by Tim Waggoner
But Ranja regretted her choice when she saw a symbiont burst forth from Elidyr’s mouth to paralyze the farmer, and she really regretted it when he touched the farmer’s face, stretching the man’s flesh as if it were bread dough. And when he actually stuck his hand inside the farmer’s head …
The hackles rose on the back of Ranja’s neck, and a low growl sounded deep in her throat. Instinctively, she changed form, teeth and claws lengthening, hair thickening and becoming furlike, her face assuming a more bestial aspect.
Perhaps it was her growling, soft though it was, or perhaps it was due to some preternatural sense that Elidyr possessed, but the man looked away from the farmer and turned his gaze toward the shifter. He grinned, as if delighted to see her, raised his oversized claw of a hand and waved.
That was too much for Ranja. She bolted and fled as swiftly as her bestial form would allow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The town of Geirrid lay in the center of Warlord Bergerron’s lands, surrounded by open fields and dense forests beyond. It was the kind of place you stopped briefly at on your way to somewhere else, and that was precisely why Lirra hoped she’d be able to move about without drawing too much attention to herself.
The guards stationed at the town’s main entrance hadn’t given her a first glance, let alone a second, as she entered. Though identification papers were still required and checked in the larger cities and bordertowns, those living in Karrnath’s interior were able to travel freely and only had to show their papers if they caused a disturbance or were suspected of a crime. As a soldier, Lirra had been against such lax discipline, but she was grateful for it now, as it allowed her to enter Geirrid unchallenged and unnoticed.
After leaving the farmer lying unconscious in his field, Lirra had walked all night to reach Geirrid, and while her symbiont made her physically stronger, she was bone-tired, and it took an effort of will for her to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She’d managed to find water during her journey, but nothing to eat, and her stomach was so empty she thought it had probably forgotten what food was by now. Concealed by the folds of her “borrowed” cloak, the tentacle whip continually squeezed her forearm in a rhythmic pattern. She could sense the symbiont’s hunger. After all, it drew nourishment from her blood, and if she didn’t put food in her belly, the symbiont would have nothing to sustain itself. The way the aberration squeezed her arm reminded her of a hungry pet whining and pawing at its owner’s leg in order to get fed.
Patience, she told the whip. We need to find a place where we won’t be noticed.
But the tentacle whip refused to be mollified and continued squeezing Lirra’s forearm.
She felt a wave of irritation, but she was too weary for the emotion to build into anger. She knew she couldn’t afford to wait much longer to eat though. She needed her mind strong and clear if she was to continue resisting the aberration’s corrupting influence-and so she could plan a strategy for tracking down Elidyr. She didn’t know why she’d ever thought that she’d find her uncle by simply wandering around Karrnath’s countryside hoping to stumble onto him. Elidyr might not have been a soldier, but he was an intelligent man and an artificer as well, and even before his transformation yesterday, Lirra would’ve had a difficult time locating him if he didn’t want to be found. But now he had additional abilities to drawn on, and just because he was insane didn’t mean he was any less intelligent. To find her uncle, she would need a better plan, a real plan. But first she needed a decent meal.
This wasn’t Lirra’s first time in Geirrid. When her father had formed the Outguard, he’d drawn a number of members from the town’s garrison, Osten among them. Lirra had helped with the interview process, and thus had spent a number of days in town, though she’d spent most of the time in the garrison’s barracks and had taken her meals there. Still, she remembered Osten telling her of one particular tavern the soldiers often ate at when off duty. The food was simple, but there was plenty of it, and best of all, it was cheap. Osten had also told her that the owner had originally come from Thrane and was friendly to foreigners, so outlanders often patronized the establishment as well. It sounded perfect for her needs. Now if she could just remember where it was located …
As she continued walking, she had the sudden feeling that someone was following her. When she turned a corner, she ducked into the nearest alley and waited to see if anyone suspicious passed by, but in her current weary state of mind, everyone seemed suspicious. Finally, she decided it had only been her imagination, and she left the alley and resumed her search for the tavern.
