Lady Ruin lr-1

by Tim Waggoner

  At least, that was her hope. What if, even with her symbiont removed, Vaddon saw her as irredeemably tainted by corruption? Would he still trust her judgment as a soldier? Would he still regard her as his daughter? Would he still love her? Or in his eyes would she always remain a monstrous thing?

  Ranja regarded Lirra for several moments while she thought, and Lirra took the time to finish off the last of her ale.

  “Tempting,” Ranja said. “But it seems something of a gamble. First off, I’d rather not go anywhere near your uncle. Secondly, you can’t put in a good word for me with your father if Elidyr kills you, and from what I’ve seen of the man so far, he wields more power than you do. We have a saying in my line of work: ‘A promise of payment is always an empty one.’ ”

  Lirra shrugged. “Then forget we talked and go take your information to Lady Raskogr. But if you help me, you’ll learn even more about the symbiont project, and that will give you more bargaining power with Bergerron. And the more of his secrets you know, the more likely he’ll be to pay you to keep quiet about them.”

  “If he doesn’t kill me outright to keep me from talking,” Ranja said. “Still, I didn’t get into this line of work to play it safe.” She grinned. “All right, Lirra. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  The shifter stuck out her hand to shake, but before Lirra could reach for it, the woman quickly drew it back, an expression of near panic on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” Ranja said. “I just … I mean, I can’t …”

  “That’s all right.” Lirra understood. This must have been how Rhedyn had felt when she’d been reluctant to touch him, and she felt guilty for ever having made him feel this way.

  “Let’s settle up and we can get started.” Lirra raised her hand to get the serving woman’s attention, but just as the woman started toward their table, one of the garrison soldiers loudly said, “Bankers, eh? Well, they must deal in small change then!”

  Fury blossomed inside Lirra like a red-hot flower. Gritting her teeth and doing her best to hold in her anger, she reached into her purse, removed a couple silver coins and tossed them onto the table. “That ought to take care of the bill,” she said to Ranja, her voice tight. “Let me know if it doesn’t.” She then stood and forced herself to move slowly as she made her way to the soldiers’ table.

  All three of the dwarves were glaring at the soldiers, and two of the dwarves had their hands on the pommels of the long knives they wore at their sides. The dwarves were of a type-all male, black hair, black beards, squat noses, thin lips-and she assumed they were family based on their resemblance. Brothers, or perhaps cousins. Dwarven businesses were usually family ones.

  The soldiers were laughing too hard to notice her at first, but before long the young soldier who’d been the first to start taunting the dwarves looked up at her. He was younger than she’d thought at first, younger even than Osten, and she doubted he’d been with the garrison more than a couple months.

  The youth regarded her for a moment before giving her a sneer. “I’d say ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ but not even the most flea-bitten feline would go anywhere near something as ratty looking as you.”

  The tentacle whip twitched beneath Lirra’s robe, eager to strike out at the loudmouthed youth, and Lirra restrained it with an effort of will. She forced herself to speak calmly as she addressed the soldier. “You may be off duty, but you’re still wearing your uniform. I don’t think Rol Amark would appreciate the way someone under his command has been mocking visitors to his town. Do you?”

  The youth was clearly taken aback by her mention of the garrison commander’s name. He glanced at his friends, saw them looking at him with amusement that he was being called out by a stranger, and he turned back to Lirra, determined not to be made a fool of.

  “What gives you the right to lecture us? We’re Karrnathi soldiers. We don’t answer to civilians.” He looked her up and down. “And certainly not ones who look as if they spent the night sleeping on a dung heap.”

  Fresh anger surged through Lirra, and she imagined drawing her sword and lopping the fool’s head off. That would silence him right enough. She felt the tentacle whip’s excitement at the thought of the loudmouth losing his head, and she concentrated on keeping her sword hand relaxed at her side.

