by Tim Waggoner
Sinnoch turned back around to face his work, though since he had no eyes with which to see, Rhedyn didn’t know why the dolgaunt bothered. Rhedyn watched him work in silence for a time, and eventually Sinnoch said, “Something on your mind?”
The question startled Rhedyn out his thoughts. There’d been a mocking edge to Sinnoch’s words, and Rhedyn doubted the dolgaunt was sincere in wanting to know, but the warrior found himself answering truthfully anyway.
“I’m worried about Lirra. You saw her yesterday … I’m afraid she may be having trouble adjusting to her symbiont.”
“Afraid she’s not going to return to you and be your little playmate, you mean,” Sinnoch said.
Anger welled sudden and strong within Rhedyn, and he felt his shadow sibling whispering to him, urging him to strike out at the dolgaunt for taunting him. He felt a shadowy sheen cover him, and his hand dropped to his sword.
“Control yourself, boy,” Sinnoch said calmly, without turning to look at Rhedyn. “Slaughtering me won’t make her come back to you any faster.”
Rhedyn fought the urge to attack the dolgaunt, and he felt his anger begin to subside. It helped that Sinnoch was right. His death wouldn’t speed Lirra’s return. Rhedyn’s shadowy aspect retreated and he removed his hand from his sword.
“There now, isn’t that better?” Sinnoch said in his mocking tone. “Don’t fret about your paramour. She’s strong-willed, and hosts like her take some time before they fully settle in to having a symbiont. Actually, as strong as her will is, she might well have resisted fusing with the tentacle whip if it hadn’t been for the influence of the Overmantle. And because of the Overmantle, she won’t be any ordinary combination of host and symbiont. She might not have been graced with my master’s touch as was her uncle, but the Overmantle channeled the power of Xoriat into her during the joining process. It made both Lirra and the whip stronger than they would’ve been otherwise, and granted them abilities beyond what they would normally have. I don’t fully understand the scope of their power, mind you, but I have no doubt it’s there. Lirra’s adjustment period will take longer because of this, but as I said, she’s strong-willed, and I’m confident her sanity will remain more or less intact once the process has finished.”
Rhedyn hoped the dolgaunt’s words would prove true. Now that Lirra had a symbiont, there was nothing standing in the way of their being together. She’d come to understand that eventually. She had to.
“And once she’s adjusted, will she be sympathetic to what we’re trying to do?” Rhedyn asked.
The dolgaunt shrugged, the motion making the cilia on his shoulders ripple. “Perhaps. But she may well take some convincing and that task shall fall to you. You know her far better than I. How do you think she will react when she learns that you intend to help me free Ysgithyrwyn, that in fact you’ve been helping me all along?”
After Rhedyn had joined with his shadow sibling, he saw the world differently. It was as if he’d lived his entire life with his eyes closed, and by accepting a symbiont, he’d finally had them opened. He’d come to understand how limited the material world was. So many rules of nature that were inalterable, so many events that happened only one way, and once those events occurred, they were fixed in time, unable to be changed. Rhedyn understood all about wanting to change things but not being able to. When he was a child, he’d lost both his parents to the war, and he’d wanted them back so very, very much. Wanted it so badly, in fact, that his grandmother eventually took him to a garrison that had a significant contigent of zombie soldiers, and there she pointed out two particular undead to him-ones that had once been his mother and father.
“See? They’re still alive,” his grandmother had said. “Still serving Karrnath, still fighting to protect our borders and keep us safe.”
But Rhedyn hadn’t been reassured by the sight of his undead parents. Instead he’d been horrified. And on that day he’d come to understand a profound truth about the world. It was a place where awful things happened sometimes, unspeakable things, and once they happened, there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do about them.