She wandered the streets for another fifteen minutes before finally giving up and asking a halfling wearing an eyepatch if he knew the way to the Wyvern’s Claw. As he was giving her directions, the tentacle whip squeezed her arm more violently, causing her to let out a surprised yelp and earning her a curious look from the halfling.
“Hunger pangs,” she explained. The halfling eyed her dubiously, and she thanked him for his help and headed for the tavern.
The Wyvern’s Claw wasn’t much to look at from the outside-a plain stone facade, with a simple wooden sign hanging above the door displaying a crudely painted lizard’s claw.
When she stepped inside, she saw that the tavern’s interior was even less impressive than its exterior: dirt floor covered with straw to soak up spills, lopsided wooden tables and chairs that looked as if they’d been built by a particularly clumsy-handed child, and a pervasive odor of boiled cabbage and unwashed bodies. But Lirra had endured far worse conditions in her time as a soldier, and she walked into the room and took a seat at an empty table. She made sure to lower herself onto the rickety-looking chair carefully, as it appeared incapable of supporting anything heavier than a mouse. But the chair held, and Lirra signaled for the serving woman to come over.
Lirra ordered a bowl of beef stew, along with some bread and cheese, and a mug of ale to wash it all down. After the woman left, Lirra started to reach up to pull back her hood, but she stopped herself. It had been several months since the last time she’d been in town, but there was a chance, however remote, that someone might recognize her. Her father would be looking for her, and knowing Vaddon, he wouldn’t stop until he found her. Best not to give him any help, she decided. So the hood would stay up and with any luck, she’d remained unrecognized.
The patrons of the Wyvern’s Claw were the usual mix of travelers and down-on-their-luck vagabonds that passed through Geirrid, most of whom kept to themselves and looked as if their fondest wish was to be left alone. Good, Lirra thought. She should blend in here without any trouble.
There were soldiers, of course, wearing the uniform of Geirrid’s garrison, which wasn’t much different from that worn by the Outguard-another reason she was grateful for the concealment of her robe. There were a half dozen of them, men and women, laughing, talking, and drinking as if they were having a night out on the town instead of a late breakfast. Lirra guessed they’d gotten off night duty not that long ago and had decided to have a little fun before taking to their bunks for the day. A trio of dwarves sat not far from from the soldiers, and from their dress, Lirra took them to be merchants or perhaps bankers.
She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of the chair opposite her being pulled back from the table. She looked up to see a smiling shifter woman wearing the mottled green clothing of a scout or hunter sit down.
“Hello, Lirra. I have to warn you-the stew here isn’t very good.”
Lirra tensed and she felt the tentacle whip loosen around her forearm, preparing itself to be deployed if need be.
So much for blending in, she thought. She felt a spark of anger ignite inside her, and she struggled to keep it from fanning into a flame. The last thing she wanted to do was to reveal her symbiont in a crowd like this. If she intended to continue keeping a low profile, she was going to have to maintain control of her emotions, and maintain control of the tentacle whip. She forced herself to speak calmly as she replied to the woma
n.
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?”
“I’m Ranja, and it’s my business to know things. I get paid-and quite well, I might add-to find them out and then report what I’ve learned to my employer. Right now, that’s Arnora Raskogr.”
Before Lirra could say anything more, the serving woman returned with her food. As the woman set the wooden bowl on the table, Ranja ordered some stew and ale for herself.
When the serving woman departed, Lirra said, “I thought you disliked their stew.”
The shifter shrugged. “I do, but I’m hungry enough that I don’t care what it tastes like. You’re not the only one who was wandering the countryside all night, you know.”
Lirra gritted her teeth against a rising tide of irritation. She felt the tentacle whip’s barbed tip slither toward the edge of her sleeve, and she commanded it to remain hidden. The whip hesitated, and for a moment she thought it was going to reveal itself anyway, but then it reluctantly retreated.
She’s a threat and must be dealt with, her voice-but not her voice-whispered in her mind.
Maybe so, Lirra thought back. But not here and not now.
“I’m not one for playing games, Ranja. Tell me straight out: What are you doing here?”
