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warriors were all searching the blue sky with expressions of alarmed expectation.
Those with free sword arms were holding their weapons ready, while on the
wagons, women and old men were stringing longbows and raising spears.
Melegaunt glanced around the heavens and found nothing except snow clouds-
then heard two loud slurping sounds as another pair of warriors were drawn
down into the muck.
He stepped to the end of the log road and held his arm out. Finding that
there was now enough light to cast a shadow, he swung his arm around until the
dark line pointed at Bodvar. Though a good twenty paces remained between
them, the fog was so thin now that Melegaunt could see that with sapphire-blue
eyes and hair as red as bloodstone, Bodvar was both handsome and fair-haired
by Vaasan standards.
"You caused this clearing, Traveler?" Bodvar asked.
Melegaunt nodded then lied, "I like to see what I'm fighting." Actually, he was
more comfortable fighting in darkness than light, but if he could keep the
Vaasans from pondering the nature of his magic, there was a good chance they
would be unfamiliar enough with outsider spells to think he was using normal
magic. "The battle goes faster."
"Indeed," Bodvar answered. "Let us hope not too fast. There is a reason the
Mountainshadow Bog is crossed only in thick fog."
Melegaunt frowned. "That would be?"
"On its way."
Bodvar raised his hand-the one that was not trapped in the bog-and pointed
west. The nearby peaks had grown distinct enough that they resembled a line of
snow-capped fangs, and curving down from their summits, Melegaunt saw
several lines of pale specks.
"Griffins?" he asked. "Or wyverns?"
"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 the shadow he
had lain across the bog expanded to the width of a comfortable walking trail.
Melegaunt stepped off the logs, and continuing to hold his arm out, followed the
shadow forward. To prevent the path from vanishing as he moved forward, he
had to utter a spell of permanency-and that was when the sodden peat let out an
explosive glub beside him.
Melegaunt turned to see a pair webbed hands clutching the edge of his
shadow-walk, and between them was a slimy reptilian head shooting up to
attack. The face itself was rather broad and froglike, save that its dead black
eyes were fixed on Melegaunt's leg and its lips were drawn back to reveal a
mouthful 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's
head. 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 stopped at the Vaasan's side and
stooped down, offering his hand. "You wouldn't know it."
Bodvar was not quick to reach for the shadow wizard's swarthy arm. "Who
would?" he demanded. "We are not so backward here in Vaasa as you may
think. We know about the dark magic of Thay."
Melegaunt had to laugh. "You have no idea." He uttered a quick spell, and
tentacles of darkness shot from his fingertips to entwine the Vaasan's wrist. "Now
come out of there. You made a bargain."
Melegaunt stood and drew the tentacles back into his fingers, pulling
Bodvar's arm along. A muffled pop sounded from somewhere below the peat,
and the Vaasan screamed. Though Melegaunt was fairly certain he had just
separated the chieftain's shoulder, he continued to pull-pulled harder, in fact. As
loud as Bodvar had screamed, the bog people would be after him like a school of
snagglesnouts after a waterstrider.
The Vaasan did not budge, and though Melegaunt had the strength to pull
the arm off, that would not free Bodvar of the sodden peat's cold clutch. He
stopped pulling. Bodvar continued to groan-though less loudly than he had
screamed before-and a long ridge of upwelling peat began to snake its way
toward the chieftain.
Melegaunt pointed a finger at the head of the ridge and uttered a magic
syllable, and a ray of black shadow shot down through the peat. The creature
was too deep to see whether the attack hit home, but the ridge stopped
advancing in Bodvar's direction.
"Be quiet," Melegaunt urged. "See if you can slip free of your boots and
trousers."
Bodvar stopped groaning long enough to cast a sidelong glance at
Melegaunt. "My trousers? My dragon-scale trousers?"
"You must break the suction," Melegaunt explained. "It is your trousers or
your life."
Bodvar sighed but struggled to move his free hand under the peat.
"Can you reach them?" Melegaunt asked.
"No, I can't-" Bodvar's eyes suddenly went wide, then he began to yell, "Pull!
Pull!"
Melegaunt felt the Vaasan being dragged downward and began to haul in
the opposite direction. Bodvar howled in pain and rage, his body squirming and
thrashing as he struggled to free himself. There was a muffled crunch that
sounded something like a breaking bone, then Bodvar finally came free, rising
out of the bog with no boots or pants, but a dagger in hand and his sword belt
looped over his elbow.
Melegaunt glimpsed a slimy figure slipping down the hole with the Vaasan's
trousers trailing from one corner of its smiling mouth, then the bog closed in and
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