. "You have no idea."

He uttered a quick spell, and tentacles of darknessshot from his fingertips to entwine the Vaasan's wrist.

"Now come out of there," said Melegaunt."You made a bargain."

Melegaunt stood and drew the tentacles back into hisfingers, pulling Bodvar's arm along. A muffled pop sounded fromsomewhere below the peat, and the Vaasan screamed. Though Melegaunt was fairlycertain he had just separated the chieftain's shoulder, he continued topull-pulled harder, in fact. As loud as Bodvar had screamed, the bog peoplewould be after him like a school of snagglesnouts after a waterstrider.

The Vaasan did not budge, and though Melegaunt had thestrength to pull the arm off, that would not free Bodvar of the sodden peat'scold clutch. He stopped pulling. Bodvar continued to groan-though less loudlythan he had screamed before-and a long ridge of upwelling peat began to snakeits way toward the chieftain.

Melegaunt pointed a finger at the head of the ridgeand uttered a magic syllable. A ray of black shadow shot down through the peat.The creature was too deep to see whether the attack hit home, but the ridgestopped advancing in Bodvar's direction.

"Be quiet," Melegaunt urged. "See ifyou can slip free of your boots and trousers."

Bodvar stopped groaning long enough to cast a sidelongglance at Melegaunt. "My trousers? My dragon-scale trousers?"

"You must break the suction," Melegauntexplained. "It is your trousers or your life."

Bodvar sighed, but struggled to move his free handunder the peat.

"Can you reach them?" Melegaunt asked.

"No, I can't-" Bodvar's eyes suddenly wentwide, then he began to yell, "Pull! Pull!"

Melegaunt felt the Vaasan being dragged downward andbegan to haul in the opposite direction. Bodvar howled in pain and rage, hisbody squirming and thrashing as he struggled to free himself. There was amuffled crunch that sounded something like a breaking bone, then Bodvar finallycame free, rising out of the bog with no boots or pants, but a dagger in handand his sword belt looped over his elbow.

Melegaunt glimpsed a slimy figure slipping down thehole with the Vaasan's trousers trailing from one corner of its smiling mouth,then the bog closed in and concealed it from view. Melegaunt cast a shadow boltafter it, but it was impossible to say whether the spell hit its target orvanished into the bottomless depths without striking anything.

"Hell-cursed mudbreather!" Bodvar swore."Look what it did to my sword!"

Melegaunt lowered the Vaasan to the shadow-walk, thenlooked over to find the man naked from the waist down and one arm sagging askewfrom the shoulder socket, holding the flopping scabbard of a badly shatteredsword in his good hand.

"How am I to fight with this?"

"Fight? In your condition?"

Melegaunt glanced toward the mountains and saw thatthe distant specks had become V-shaped lines, all angling toward the bog wherethe largest part of the Moor Eagle clan was still trapped. He opened his cloakand pulled his own sword, a slender blade of what looked like black glass, fromits scabbard.

"Use this," Melegaunt said, "but with alight hand. It will cut much better than that iron bar you're accustomedto."

Bodvar barely glanced at the weapon.

"I'll use my dagger," said the Vaasan."That thing'll break the first time-"

"Not likely."

Melegaunt brought his sword down across Bodvar'sdagger and sliced through the blade as though it was made of soft wood insteadof cold-forged iron, then he flicked the stump out of the grasp of theastonished Vaasan and replaced it with the hilt of his own weapon.

"Be careful not to take off your foot."

Bodvar closed his sagging jaw and, one arm still hanginglimply at his side, stepped past Melegaunt and lopped the heads off two bogpeople emerging from the peat behind him.

"It'll do," he said. Despite the obviouspain from his separated shoulder, the Vaasan did not even clench his teeth ashe spoke. "My thanks for the loan."

"Consider it a gift," Melegaunt replied,turning back to the rest of the clan. "I use it so seldom."

To Melegaunt's dismay, the bog people had been farfrom idle while he was rescuing Bodvar. Half the warriors who had been miredwhen he arrived had already vanished beneath the surface, while the women andold men were struggling to keep dozens of bog people from clambering onto thecargo wagons with the clan's sobbing children. Melegaunt pulled a handful ofshadowsilk from his cloak and flung it in the direction of the wagons, then hespread his fingers and waggled them in a raining motion. A dark pall fell overthe six closest wagons, and everyone it touched-Vaasans and bog peoplealike-fell instantly asleep.

"How did you do that?" Bodvar demanded."Sleep magic doesn't work against the bog people!"