  The other soldiers started to laugh at the insult their comrade had delivered, but their merriment quickly died away when they saw the grim expression on Lirra’s face. Up to this point, she’d allowed her cloak to cover her uniform, and she was tempted to reveal it to the soldiers now, but she resisted. She didn’t want anyone in town to know who she was.

  “I’m a veteran,” she said, “and I doubt I’m the only one in here.”

  Everyone in the Wyvern’s Claw had gone silent as they watched the confrontation taking place in their midst. More than a few of the patrons cheered at Lirra’s words. She noticed the dwarves were watching her carefully, and while they hadn’t made any comments of their own so far, all three of them now gripped the handles of their long knives and had drawn them halfway out of their sheaths. Lirra continued, her tone becoming increasingly strained as she went.

  “The way you’re acting is a disgrace to your homeland and your family. I suggest that you apologize to the three gentlemen sitting over there”-she nodded toward the dwarves-“and then go back to the barracks to sleep off all the ale you’ve swallowed before you embarrass yourselves or Karrnath any further.”

  Though Lirra currently looked like any other down-on-her-luck ex-soldier, her military bearing and confident tone of command caused the soldiers no small amount of confusion. A couple looked as if they thought it best to do as she said and depart, but of course the loudmouth wasn’t having any of it. The last thing he wanted to do was lose face in front of his friends.

  He stood and turned to face Lirra. He was taller than she was, and he stepped toward her, clearly intending to use his height to intimidate her, but she didn’t move so much as a fraction of an inch away from him. He scowled, displeased that his petty tactic hadn’t worked. He then held out his hand.

  “Travel papers.”

  Lirra groaned inwardly. She had her papers with her, of course. Karrnathi citizens were required to keep them on their person whenever they weren’t in their homes, and soldiers carried their papers all the time, regardless of where they were. But her papers would reveal her to be Lirra Brochann, Captain in the Karrnathi army, and a member of the Order of Rekkenmark. She outranked every soldier here. Indeed, she outranked every member of the garrison, with the exception of Rol Amark, who was also a captain. But she couldn’t afford to expose her true identity just to put a wet-behind-the-ears soldier in his place.

  She held up her right hand in what she hoped was a gesture of conciliation. “Look, why don’t you just apologize to the dwarves, and then we can-”

  The youth drew a dagger from the sheath on his hip, stepped forward, and pressed the tip to the underside of Lirra’s jaw.

  He leaned in close to her face, and she could smell the stew and ale on his breath. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, bitch. I said present your papers-now.”

  The anger she’d fought so hard to contain now roared through Lirra like an uncontrollable wildfire, and an instant later the tentacle whip uncoiled from around her forearm and grabbed hold of the young soldier’s wrist. It squeezed and the bones inside snapped like kindling. The soldier cried out in pain as his fingers sprang open and the dagger tumbled to the floor.

  Lirra leaned forward until her mouth was close to his ear. Her voice was cold and dagger-edge sharp. “A couple words of advice: First, never draw a weapon on an opponent until you’ve taken the time to gauge his or her strength. And second, never call me bitch.”

  With a thought, she commanded the tentacle whip to hurl the youth away. He soared through the air and slammed into the wall next to the tavern’s fireplace, bounced off, and hit a table occupied by a half-elf who only barely managed to jump out of the way in time. The table collaps
ed into kindling and the youth hit the ground, groaned once, and lay still. Lirra had no idea how badly injured the fool was, and at that moment, she really didn’t care. As angry as she was, he was lucky to be alive.

  The youth’s fellow soldiers sat for a moment, stunned, but they quickly gathered their wits. They leaped to their feet, drew their swords, and glared at Lirra with undisguised loathing. She realized what she’d done then. Despite her best intentions, she’d revealed her true nature. She was a host to a symbiont, an impure thing to be reviled. Seeing the mingled fear and disgust in their eyes caused Lirra’s anger to drain away. She didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

  A voice came from someone standing at her side, startling her. She hadn’t heard anyone approach.