Despite Lirra’s determination to keep a tight reign on her emotions, a sharp edge crept into her voice, and she saw the shifter’s eyes narrow, her nostrils flare, and her lips tighten. She drew back, only by an inch or so, but it was noticeable. She’s afraid of me, Lirra realized.
No, her inner voice said with smug satisfaction. She’s afraid of us.
She leaned forward and allowed a cold look to come into her gaze. In response, Ranja’s hair grew slightly coarser, and her nails lengthened a touch. But when the woman spoke, her voice sounded relaxed enough.
“Arnora got wind of your experiment at Bergerron’s lodge, and she sent me to spy on you and find out what you were up to. I was watching yesterday when Elidyr left the lodge, and I saw you follow close on his heels. Well, not all that close, considering you set out in the opposite direction than he did, but you get my meaning.”
So Bergerron hadn’t been acting out of paranoia when he’d ordered the symbiont project to shut down, Lirra thought. Ranja continued.
“I was intrigued, so I decided to follow you to see what I could learn. I tracked you all day and night.” She nodded at Lirra’s left arm. “Not even your little friend was aware of me.”
Lirra wanted to argue that she hadn’t exactly been performing at the peak of her abilities yesterday, given how confused her mind was by the fusion with the symbiont, but she said nothing. Even with a clear head, Lirra might not have detected the shifter’s presence-not if the woman hadn’t wanted her to.
Nearby, one of the garrison soldiers, who couldn’t have been long into his adulthood, laughed a bit too loudly and said to his companions, “Those are awfully fancy clothes for people who live in a hole in the ground, don’t you think?”
The man’s comment had obviously been about the dwarven merchants sitting close by, and it had just as obviously been said loudly enough for them to hear. The dwarves scowled but they didn’t rise to the bait.
Lirra gritted her teeth upon hearing the young soldier’s taunt. She was tempted to go over to the soldiers’ table and give them a quick refresher on manners, and she actually started to rise from her seat, but she stopped herself. There was no way she could confront the rude soldier, not in her current … condition. She decided to do her best to ignore the idiot and refocused her attention on Ranja.
“Why did you follow me instead of Elidyr?” she asked.
Ranja shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “To be honest, he frightened me. Not only does he have three … pets compared to your one, the man struck me as completely mad. Not the best combination, in my book.”
Ranja broke off as the serving woman brought her stew and ale. As soon as she departed, Ranja dug into her food, and Lirra realized she hadn’t touched hers at all. Lirra had no intention of letting her guard down around Ranja, but she’d come to the Wyvern’s Claw to fill her belly, and it would be foolish of her to ignore the food sitting right in front of her. So she too ate, and the women continued talking between mouthfuls.
“Why tell me these things?” Lirra asked. “I thought spies were supposed to be secretive.”
Ranja grinned. “My curiosity still isn’t satisified. I know in general what you were doing at the lodge, but I want to know the whole story. And while skulking around in the shadows can be a great deal of fun, sometimes it’s more effective to take the direct approach when you want to know something.” She paused to take a long swig of her ale. “And to be blunt, there are certain business considerations at work.”
It took Lirra a moment to understand what the shifter was getting at. “You’re hoping that Bergerron will pay you more than Raskogr to keep your mouth shut about our project.”
She grinned. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve played one Karrnathi warlord against another to maximize my profit.”
Lirra was about to respond when the table full of soldiers broke out in fresh laughter.
“I agree,” one of the soldiers-a red-headed woman-said. “The feathers in their caps are quite colorful. It puts one in mind of a trio of exotic birds imported from Xen’drik, does it not?”
“A trio of small birds!” amended the young soldier who’d first taunted the dwarves.
The soldiers laughed once more, and this time one of the dwarves slammed his fist down on the table and glared at them. One of his companions laid a hand on his arm, shook his head, and spoke softly. Lirra couldn’t hear the words, but she could well imagine them: We’re here on business, just passing through. No need to antagonize the local military-even if they are fools.