"Clearly, you have been misinformed."Melegaunt held his arm out toward the nearest wagon, extending the shadow-walkto within three paces of the driver's bench. "Do you think …"

Bodvar was already sprinting down the shadow-walk,borrowed sword in hand. When he reached the end, he launched himself into a wildleap over the horns of a mired ox, bounding off its half-submerged shoulders,and came down on the seat between the slumbering driver and the old man slumpedbeside her. Despite Melegaunt's warning to handle the weapon lightly, he set towork on the sleeping bog people with an ardor that left little doubt about theprimitive state of Vaasan weaponsmithing. Melegaunt saw him cut two enemiescleanly apart across the torso and cleave through three of the wagon'ssideboards before he could no longer bear to watch and turned his attention tothe mired warriors.

The nearest vanished beneath the surface as Melegauntapproached, and two more cried out in alarm. Seeing he had no hope of rescuingeven a dozen of the remaining warriors, he tossed his tarp line onto the surfaceand uttered a long spell. The far end raised itself out of the peat, and theblack rope began to slither forward. He pointed at the nearest of the warriors,and the line angled in the man's direction.

"As the rope comes by…."

That was all Melegaunt needed to say. The firstwarrior snatched the line and, slipping free of his trousers, allowed it topull him free. He slid across the slippery surface for three paces, then rolledonto his back and began to hack at something beneath the surface with hissword. Seeing that he had at least a reasonable chance of defending himself,Melegaunt directed the rope to the next warrior in line, who also came freewithout his pants or boots, and there were two Vaasans slashing at their unseenpursuer.

They seemed to slay it after a dozen yards, but bythen Melegaunt had three more warriors on the line, and two of them were beingtrailed by the tell-tale rise of a bog person traveling just beneath thesurface. He summoned the rope over to his shadow-walk and used his last shadowbolt to kill one of their pursuers, and the warriors themselves took care ofthe last one before bounding off after Bodvar to help defend the wagons.

Melegaunt glanced toward the mountains. To his alarm,the distant fliers were so close that he could make out not only the whitebodies hanging beneath their wings, but their bandy legs and curved swords aswell. Whatever the creatures were-and he had yet to see their like in a centuryand a half of wandering the world-they were as fast as baatezu. He only hopedthey were not as adept as the pit fiends at defeating shadow magic.

Melegaunt sent the rescue rope out again and managedto pull in six more warriors before the bog people claimed the rest. Though hewas not happy to fail so many-the number had to be nearly twenty-the Vaasanstook their losses in stride, pausing only to grunt a half-understood word ofthanks before rushing back to join Bodvar and their fellows in defending thewomen and children.

Seeing there was no more to be done, Melegauntretrieved his tarp line and turned toward the mired wagons. With the half-nakedwarriors he had rescued rushing back to help, the women and old men were holdingthe bog people at bay with surprising displays of swordsmanship and bravery. Nomatter how well they fought, though, it was clear that the younger children andolder clansmen lacked the agility to leap from wagon to wagon-especially overthe heads of panicked oxen-as the warriors were doing.

Melegaunt rushed alongside the caravan, laying hisshadow-walk close enough that the trapped Vaasans could jump from their wagonsonto the path behind him. The bog people redoubled their attacks, glugging upalongside the walk in a near-solid wall. But all of Bodvar's clansmen were aswell-trained and disciplined as his warriors, and they repelled the attackseasily. Though Melegaunt failed to understand why the bog people did not usetheir rotting magic on the wagons themselves, he was relieved that they werenot. Perhaps their magic-user had run out of spells, or maybe the enchantmenttook too long to cast.

With their panicked masters rushing past, the miredoxen bellowed for help that would never come. Given time, Melegauntcould certainly have freed the creatures and saved the cargo in their wagons, butas things were he would be doing well to lose no more of their masters. As heneared the end of the caravan, he was astonished to see that the bog people hadnot pulled even one of the beasts from its yoke. Whatever their reason forattacking the Moor Eagles, it had less to do with hunger than wanting to wipeout the tribe.

Melegaunt was twenty paces past the last mired wagonwhen a trio of bog people emerged before him, snatching at his legs with theirwebbed hands. He drilled the middle one with a black shadow bolt, then heardhooked finger-talons clattering off his spell-armor as the other two attemptedto slash his legs from beneath him. He brought his boot heel down on a slopingforehead and heard a loud pop as the skull caved in, then he caught hisother attacker by the arm and jerked it out of the peat. Save that the bog manwas covered in slimy brown scales and had a flat, lobsterlike tail in place oflegs and feet, it looked more or less humanoid, with powerfully-built shouldersand a navel that suggested it was born rather than hatched.

