Lady Ruin lr-1

by Tim Waggoner

  “He’s not a threat!” Lirra snapped.

  At first Vaddon had no idea who she was talking to, but then he realized that she was addressing the tentacle whip. From what Elidyr had told him back when they first began the symbiont project, the aberrations possessed a certain amount of intelligence, could understand spoken language, and even communicate telepathically with their hosts, if only in a rudimentary way. But hearing his own daughter speak to one of the damned things as if she were scolding a misbehaving hound deeply disturbed him.

  But her words had the desired effect. The whip-somewhat reluctantly, Vaddon thought-drew its length back toward Lirra, wrapped around her forearm once again, and settled down. He slowly sheathed his sword. Lirra appeared to be in control of her body, at least for the time being. And while it might not have been the most strategic of moves, holding a sword against his own flesh and blood didn’t sit well with Vaddon, so battle strategy be damned.

  He remained standing where he was, several yards away from Lirra, and he made sure to keep his hand well away from his sword, sheathed or not.

  “What happened to Elidyr?” he asked. “I was unconscious for a time and didn’t see.”

  “A daelkyr lord reached through the portal to Xoriat and touched him,” Lirra said. “The creature’s touch drove Elidyr mad. He called to the other three symbionts and they bonded with him. It shouldn’t have been possible-a person can’t serve as host to more than one-but Elidyr managed it. That creature’s touch did more than destroy your brother’s sanity, Father. It changed him somehow.” She paused and then slowly turned and trained a suspicious, narrow-eyed gaze on Sinnoch.

  Almost faster than Vaddon could track, Lirra dashed across the chamber toward the dolgaunt, unfurling the tentacle whip as she ran. With a flick of her arm, the whip’s coils wrapped around Sinnoch’s chest, pinning his arms and back tentacles in place. The barbed tip of the symbiont hovered in front of the dolgaunt’s face, swaying back and forth as if it was a serpent that might strike at any moment. Sinnoch didn’t struggle against the tentacle whip’s grip, and he appeared undisturbed by Lirra attacking him. He merely grinned that oversized grin of his.

  Seeing Lirra move that swiftly made Vaddon realize that Elidyr hadn’t been the only one changed during the course of the experiment. Becoming bonded with a symbiont normally enhanced a host’s strength, speed, and ability to heal to a certain degree, but nothing like what Vaddon had just witnessed. What had happened to his poor daughter?

  Lirra leaned close to Sinnoch’s face, and the tentacle whip’s barb tapped the dolgaunt lightly on the nose several times, as if to make sure he was paying attention.

  “You were Uncle’s assistant, and you know more about Xoriat and its creatures than any of us here. You must know what happened to him.”

  “I might have an idea or two,” the dolgaunt said, still grinning.

  Lirra scowled and her lips drew back from her teeth in an expression that was almost a snarl. Though she made no outward move, the tentacle whip’s coils tightened around Sinnoch’s chest, and the dolgaunt let out a pained gasp, followed by an amused chuckle that sent a shiver down Vaddon’s spine.

  “Keep making jokes and I’ll keep squeezing,” Lirra said.

  Not the whip will keep squeezing, Vaddon noticed. But rather I will. A mere slip of the tongue, or was it a sign that Lirra was beginning to lose her individuality? Vaddon was mindful that Osten had hosted the tentacle whip for several days before the aberration had taken control of his body. Just because Lirra appeared to be in control at the moment didn’t mean she was going to stay that way.

  “You humans have no sense of fun,” Sinnoch said, almost sounding as if he was pouting. “Very well. Elidyr designed the Overmantle so that a host might join with a symbiont and remain in complete control, but-if you were paying attention-you also know that the device clearly failed. And very spectacularly so, I might add. Instead of bolstering the host’s psychic defenses to resist a symbiont’s dominating influence, the chaos energy drawn from Xoriat made both host and symbiont stronger.” Sinnoch smiled. “That’s the problem with trying to control chaos, of course. The harder you try, the more you’re bound to fail. I tried to explain that to Elidyr on numerous occasions, but he’s human, and your kind can be so very stubborn.”

