Unholy

As Malark did, though, he watched. No one, not even a Monk of the Long Death, could make so many attacks in quick succession without faltering or otherwise leaving himself open eventually.

There! The simulacrum was leaning forward, ever so slightly off balance, and as he corrected, Malark dropped his own wand, pounced, and gripped the other combatant's neck in a stranglehold.

At once Malark felt his adversary moving to break free of the choke, but he didn't attempt any countermeasures. Now that he was staring straight into the simulacrum's eyes at short range, it was time to stop wrestling and try being a wizard once again. Imagining the indomitable force of his will, embodied in his glare, stabbing into his double's head, he snarled, "Stop!"

The simulacrum convulsed, then stopped struggling. The rage went out of his light green eyes, and he composed his features. "You can let go now," he croaked, his throat still constricted by Malark's grip.

Malark warily complied, then stepped backward. His twin remained calm. Rubbing one of the ruddy handprints on his neck, the simulacrum said, "I'm truly sorry. But being born is a painful, disorienting thing. All those babies would lash out too if they had the strength."

Malark smiled. "I'll have to take your word for it."

"And you have to admit, from a certain perspective, this is a setback. For centuries, my dearest wish has been that there be none of me. Instead, the number has doubled."

"Only temporarily, and in the best of causes."

"Oh, I know. I know everything you do, including your plan. I go west to foil the invasion while you stay here, hide, and set a trap."

A patch of azure flame danced on the muddy, sluggishly flowing water, seemingly without having any fuel to burn. Evidently the Umber Marshes contained a tiny pocket or two of plagueland-territory where the residue of the Spellplague still festered-and Gaedy

He studied the blue fire with wary interest. Though he'd occasionally visited plagueland, he'd never actually seen the stuff before.

He would have been just as glad to skip the spectacle now. He fancied he'd feel at home in any true forest across the length and breadth of Faerun, but this rust-colored swamp was a different matter. He hated the way the soft ground tried to suck the boots off his feet and especially hated the clouds of biting, blood-sucking insects. Back in the Yuirwood, the elves had taught him a cantrip to keep such vermin away, but it didn't seem to work on these mindlessly persistent pests.

Yes, if there ever was a patch of land that ought to be scouted on griffonback, this was it-except that the thick, tangled canopy of the trees made it impossible to survey the ground from on high. So somebody had to do it the hard way.

He skulked onward, glancing back at the azure flames periodically, making sure they were staying put. So far, so good, but in Aoth's stories they'd raced across the land in great curtains, destroying everything they engulfed.

Gaedy

Perhaps that was why Gaedy

On top and then past. It ran by without paying him any heed, soon vanishing between two mossy oaks.

Gaedy

Whatever it was, it could easily pose a threat to Gaedy

As Gaedy

Keeping low, trying to move fast but stealthily too, Gaedy

And nothing did, but it was close. Scuttling beside one of the ubiquitous cha

Gaedy

Some of the special shafts Jhesrhi grudgingly enchanted for him might hurt the thing more, but it seemed a poor idea to stand too close while he tried them. He sprinted away from it.

Something tall as the troll but broader, its inconstant shape vaguely human but composed of filthy water, made a splashing leap from an algae-covered pool on his left and half ran, half flowed to intercept him. It reached with enormous hands-the left one had the fingers fused together, as though it wore a mitten-and he felt the cold, poisonous wrongness festering inside them. It was the same sick sensation he sometimes had when obliged to spend time around Mirror, only more intense.

He could only recoil from the new threat, even though it took him back toward the pursuing blood-thing. Meanwhile, the mud and dark, stagnant water vomited up other horrors, each made of liquid or muck. Glancing around, he realized he was surrounded.

Regretting the necessity, he pulled his one arrow of sending from its place and used the bodkin point to prick the back of his own hand. The world seemed to shatter and reassemble itself in an instant, and he found himself some distance to the west, where a squad of Khouryn's spearmen flailed their hands at mosquitoes while slogging and slipping their way along.

Sitting on a rotten stump, Aoth bit off a mouthful of biscuit. In truth, he was only a little hungry, but since the vanguard had to halt while its officers palavered, it made sense to eat. At least the bread was still relatively fresh. Like any veteran campaigner, he'd all too often been reduced to gnawing bread hard as stone and full of bugs.

"Can you guess," he asked, chewing, "exactly what you ran into?"

Gaedy

"They're both," Bareris said. Unlike his living comrades, he and Mirror hadn't bothered to sit or squat but rather stood just outside the circle. "In Thay, they call them necromentals. And the red thing was a blood amniote. It will drain your blood faster than a vampire, if it catches you."