It slashed at Melegaunt with its free hand severaltimes. When its claws continued to bounce harmlessly off the wizard's shadowarmor, it gave up and opened its mouth, attacking with a long, barb-tippedtongue so fast Melegaunt barely had time to tip his head aside and save his eye.He caught the tongue as it shot back toward the creature's mouth, then whirledaround to find Bodvar and the rest of the Vaasans staring at him withexpressions that were equal part awe and terror.

"Don't just stand there," Melegaunt ordered,"kill it!" Only Bodvar had possession enough of his wits to obey,slashing the thing across the waist so hard that his borrowed sword came ahair's breadth from opening Melegaunt's ample belly as well. Eyeing thechieftain sidelong, Melegaunt tossed aside the lifeless torso, then pointed ata long line of bog people rising out of the peat beside the gape-mouthedVaasans.

"Lift your jaws and see to your enemies!" Without waiting to see whether they obeyed, he turned and extended theshadow-walk the rest of the way to the logs, then he led the way to therelatively solid footing of the road. The bog people had no choice but to giveup their attack, for all the Vaasans had to do to be safe was retreat to themiddle of the road where they could not be reached. The creatures flying infrom the mountains were another matter. Only a few hundred yards distant, theywere close enough that Melegaunt could make out scaly white bodieswith long, pointed tails, and also craggy saurian heads with long snouts,swept-back horns, and huge yellow eyes. One of the creatures flung something intheir direction and began to make spell gestures.

Melegaunt flattened a ball of shadowsilk between hispalms, then flung it toward the approaching dragonmen and uttered a few wordsin ancient Netherese. A hazy disk of darkness appeared between the two groupsand began to bleed black tendrils of shadow into the sky, but Melegaunt had notbeen quick enough to raise his spell shield. He felt a familiar softeningunderfoot, and the Vaasans cried out and began to stampede up the road. It wasexactly the wrong thing to do. The rotting logs came apart all the faster,plunging the entire tribe to their knees in sodden peat.

In an attempt to spread their weight and slow theirdescent, they immediately threw themselves to their bellies and splayed theirarms. Still standing atop the peat by virtue of the spells he had cast beforethe battle, Melegaunt cursed and laid his shadow-walk again, then turned tomeet the dragonmen.

They were nowhere to be seen, at least not near hisspell shield. Pulling another strand of shadowsilk from his pocket, Melegauntpivoted in a slow circle and-as expected-found them diving out of the sun.Melegaunt allowed himself a tight smile. They were wise to respect hisabilities-much wiser, in that regard, than had been better-known foes in thesouth. He tossed his shadowsilk into the sky and uttered the incantation of oneof his more potent spells.

That whole quarter of the sky broke into a shower ofshadowy tears. Instead of rolling off when they fell on a body, however, thesedrops clung to whatever they touched, stretching into long threads of stickyblack fiber. Within moments, the entire column of dragonmen had become swaddledin gummy balls of darkness and was plunging headlong into the bog. Melegauntwatched long enough to be certain that none of the fliers would escape, thenturned to find the Moor Eagles rushing onto the log road behind him.

They were glancing at him over their shoulders, makingsigns of warding that might have kept a demon at bay, but that only madeMelegaunt feel lonely and unappreciated. Stifling bitter laughter, he walkedacross the bog to where Bodvar and three more brave warriors stood waiting forhim at the edge of the road.

"I'm sorry for your losses, Bodvar," hesaid. "I might have saved more, but there was much you didn't tellme."

"And much you didn't tell us," Bodvarreplied. He laid the hilt of Melegaunt's black sword across his arm and offeredit to the wizard. "My thanks."

Melegaunt waved him off.

"Keep it. As I said, I seldom use itanymore."

"I know what you said," Bodvar replied,"but only a fool takes gifts from a devil."

"Devil?" Melegaunt snapped, still not takinghis sword. "Is that how you repay my kindness? With insults?"

"What is true is no insult," Bodvar said."We saw the things you did."

"It was only magic," Melegaunt protested."Southern magic. If you have not seen its like before. . "

"Now it is you who are insulting us," Bodvarsaid, continuing to offer the sword. "In Vaasa, we are backward in manythings-but wisdom is no longer one of them."

Melegaunt started to repeat his protests, thenrealized he would only anger Bodvar by insisting on the lie-and revealing thetruth about the Shadow Weave was, of course, out of the question. If he werelucky enough to avoid being struck dead on the spot, he would lose forever thedark power that had so impressed the Vaasans.

When Melegaunt made no further attempts to argue,Bodvar said, "We will keep the bargain we made." He tipped his chintoward the three warriors with him. "These are the guides I promised. Theywill take you wherever you wish to go in Vaasa."

Melegaunt started to say that he no longer neededthem-then thought better of it and smiled. "Anywhere?"

Bodvar looked uncomfortable, but nodded and said,"That was our bargain."