  “That only explains part of it,” Lirra said. “Something else happened to Elidyr.” She leaned her face close to Sinnoch’s and bared her teeth, almost as if she were prepared to bite him if he didn’t answer to her satisfaction. Vaddon found the naked ferocity on his daughter’s face more disturbing than the eyeless visage of the dolgaunt. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

  “I did not. Your uncle was blessed by the touch of a daelkyr lord. With that single touch, he reshaped Elidyr, made him into something more than human. Precisely what, I couldn’t tell you, but I’m sure he’s going to have fun finding out.”

  Lirra glanced to the side and muttered, as if speaking to herself. Or maybe, Vaddon thought, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, speaking to her symbiont.

  “That’s why he can host three aberrations and unleash blasts of chaos energy. I wonder what else he can do.” She looked down at where the tentacle whip joined to her forearm. “I wonder what we can do.”

  We, Vaddon thought. She said we.

  She turned back to Sinnoch and flexed her forearm. In response, the tentacle whip tightened its coils around the dolgaunt further, and the creature hissed in pain. One corner of Lirra’s mouth edged up in a half smile, and a dark look came into her eyes. Vaddon realized she was enjoying the dolgaunt’s discomfort, and the sight sickened him to the core.

  “Stop it, Lirra!” Without thinking, he started to reach for her left arm, intending to pull her off Sinnoch, but he restrained himself. All he’d earn for his effort was another attack by the symbiont.

  Lirra relaxed her forearm, and the tentacle whip loosened its coils, though it did not release Sinnoch. She then slowly turned to Vaddon and gave him a calculating look, as if she was reappraising him in some way. “This is a supreme irony, Father. You, defending an aberration. You hate the things more than anyone else in the Outguard.”

  “I don’t care about the damned dolgaunt,” Vaddon snapped. “I care about you! Can’t you see what’s happening? That symbiont is poisoning your mind … filling your heart with fury, making you act irrationally … Let us help you, Lirra.”

  “Your father’s right.”

  Vaddon turned to see Ksana standing by his side, halberd held in a tight grip. He glanced over his shoulder to see Osten was sitting up. The lad looked dazed, but the wound on his throat had vanished, and his color looked good. Rhedyn had managed to get to his feet, but the soldier made no move toward Lirra. He just stood watching the drama play out before him, as if he was unsure how he could best help.

  Ksana continued. “We can help you separate from the symbiont. It won’t be an easy process, you know that, for you’ve witnessed it before, and in your case I fear it will be even more difficult if what Sinnoch says is true about the symbiont having been strengthened by the Overmantle’s energies. The creature will not let go of you easily, I’ll warrant. But you’re a fighter, my child, born and bred, and with Dol Arrah to lend me strength, I will do everything in my power to make certain you are free of that abomination.”

  “Neither of you understand,” Lirra said. “The Overmantle may not have functioned as Elidyr had hoped, but it did achieve its ultimate aim. It produced a weapon-me. You said yourself that you were unconscious when Elidyr changed, Father. You didn’t see what he’s become. He’s incredibly powerful and absolutely insane. If there’s any hope of stopping him, it lies with me-and my symbiont. After I’ve dealt with Elidyr-”

  Vaddon interrupted. “Listen to yourself. Dealt with him? What do you plan to do? Kill your own uncle? Don’t delude yourself into thinking you can control your symbiont, Lirra. If there’s anything this whole misbegotten project has taught us, it’s that creatures of chaos can
not be controlled.”

  “I don’t plan to control it, Father. I plan to use it.” She smiled grimly. “There’s a difference.”

  Vaddon knew then that reason wasn’t going to work on Lirra. How could it, when she obviously wasn’t in her right mind?

  “Lirra, I am your father, but I’m also your commanding officer. I order you to release the dolgaunt and surrender yourself into my custody. Immediately.”

  Lirra looked at Vaddon for a long moment, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm, almost casual.

  “I have never disobeyed an order from a superior, Father. Unfortunately, after today, I’ll never be able to say that again.”