Anger roiled within Lirra’s heart, and she felt the tentacle whip stir in response. Karrnath had a long, proud military tradition, but even in the Karrnathi army there were those who abused the power and authority granted them by their rank, even if they were only low-ranking garrison soldiers in a small farming town like Geirrid.
Are you going to let those fools disgrace everything you’ve believed in your entire life? What would your father do if he were here? What would your mother do? Or your brother?
Lirra recognized the thoughts as not her own-or at least, not entirely her own-and she knew her symbiont was attempting to goad her into confronting the soldiers. She clamped down on her anger and concentrated on finishing the last of her stew. When she was done, she pushed the empty bowl away from her and looked at the shifter sitting across from her.
“You’re wasting your time. Not only won’t I tell you anything about the project, I can’t put you in touch with Bergerron.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Ranja challenged.
“Both, I suppose,” Lirra admitted.
The shifter glared at her for a moment before shrugging again and draining the last of her ale.
“I figured as much. If you were in the good graces of your people, you’d have returned to the lodge and rejoined them to hunt down Elidyr. I’m not sure what you did, Lirra, but it must’ve been serious. They had patrols out looking for you last night, you know.”
Despite her determination to keep silent, Lirra said, “It’s not what I did. It’s what I’ve become.”
“Not your choice, eh? Don’t bother denying it; I can hear it in your voice.” Ranja leaned forward and spoke more softly. “You can get rid of it, or so I understand. I’ve heard it’s a difficult, but not impossible.”
The shifter’s words caused the tentacle whip to rustle within Lirra’s sleeve like a restless serpent. She ignored it.
“Right now I need it.”
Ranja nodded. “To help you deal with Elidyr. I suppose what happened to him wasn’t his choice either? No answer? Ah, well. Still, you’re a brave woman, Lirra. Braver than I am. After what I saw Elidyr do last night, I wouldn’t want to come within a hundred miles of him.”
“What are you talking about?” Lirra’s body tensed, and it took all the control she had not to reach across the table and grab Ranja by the front of her tunic and shake the answers out of her.
Ranja told her of how she’d witnessed Lirra slaying the cow last night and her subsequent encounter with the animal’s owner. She also told her that Elidyr had appeared after she’d departed, and he’d done something to the farmer once the man had regained consciousness … something awful.
“I didn’t stick around to watch,” Ranja said. “My curiosity only carries me so far. But it looked as if Elidyr was somehow using his bare hands to … to mold the man’s flesh.” The shifter shuddered. “It was horrible.”
Lirra knew that none of the symbionts that had fused to her uncle’s body granted such a power, and she doubted the ability was due to some magical device he’d created. Then she remembered something Elidyr had once told her about the denizens of Xoriat. The aberrations were created by the daelkyr lords, and they often took ordinary creatures and reshaped their flesh to turn them into dolgaunts, dolgrims, and the like. Somehow yesterday-whether it was due to the malfunction of the Overmantle or the touch of the daelkyr who’d reached through the portal or a combination of both-Elidyr had gained the power to mold flesh. Lirra wondered to what mad purpose her uncle might turn his newfound ability, and the thought terrified her. She was now more determined than ever to find and stop him-but in order to accomplish that task, it was becoming clear to her that she was going to need help.
“I have a proposition for you, Ranja. You came to me in hope that I’d be able to introduce you to Lord Bergerron. I will do so-if you help me track down my uncle.”
The shifter’s eyes narrowed. “Earlier, you said you couldn’t put me in touch with Bergerron.”
“Not now,” Lirra admitted. “But once my uncle has been dealt with, I’ll be able to give up my … pet.”
The symbiont tightened painfully around her arm, but she ignored it.
“After that, I won’t have to avoid my people any longer. My father was in command of the symbiont project, and he has Bergerron’s ear. If you assist me in stopping Elidyr, I will ask my father to introduce you to Bergerron, and I have every confidence he will do so. He may not trust me right now, given my condition, but he wants Elidyr stopped as much as I do. And once I’m free of my pet, as you put it, I have no doubt things between us will return to the way they were.”