"Good. Then I want them to take me wherever the Moor Eagles aregoing." Melegaunt took his sword back and added, "And no tricks,Bodvar. I'm sure we both know what happens to those who play false withdevils-don't we?"

Higharvestide, the Year ofthe Moat

In the Shadows of the Peaksof the Dragonmen

Bodvar came to the island, as Melegaunt had known hewould, late in the day, when the sun was sinking low over the Peaks of the Dragonmenand the shadows of the mountains lay long upon the cold bog. What the wizardhad not known was that the chieftain would bring his wife, a young beauty withhair the color of night and eyes as blue as a clear sky. She seemed a littlethicker around the middle than the last time Melegaunt had seen her, though itwas always hard to tell with Vaasan women- their shape tended to vanish beneathall the furs they wore.

Melegaunt watched them pick their way across hiszigzagging boulder-walk until a metallic sizzle behind him demanded hisattention. He checked the sky to be certain there were no white-scaled fliersdiving down to trouble them, then he donned a huge leather mitt and pulled along narrow mold from the oven he had kept blazing for three days. In the mold,floating on a bed of liquid tin, lay a sword similar to the one he had offeredBodvar all those tendays ago-save that it was still molten and glowing whitehot.

Melegaunt placed the sword on a bed of ice-freezescame early to that part of the world-then he waited for the mold to cool. Whenhe was sure the cold would draw the tempering elements down to the underside,he began to lay fibers of shadowsilk on the molten glass, taking care toarrange them first lengthwise, then diagonally in both directions, thenlengthwise again so the weapon would have strength and resilience in all directions.Finally, he used his dagger to open another cut on his arm, dripping his warmblood into the mixture and quietly whispering the ancient words that gave the bladeits magic thirst.

By the time that was finished, the sword had hardenedenough that he could lift it from its mold and plunge it into a vat of slushywater, placed at just the right distance from the furnace to keep it that way.Once the heat had melted all of the slush, Melegaunt removed the sword, thenplaced it on its bed of hot tin with the opposite side down and returned themold to the oven again. Such was the art of the shadow blade, heating andcooling a thousand times over, tinting them with shadowsilk until the glasscould finally hold no more and began to shed fibers like an unbrushed dog.

A soft boot scuffed the stone at the edge ofMelegaunt's work site, then Bodvar called, "I see you are still here, DarkDevil."

"You can see that by the smoke of myfurnaces," Melegaunt answered. He pulled the sleeve of his cloak down tohide the cuts on his arm, then turned to glower at the chieftain. "Comefor a sword, have you?"

"Hardly," said Bodvar. He cast an uneasyglance at the nineteen weapons racked at the edge of the work site. Though allwere completed and honed to a razor edge, they were paler than Melegaunt'ssword, with a crystal translucence that still showed the lay of the shadowfibers embedded in the glass. "You are wasting your time on thataccount."

"Am I?" Melegaunt smirked knowingly andadded, "Well, they will be here when you need them."

"Our need will never be that great."

Melegaunt did not argue, only swung an arm toward thefurnace behind him and said, "That will be twenty. Twenty warriors is allthat remains to you, is it not?"

Instead of answering, Bodvar glanced around the clutteredwork area and shook his head.

"Only a devil could live out here alone. It isexposed to every wind that blows."

"It's a safe place to work."

Melegaunt glanced at Bodvar's young wife and smiled.Idona smiled back, but said nothing. Though Vaasan women werehardly shy, he had noticed that most of them preferred to keep their silencearound him.

He looked back to Bodvar and said, "The bogpeople protect every ground approach but one, and the dragonmen are easy tospot from here."

"The dragonmen can watch you," Bodvarcountered, "and the bog people have you surrounded."

"Vaasans may see it that way." Melegauntknelt and began to feed his furnace from the charcoal pile beside it. "Theway to destroy an enemy is to make him fight in his home instead ofyours."

Melegaunt raised his mitted hand toward a white-hotpoker, and Bodvar, not thinking, reached for it-then shrieked in surprise asMelegaunt used a cantrip to summon the utensil and spare him a burned palm.

Idona giggled, drawing an embarrassed, though tender,frown from her husband. Melegaunt shook his head in mock exasperation atBodvar's clumsiness, and she broke into full laughter.

"You see?" Bodvar complained lightly."This is what comes of treating with devils."

"Of course, my husband," Idona said."This bearded one is always saving you from something, the mudbreathingknave."

"That is what worries me," Bodvar said, histone more serious.

Desperate not to let Bodvar's suspicious nature underminethe unexpected openness his humor had won from Idona, Melegaunt poked at thecoals, then changed the subject.