  She spun around and hurled Sinnoch toward Vaddon and Ksana. The tentacle whip uncoiled, releasing the dolgaunt so swiftly that neither the general nor the cleric had time to move out the way. The creature slammed into them hard, and all three of them fell to the chamber floor.

  Ksana was back on her feet before Vaddon, whose armor slowed him down, and the half-elf helped him to his feet. But it was too late. Lirra was gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ranja had been watching Bergerron’s hunting lodge for three stultifying days when something interesting finally happened. The shifter had taken up a perch in an oak tree that provided an excellent view of the lodge, but which also had thick enough foliage to keep any of the soldiers stationed there from spotting her when they patrolled the area. Her mottled green clothing helped camouflage her, though given how obviously thickheaded the soldiers were, she doubted they’d have seen her if the tree was completely bereft of leaves and she was lounging naked among the bare branches. But that was Karrns for you. Steel in their spines, icewater in their veins, and fire in their hearts, but not a whole lot going on upstairs.

  It was late morning on the fourth day of Ranja’s vigil when a man came strolling out of the lodge’s entrance, whistling gaily as if he were looking forward to a pleasant stroll. Except this man had three symbionts fused to his body. Ranja had worked as a mercenary since she was young-mostly doing scouting and spywork, though she’d fought if the money was right-and during her career she’d seen any number of strange if not downright bizarre sights that if nothing else made for good storytelling over a pint of ale or three. But she’d never seen anything quite like this before. She’d seen symbionts bonded to hosts before, sure, but not three! Within moments the man had disappeared into the surrounding forest. Ranja was tempted to follow him simply to satisfy her curiosity, but her employer’s instructions had been quite clear.

  “I want to know what’s going on in Bergerron’s lodge, and I want to know now. Don’t even think about coming back until you find out.”

  Arnora Raskogr was a haughty bitch, but she paid well, and that was what mattered most to Ranja. So while she might find out the true nature of the secret work going on in the lodge by following the amazing three-symbiont man, she might also miss out on some important development here if she left her observation post. Besides, as a shifter, her senses were keener than a human’s, and symbionts offended her on a primal level. Simply put, the damned things were just wrong, and she couldn’t stand being around them-and that man had three of them fused to his body. How could he even survive with that many symbionts attached to him? No, maybe she’d be better off erring on the side of caution for a change, at least in this particular instance. So Ranja had decided to stay in her tree, sore though her muscles were, and watch a little longer-not that she had all that long to wait until someone else left the lodge.

  The first thing Ranja noticed was that the woman also had a symbiont, just one, and hers was different from any the man possessed. The second thing she noticed was that the woman was definitely not in as good a mood as the whistling man had been. She rushed out of the lodge, sword in hand, and swept a fury-filled gaze around the area, obviously searching for something … or someone. The woman-whom Ranja thought of as Curly because of her hair-then shouted, “I know you’re out there! Show yourself!”

  Ranja’s stomach muscles clenched, and she thought Curly had somehow detected her presence, maybe because of some power the symbiont had granted her. But then the woman shouted again.

  “Elidyr! Where are you? Can you hear me, Uncle?”

  Ranja relaxed a bit then. Obviously Curly was addressing the man who’d left the lodge earlier. And, unless Uncle was some kind of nickname, it seemed the two of them were related. This was getting more interesting all the time.

  Curly waited for a moment, as if she actually expected Elidyr to answer her. Then she picked a direction, seemingly at random, and ran off in pursuit of the man. Unfortunately for her, the direction she chose wasn’t even close to the one her uncle had selected. She plunged into the forest surrounding the lodge and was quickly lost to sight.

  Ranja was puzzled by the woman’s behavior. From the way the woman held her sword and carried herself, she was obviously a trained soldier. But she’d taken no time to determine in which direction Elidyr had gone; instead, she’d just started running. Ranja had heard that bonding with a symbiont adversely affected one’s mind. Perhaps Curly wasn’t thinking straight. Then again, how could anyone think clearly with some unnatural parasite attached to your flesh and feeding on your blood?