  “You’ve seen what my companion can do,” Ranja said, her words coming out as a near growl. Her full bestial aspect was upon her, and she looked more animal than human. “Your friend undoubtedly needs a healer. Why don’t you collect him and leave before there’s any more trouble?”

  The soldiers looked at each other, clearly unable to decide what the best course of action was. Lirra could almost read their thoughts. As Karrnathi soldiers stationed in Geirrid, they were pledged to protect the town, and one of their own had just been put down by a woman bearing a symbiont. On the other hand, they had been acting like children, and their friend had drawn a dagger on Lirra when she’d made no aggressive move toward him. In the end-and in the absence of orders from a superior officer-they gathered up their unconscious comrade and carried him out of the tavern, casting dark looks back at Lirra as they departed. With the soldiers gone, the show was over and the noise level in the Wyvern’s Claw returned to normal as the patrons went back to their various conversations.

  Lirra commanded the tentacle whip to withdraw into her sleeve and coil around her forearm once more. The symbiont wasn’t pleased about having its fun cut short, but it did as it was told. Lirra then turned to Ranja, weary from fighting so hard to control her anger and disappointed that she’d failed. She’d have to do better if she were to have any hope of using the symbiont instead of being used by it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The shifter’s bestial aspect was already fading, and by the time she finished speaking, she appeared fully human again. “You’re welcome.” She grinned. “Besides, I can’t have you getting killed before you can get me my introduction to Bergerron, can I?”

  “Then let’s get going. The sooner we track down Elidyr-” But before Lirra could finish the thought, one of the dwarves rose and walked over to her. He carried himself with great dignity, and if he was afraid of her at all, he didn’t show it. The conversation in the room died down once more as the patrons sensed more entertainment might be in the offing.

  “I am Quarran Delletar, Secundar of Clan Delletar.” The way he spoke his family’s name told Lirra that he expected her to recognize it, but when it was clear she didn’t, he went on. “You have our thanks for standing up for the honor of our clan, though it was unnecessary. We are perfectly capable of defending our name.”

  His tone was gruff, and his gratitude obviously grudging. There was also an edge of challenge in his voice, as if he was angry with Lirra for what she’d done. She glanced over at Quarran’s two companions and saw their expressions were neutral.

  They’re waiting to see what I’ll do, she thought.

  She inclined her head in acceptance of his thanks. “It was my honor, Secundar Delletar. Those soldiers needed a lesson in manners, and as a veteran of the Karrnathi military, it was my duty to see that they received it.”

  Quarran’s gaze strayed to her left arm and then returned to her face. “You have an unusual … skill. There are those who would look askance at such talent, but my people are practical first and foremost. We have a saying: ‘A tool is only as effective as the one who wields it.’ You wielded yours most effectively, and with restraint. I appreciate restraint. I believe in control, and I loathe waste.”

  He seemed to consider for a moment before reaching into a vest pocket and removing an iron token shaped like a coin. He flipped it to Lirra and she caught it easily. She examined it and saw that on one side was a design of a pick and shovel with their handles crossed, and on the other side was a series of runes she couldn’t decipher, but which she recognized as Dwarven letters.

  “That’s a token of Clan Delletar. If you ever have need of assistance, show this to any trader in Karrnath, and you shall receive aid. Any cost incurred by their assistance will be covered by my family.”

  Lira wasn’t sure when or if she’d ever have need to redeem the dwarf’s token, but she had no desire to offend him, so she tucked it into one of her uniform pockets.

  “Thank you, Secundar. You are most gracious.”

  “Not at all, Lady …”

  The question hung in the air, and Lirra didn’t know how to respond to it. She didn’t want to give her real name, but she also didn’t want to lie to Quarran. Still, she had little choice. But as she struggled to come up with a false a name to give the man, Ranja stepped in.

  “She is known as Lady Ruin,” the shifter said.