"Speaking of mudbreathers and saving you, Bodvar,you never did tell me why the bog people and dragonmen were trying so hard towipe out your tribe."

"Were?" Idona echoed. "They still are. Why do you think we stay camped atthe other end of your walkway? If it wasn't for you-"

"Idona!" Bodvar snapped.

Hiding his delight behind a tolerant smile, Melegaunttossed the poker aside-it remained hovering in the air-and began to feed morecharcoal into the fire.

"I'm only happy to be of use." Melegauntfixed his gaze on Bodvar and added, "But that still doesn't answer myquestion."

Bodvar flushed and said nothing.

"Are you going to answer him, Husband,"Idona, smirking, asked, "or am I?"

The more Idona spoke, the more Melegaunt liked her.

"By all means, Idona," Melegaunt said,"I would rather hear it from your-"

"I had this idea," Bodvar began. "Iwanted to build a fort."

"Fort?" Melegaunt asked.

He stopped feeding the flames and stood.

"For the treasure caravans," Idona said,rolling her eyes. "He actually thought outlanders would give us good coinjust to sleep with a roof over their heads."

"And to have us stand guard," Bodvar addeddefensively. "When we're out hunting, they're always asking to share ourcamps and fires."

"Do they pay then?" Idona demanded.

Bodvar frowned and said, "Of course not. Who'dpay to pitch his own tent?"

"I see." Melegaunt found it difficult tokeep the delight out of his voice. At last, he had discovered something thatmight move Bodvar to take help from a "shadow devil." "But thebog people and dragonmen prey on the caravans, and they have other ideas?"

Bodvar nodded and said, "The dragonmen sacked ourfirst fort before it was half completed, and when we tried to move south to amore defensible site … well, you saw what happened."

Idona took his hand.

"We're better off anyway," she said."Who wants to live one place the whole year? What happens when the herdsmove?"

"What indeed?" Melegaunt asked absently.

He was looking over his shoulder toward the granitesummit of his little island. On a clear day, it was possible to look across thebog clear to where the log road ended-or began, if the caravan was coming fromthe mountains with its load of treasure. If he could see the road,then anyone on the road would be able to see the top of the island.

"Melegaunt?" Bodvar asked.

Realizing he had not been paying attention, Melegaunttore his gaze from the summit and turned back to Bodvar.

"Sorry," he said. "You weresaying?"

"He was inviting you to take feast with us,"said Idona. "It's Higharvestide, in case you have lost track."

"It's Idona's idea," Bodvar added, thoughhis friendly tone made it clear that he did not object too strenuously."She says it's only common courtesy."

"And no more than we owe," Idona added,frowning at Bodvar. "Considering all you have done for us."

"All I have done for you?" Melegaunt waved ahand in dismissal. "It's nothing, truly, but I can't join you. NextHigharvestide, perhaps."

"Next Higharvestide?" Bodvar scowled at the furnace where the last sword lay on its bed of sizzlingtin. "If you're staying to watch over that sword, you may as well come,because-"

"It's not the sword," Melegaunt said."The sword will be done by nightfall. I must have my rest tonight.Tomorrow will be a busy day for me."

Idona's face was not the only one that fell.

"Then you are leaving?" Bodvar asked."If you are, be certain to take your swords with you, because they willonly-"

"I'm not leaving." Melegaunt had to turntoward the island's granite summit-try as he might, he could not hide hissmile. "Tomorrow, I start work on my tower."

"Tower?" Idona echoed.

"Yes." Finally in control of his expressionagain, Melegaunt turned around. "To watch over the treasurecaravans."

But Melegaunt knew he would have no rest that night.He had read in the dawn shadows that it would be the evening when the MoorEagles moved onto the island with him. His divinations proved correct shortlyafter dark, when the clan's mead-induced revels were interrupted by theclanging of the sentry's bell. Melegaunt lita signal beacon he had prepared for theoccasion, then went to the front of the work site to inspect the situation.

A cloud of white forms was descending from the peaksof the dragonmen, their wings flashing silver in the moonlight as theyspiraled down toward the bog's edge. Their spellcasters were already hurlingmagic bolts and balls of golden flame at the Moor Eagles, but the rest of thewarriors were taking care to forestall counterattacks by keeping theirmagic-users well screened from Melegaunt's island. A sporadic stream of arrowsbegan to rise from Bodvar's camp and arc into the night, falling pitifullyshort of their targets.

Melegaunt spread his arms and cast a shadow fog overthe camp, more to prevent the Moor Eagles from wasting their time and arrowsthan to delay the dragonmen. Still, they had not forgotten the sticky rain hehad called down on them in the bottomless bog-half their number had sunkbeneath the peat and drowned-so they gave the dark cloud wide berth, anglingaway to land in the foothills on the far side of camp.