  A group of soldiers burst out of the lodge’s entrance. An old man wearing armor shouted for the soldiers to find Elidyr and Lirra-no doubt Curly’s real name-and the men and women under his command raced off into the woods, some on foot, some on horseback. The old man didn’t join them, however. He was pale and looked weak, and he went back inside the lodge, leaning on a half-elf woman for support.

  Once the area around the lodge was empty again, Ranja grinned. She was glad she’d resisted the urge to go after either Elidyr or Lirra. Now that she’d watched the little drama unfold outside the lodge, she thought she had a basic idea of what had been going on here-and what had gone wrong. It looked like Raskogr’s suspicions about this place and what Bergerron’s people were up to here were correct.

  She’d learned enough to return to Raskogr’s keep and make her report to the warlord, but Ranja didn’t depart right away. She’d seen enough to earn her admittedly high fee, but if she could learn even more about what had happened here today, she might be able to squeeze even more silver pieces out of Raskogr. Besides, Ranja’s curiosity was piqued now, and if there was one thing the shifter loved more than silver, it was adventure, and she sensed that a goodly amount might be found in sticking with this job a little longer. So she flipped a mental coin to see which one she would follow-Elidyr or Lirra-and in the end the curly-headed woman won.

  Grinning, Ranja slipped down from her tree perch with a silent grace and started running noiselessly through the forest.

  Vaddon walked down a long hallway, flanked by a pair of warforged guards wearing long swords belted at their waists. One guard was short and squat, with huge, blocky hands, while the other was tall and lean with long, sturdy legs and metal toes that tapered to needle-sharp spikes. Vaddon tried not to resent the guards’ presence. All Bergerron’s visitors were accompanied by guards within the warlord’s keep, friends and allies included, regardless of rank and standing. The fact that Vaddon had only two guards shepherding him was a testament to how much Bergerron liked and trusted him. Vaddon wondered if the warlord would feel the same after today’s visit.

  It was the evening after the failed experiment. Vaddon had left the lodge on horseback and ridden to the town of Geirrid where he’d caught the lightning rail. Though there wasn’t an official stop near Bergerron’s keep, Vaddon’s rank-along with a sizeable gratuity-had convinced the railmaster to drop him off not far from the keep, and the general hiked the rest of the way. He’d made good time, but he was tired physically as well as emotionally, and his nerves were on edge.

  The guards led him to a chamber at the end of the hallway and halted before a large black oak door. The lean guard knocked and Bergerron immediately called out for them to enter. The lean wa
rforged opened the door and stepped inside, and then the squat guard executed a half bow and gestured for Vaddon to go in, as if he were a butler ushering a guest into his master’s den. Vaddon entered the room without bothering to acknowledge the guard’s gesture, which may or may not have been a clumsy attempt at humor. It was sometimes hard to tell with warforged, especially given their complete lack of facial expression. Veit Bergerron preferred to employ warforged as his personal guards, for to him they seemed the ultimate soldiers, created for the sole purpose of engaging in battle and possessing no human weaknesses: no need for food, drink, rest, or sleep. Vaddon had fought both alongside and against warforged during the Last War, and on the whole, if he had to work with nonliving beings, he preferred zombies. At least they had been human once. To him, warforged were nothing more than animated weapons, like swords that had magically sprouted arms and legs and which could fight on their own, and they should be treated as such.

  Still, Bergerron’s fondness for warforged had made him more amenable to backing the Outguard and the symbiont project, something Vaddon had been grateful for at the time. Now he wished the warlord had withheld his support. If he had, the events of yesterday wouldn’t have occurred. His brother would still be sane, and his daughter would still be uncorrupted.

  You can’t blame Bergerron, Vaddon told himself. It was your project. You were in command. Whatever went wrong was your responsibility, no one else’s.

  This was Bergerron’s library, and the warlord sat in a luxuriously soft leather chair before a fireplace, an open book resting on his lap, a glass of red wine in one hand. The chair and a small mahogany table next to it were the only furnishings in the room. Shelves filled with books lined every inch of the walls, leaving the doorway as the only open space. This truly was the warlord’s library, not meant for anyone else to use but him.