  Quarran raised an eyebrow at this, but then he slowly smiled at Lirra. “It suits you, my lady. Good travels to you.” He nodded to Ranja. “And you as well.”

  The dwarf started to turn, but before he did, Lirra said, “One more thing, Secundar.”

  He paused and gave her a questioning look.

  “Why did you and your friends stop in here? It’s a humble tavern, to say the least, and the stew leaves more than a little to be desired.”

  Quarran laughed. “You humans lack the discerning palates of dwarves. This tavern serves the best stew in the entire country-and they charge almost nothing for it!”

  Chuckling, Quarran turned and walked off. The other two dwarves rose from their table and joined him, and the three departed the tavern without a backward glance. The patrons of the Wyvern’s Claw once more went back to their conversations, but they were hushed, more than a few men and woman tossed furtive glances Lirra’s way, and once or twice she heard the words Lady Ruin pass their lips.

  She turned to Ranja, but the shifter just grinned.

  “My people have a saying, too: ‘A name is what your friends call you.’ ” She glanced in the direction of the table that had been broken when Lirra flung the loudmouthed soldier through the air. One of the servers was busy clearing away the splintered remnants of the table and trying not to look at Lirra as she worked. “Lady Ruin has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” the shifter said. “And you have to admit, it’s appropriate.”

  “It’s not exactly the name of someone who wishes to travel unnoticed,” Lirra said, irritated, “but I suppose it will do as well as any other.”

  “Fortune smiled upon you this day, my friend. Clan Delletar is one of the most powerful banking families among the dwarves, and they don’t hand out their tokens lightly. You must’ve really impressed them. And it’s not a one-time thing, you know. The token is yours to keep for life, and you can use it as many times as you wish. It’s a very handy thing to have indeed.”

  The greed in Ranja’s voice was unmistakeable, and Lirra reached into her vest to pull out the token. “Do you want it? Perhaps we can count it as partial payment for your helping me find Elidyr.”

  “I’d love to take it from you, but I can’t. It’s only good for you. Quarran and his friends will soon begin spreading the word among the dwarven community that they gave a token to a woman with a symbiont who goes by the name Lady Ruin. And if anyone else ever tries to use your token, Clan Delletar will make them regret it.”

  Lirra didn’t know how she felt about that. It was possible that the token would come in handy somewhere down the line, but she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of the name Ranja had saddled her with being spread throughout Karrnath, and perhaps beyond. Still, there was nothing she could do about it, and she placed the dwarven token back into her vest pocket and decided to forget about
it for now.

  “All right,” Lirra said. “Now if we can get started?”

  The two women crossed the room to the door, Lirra uncomfortably aware of the patron’s gazes following them as they left. So much for keeping a low profile, she thought.

  Once on the street, Ranja starting ticking off a list of things they would need.

  “We could probably use a pair of horses. And we’ll need packs and other supplies. I don’t know how much silver you have on you, but I suppose I can cover the cost of whatever we buy for now.” She grinned. “Unless we get lucky and can find a dwarven merchant in town. In which case we can start putting that token of yours to good use.”

  Before Lirra could reply, she heard shouts and cries of alarm coming from the far end of the street. She looked and saw a mass of people running toward them, and her first thought was that word had gotten out that a woman with a symbiont had been brawling in the Wyvern’s Claw, and the outraged citizens of Geirrid had banded together to come after her. She drew her sword and the tentacle whip uncoiled and slipped free of her sleeve. Beside her, Ranja shifted and raised her claws, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

  But the wave of townsfolk broke around the two women as if they were a pair of large rocks in a rushing river, and it was quickly clear to Lirra that the people weren’t interested in her. Indeed, from the way they kept casting glances behind them, it appeared they were running from something.

  She felt suddenly strange, almost dizzy. There was a tingling sensation at the base of her skull, and cold nausea filled her stomach. She knew instinctively that something was wrong here-very wrong.