Leaving the Moor Eagles to fend for themselves, Melegauntturned his attention to what he was sure would be the second part of thedragonmen's plan and found a company of bog people slithering up to block hisboulder walk. The clan women were gamely rushing forward to meet them, Idonaand a few of the others wielding iron swords or wood axes, but most armed withnothing more deadly than fire-hardened spears and cudgels so light Melegauntcould have snapped them over his knee.

"Hold!"

Melegaunt's Vaasan had grown passable enough over thepast few months that Idona recognized the command for what it was and calledher sisters to a stop. He pointed at a hole in the exact center of theshadow-walk and spoke a single word of magic. A whirling pinwheel of black tentacleserupted from the hole and slashed the bog people into so many chunks of slimyflesh, then withdrew back into the hole.

"Now youcan come," Melegaunt called, using his magic to project his voice."And bring those foolish husbands of yours, or the only Higharvestidefeast will be that of the dragonmen."

Idona raised her sword in acknowledgement and sent theother women forward with the children, then rushed back into the shadowswaddled camp. Melegaunt waited impatiently for her return. It seemed to takeher forever, and he feared the surviving bog people would regain their couragebefore she could convince her husband to retreat to the safety of the island.Finally, warriors began to stagger onto the boulder walk in twos and threes,often supporting and sometimes carrying each other. Melegaunt thought for amoment that the evening's festivities had simply been proceeding faster than heexpected, but then he noticed that one of the men was missing an arm andanother had something dangling on his cheek that might have been an eye.

Bodvar came last with Idona at his side, holding anarmful of quivers over one arm and a shield over the other, alternately feedingarrows to her husband and stepping forward to intercept the wicked barbs flyingtheir way from somewhere deeper in the camp. Melegaunt allowed them to retreatto the first sharp bend in that fashion, then, speaking a magic command word,he pointed at a crooked crevice bisecting the boulder closest to shore.

A wall of faintly writhing shadows shot up from thefissure, sealing the boulder walk from the Vaasans' camp. Bodvar and Idonaturned and raced for the island, moving so fast that they nearly overran thenext turn. Only Idona's quick feet-and quicker hands-kept Bodvar from goingover the edge and plunging into the cold bog. They took the next corner morecautiously, then reached the island and started up the trail behind the others.

By then, the first wave of dragonmen were flying overand around the shadow wall at the other end of the boulder walk, staying lowand close to avoid making themselves targets. It was a bad mistake. As theypassed by, the writhing shadows struck out like snakes, entwining anything elsethey could reach. Whatever they touched vanished, and soon arms, legs, wings,even heads were raining down on the shore and into the bog.

The dragonmen's pursuit stopped cold, and the MoorEagles' women and children began to pour onto the work site. Melegaunt directedthem into the shallow shelters he had hollowed out behind the sword rack. Whenhe turned back to the battle, the tentacles in his shadow wall were swirlingoutward in three separate cones, each spiraling toward a small cluster ofdragonmen hovering over the village. The spinning cones tore through thewarrior screen as easily as they had the pursuit fliers a moment earlier, thendiced the spell casters they had been trying to shield.

"Try to dispel my magic, will you?" Melegaunt called in ancient Draconic. "Come hither. I have more of thesame waiting here!"

The last few dragonmen sank behind the shadow andvanished. For a time, Melegaunt feared he truly had defeated the attack thateasily. The warriors began to reach his work site and check on their families.There were a handful of anguished cries and panicked calls for missingchildren, but with Melegaunt's help, the Vaasans had managed their retreatwithout losing many of their number. Three warriors who were too badly injuredto fight were given over to the clan's healing witch, then Bodvar and Idonaarrived, breathing hard and supporting each other, but both whole and sound.

"Well, Devil, it seems you have saved usagain," Bodvar said. "Whether we like it or not."

Melegaunt spread his hands and said, "I live toserve."

Bodvar scowled and started to make a retort, thensomeone called, "Whitescales from the east!" and someone else yelled,"And from the west! Thirty at least, coming in low over the bog!"

Melegaunt rushed to the western edge of his work siteand saw a long rank of dragonmen approaching the island, their white scalesshining like ivory against the dark peat. Their line curved behind the islandand, from the cries behind him, continued all the way around to the other side.The clan of the Moor Eagle was surrounded. Struggling to bite back his smile,Melegaunt turned to find Bodvar and Idona standing behind him.

"It seems your faith in me was misplaced,"Melegaunt said. "My apologies, Bodvar."

"None necessary. I'm the one who brought this onus," Bodvar said. He fluttered his fingers in the direction of theapproaching dragonmen. "Just do what you can."

"I am afraid that will not be much, myfriend." Melegaunt spoke loudly enough to be sure that nearby warriors,already gathering to eavesdrop, would be certain to overhear. "Even I havemy limits."

"Limits?" Bodvar growled.

"I did not expect this. My magic is all butexhausted."

Bowstrings began to thrum around the perimeter of thework site, but they were too few-and their arrow points too soft-to turn backthe dragonmen.

Melegaunt drew his black sword, stepped away from theedge, and said, "But I can still give a good accounting of myself."

As he had hoped, the sight of his darksword proved an inspiration.

"The black swords!" Idona cried, turningtoward the rack. "Those will balance the-"

"No." Calm though it was, Bodvar's voice wassurprisingly masterful and imposing. "Of all the women in the tribe,Idona, you should know better. A devil's gift is no gift at all."

Idona looked as though she wanted to argue, but herrespect for her husband-and for her chieftain-was too strong. She bit hertongue and pointed at the hidden shelter.

"Then we had better fall back," she said,"before there is nothing left to defend."

Bodvar gave the order, and the dragonmen were on them,streaming onto the work site from all sides. They flew headlong into battle,thrusting at their overwhelmed enemies with iron-tipped spears and relying ontheir size and speed to carry the attacks home. Half a dozen human voiceswailed in pain in the first three heartbeats alone, then the second wave camecrashing down from the island summit, and it grew clear that the Vaasans hadn'ta chance. When they were lucky enough to land a strike, their brittleweapons either bounced off or broke like icicles against the dragonmen's thickscales.

Still, the Vaasans fought bravely and well, fallingback toward the shelter behind the sword racks in good order, defending eachother and striking at eyes and armpits and other vulnerable areas whenever thechance came. Within moments, there were as many dragonmen lying on the stonyground as there were humans.

And Melegaunt quickly added to the toll. Protected ashe was by an aura of impenetrable shadow and holding a sword that would cutthrough any armor known in Faerûn, he turned and whirled through the dragonmanranks, slashing legs off here and behorned heads there, dancing past spearthrusts and shrugging off claw strikes like a drow blademaster.

One of the huge saurians managed to clasp him frombehind in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground and trapping his arms so thatit was impossible to wield his sword. Perhaps thinking to take him out over thebog and drop him to his death, the creature spread his wings and leaped intothe air. Melegaunt slammed the back of his head into his attacker's snout,smashing it flat and driving one of the bony horns back into the thing's brain.When the wizard dropped back to his work site, the other dragonmen fell overeach other to find someone else to attack.

Then it happened.

A trio of dragonmen spotted the hidden shelter and,battering a pair of human defenders aside with their powerful wings, chargedfor the children. The first warrior scrambled to his feet and rushed afterthem, shattering his brittle sword against the back of a thick reptilian skull.

The other Vaasan grabbed one of Melegaunt's glassswords. He sliced one dragonman's legs out from beneath him, then cleaved asecond's spine on the backstroke and ran the blade through the third one'sheart from behind. As the last saurian crashed to his knees, the warrior letout an anguished gasp. He stumbled back clutching at his heart, and one of thewomen in the shelter wailed in despair, and cried out his name. But he did notfall. Instead, his hair and beard went as white as snow. Theswarthiness drained from his face and his skin turned as pallid as ivory, andwhen he turned back to the battle, his eyes were as dead and black as those ofthe bog people, and the sword in his hand had lost its crystal translucence. Itwas as dark and glossy as Melegaunt's, with no hint at all of the shadowfibers embedded in its heart.

A dragon man stepped out of the mad whirl, thrustingat the warrior's heart with an oaken spear. The Vaasan brought his sword up toblock and slashed through the shaft as though it was a twig, then he smileddarkly, opened his attacker across the chest, and waded after more victims.

His success inspired another warrior to snatch one ofthe weapons, and a woman in the shelter grabbed one to defend her children froman approaching dragonman. They killed their first enemies and underwenttransformations similar to the first sword-taker, then they, too, began to cuta swath through the attacking saurians. A dozen dragonmen leaped into the air,angling for the rack of deadly swords. They were met by a like number ofVaasans, all pulling weapons off the hangers and putting them to good use.

Bodvar appeared at Melegaunt's side, nearly losing hishand when he made the mistake of grabbing the wizard's shoulder withoutwarning.

"Stop them!"

"How?" Melegaunt asked. He caught abattering wing on his shoulder, then lopped it off and slashed his attackeracross the back of the knees. "The choice is theirs. They would ratherlive than die."

"Not live in your service!" Bodvar objected."You arranged this."

"Not arranged," Melegaunt replied. Hepointed his palm behind the angry Vaasan's head and blasted a would-be attackerwith a shadow bolt. "You give me too much credit."

"And you do not give me enough," saidBodvar. The Vaasan stepped close, and Melegaunt felt the tip of a sword pressedto his back. "Release my clan."

Melegaunt glared at the chieftain and said, "Atthe moment, Bodvar, you have worse enemies than me." Relying on hisshadow armor to protect him, he reached back and snapped the steel sword withhis bare hand. "If you want them released, do it yourself. All you need dois persuade them to set aside their swords."

Melegaunt shoved the chieftain away and turned back tothe battle. With most of the glass swords in hand, the Vaasans seemed to havematters well under control. The dragonmen were being forced steadily away fromthe shelters, and even when they attempted to use their wings to slip over thedefenders, they were met with a flurry of flashing shadow. Finally, they gaveup trying and took wing-at least those who could.

Dozens of wounded saurians remained behind with wingstoo shredded or broken to lift them, yet still strong enough to fight-andferocious enough to do it well. The Vaasans quickly set to work on them,herding them into a tight ball and driving them toward the cliffs on the eastside of the work site. Seeing that only one sword remained, Melegaunt left themto their work and quietly went to the rack and slipped the last sword into hisempty scabbard-and that was when Bodvar choose to assert himself again.

"My warriors, look at each other!" hecalled. "See what Melegaunt's devil weapons have done to you?"

Melegaunt groaned and shook his head in resignation.Were Bodvar not so stubborn and sure of himself, the wizard supposed, he wouldnot be worth the trouble in the first place. He turned to find the chieftainand his loyal wife standing behind their warriors, Idona holding a cloak loadedwith an armful of steel swords, which Bodvar was trying none too successfullyto press into his clansmen's hands.

"Finish the battle with your own weapons,"he said.

One of the sword-takers-Melegaunt thought it was thefirst-scowled.

"Why would we do that?" He hefted hisdarksword and said, "These are better."

"Better?"

Bodvar lunged for the sword-and was dropped to theground by a solid elbow to the face.

"This one belongs to me," the warrior said.

"Does it?" Idona dumped the steel swords onthe ground. "Or do you belong to it?"

She glared over her shoulder with a look that sent acold shiver down Melegaunt's spine, then she grabbed her husband beneath hisarms.

"Come, Bodvar." She pulled him to his feetand turned to leave. "We are Moor Eagles no more."

"Leaving?" gasped the warrior who had struckBodvar. He looked at his darksword a moment, then, as a discontented murmurbegan to build among his fellows, lowered the weapon. "Wait."

Melegaunt cursed Idona for an ungrateful shrew and,fumbling in his thoughts for some way to salvage the situation, startedforward. As usual, it was the dragonmen who saved him. All at once, they burstinto action, hurling themselves at the distracted Vaasans. The firstsword-taker and another warrior fell instantly, and the work site erupted intoa maelstrom of violence even more confused and ferocious than the first.Melegaunt saw pair of saurians springing in Bodvar's direction and took thefirst out with a bolt of shadow, but the second was too quick. It bowled thechieftain over on the run and lashed out for Idona, then a half-dozen othermelees drifted between Melegaunt and the chieftain's young wife, and he losther.

Melegaunt rushed forward swinging sword and sprayingshadow, but the battle was as mad and confused as it was quick. Before he couldfind Bodvar again, he had to slay two dragonmen and use a spell ofshadow-grabbing to keep from being dashed lifeless on the rocks at the base ofhis own cliff.

When Melegaunt did find the chieftain, he wished hehad not been so quick to save himself. Bodvar was standing in the midst of abloody pile of Vaasans and dragonmen, holding two broken swords of steel andsearching the carnage with a look of utter terror on his face.

"Idona?"

Bodvar found a female leg kicking at the ground frombeneath a dead dragonman and used a boot to roll the white-scaled corpse away,but it turned out that the leg belonged to another woman.

He turned away from her without comment and called again,"Idona?"

"There," rasped someone. "They've gother."

Melegaunt spun toward the speaker and found apallid-faced sword-bearer pointing across the work site to a small knot offleeing dragonmen. They were just starting down the trail toward the boulderwalk, each one with a limp Vaasan body slung over its shoulders. The last bodyin line was that of Bodvar's young wife, her throat ripped out and her headdangling by the spine alone, her blue eyes somehow still locked on Melegaunt'sface.

"No!" Melegaunt gasped. He laid a hand onBodvar's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bodvar. Sorry beyond words."

"Why? You have what you came for," saidBodvar. He reached down to Melegaunt's scabbard and drew the last darksword,then raced after the dragonmen to reclaim the body of his dead wife. "Youhave your twenty souls."