But then he’d been granted the gift of his symbiont, and he heard the song of Xoriat singing through his mind. Xoriat … a realm where the laws of nature held no meaning, where time meant nothing, where reality itself could be molded and shaped, provided one’s will was strong enough. That was what Ysgithyrwyn and the other daelkyr promised for Eberron. Freedom from suffering and sorrow, freedom from the oppression of the real. The daelkyr wished to transform Eberron into a paradise, and Rhedyn intended to do everything he could to help them. To this end, he’d sought out Sinnoch and offered his services to the dolgaunt. He’d already sensed Sinnoch had ulterior motives for assisting with the symbiont project, and he’d been delighted when the dolgaunt had confirmed his suspicions. Things hadn’t quite gone according to plan so far, Rhedyn had to admit, but all was far from lost. If the Overmantle could be repaired, the portal could be reopened and Ysgithyrwyn could be set free-the first of many daelkyr who would stride across the face of the material world and remake it in their own wondrous image.
“I don’t know how she’ll react,” Rhedyn admitted.
“Then perhaps you’d best hope she’s not quite as strong-willed as she seems,” the dolgaunt offered.
That, Rhedyn thought wryly, is one hope that would definitely be in vain.
Osten sat perched on a large rock not far from the main camp, honing the edge of his sword with a sharpening stone, one slow stroke after another. As he worked, he kept an eye on the camp. He saw Ksana approach General Vaddon and sit with him, saw Rhedyn go to Sinnoch’s tent and chat with the warforged guards a moment before entering. Osten was glad that the general had someone like Ksana to talk to. Even a strong, experienced leader like Vaddon Brochann needed someone to simply listen to him from time to time, and the cleric knew many ways to heal-and not all of them required drawing on divine power.
Though he’d certainly benefited from the latter. Twice now, in fact. If it hadn’t been for Ksana, he would’ve been a dead man by now, and both times it would’ve been due to that damned symbiont. Yes, technically the second time he would’ve died because of the blow Lirra had given him to the throat, but he didn’t blame her for that. She’d just been doing her duty. Once again, he’d lost control of his mind to the tentacle whip, and the creature had taken command of his body. Lirra had known that, and she’d struck quickly and efficiently in order to cause Osten the least amount of pain possible. Even though the symbiont had been holding the reins of his body, Osten had still been aware at the time, and he’d recognized what Lirra had done and why. No, it had been the symbiont’s doing-that, and his own weakness that had twice allowed the aberration to take control of him.
And now Lirra had become cursed with the burden of the tentacle whip, and she was out there somewhere, doing what-and to whom-only the gods knew. Osten prayed that she was safe, and that whomever she came in contact with survived the encounter. Lirra Brochann was stronger than him, that he was certain of, and he doubted the tentacle whip would have an easy time controlling her. Even so, he knew better than anyone, save Lirra, how strong the whip’s influence could be, how insidious, and he hoped her strength would prove sufficient to allow her to resist the symbiont’s corruption.
Yesterday, when Osten had fully recovered from his latest wounds-the physical ones, that is; the emotional ones would take a bit more time to heal-he’d vowed that he’d do whatever it took to help Lirra. Since then, he’d followed the general’s orders and traveled with the rest of the Outguard to the outskirts of Geirrid to make camp and await news of Lirra or Elidyr. He’d helped pitch the tents, take care of the horses, and gather firewood and water. Outwardly, he was still the good little soldier that had first joined the symbiont project. But inwardly, he no longer considered himself a member of the Outguard. He was Lirra’s servant now, even if she didn’t know it yet, and he was only biding his time until he could be reunited with his
mistress once more. And once that occurred, he intended to stand by her side and aid her in any way he could, regardless of the cost to himself. And if he was called upon to kill Lirra in order to free her from the tentacle whip’s influence, then he would do so, though with a heavy heart.
His thoughts were interrupted as Vaddon jumped to his feet.
“We’ve found Elidyr!” the general bellowed. “He’s in Geirrid right now! Mount up!”
Osten smiled grimly as he put his sharpening stone away and quickly tested the edge of his blade with his thumb. A tiny sliver of flesh peeled away bloodless, and he nodded, satisfied. Perhaps they hadn’t found Lirra yet, but Elidyr was the next best thing. He was looking forward to trying out his newly sharpened sword on the artificer.
He stood, sheathed his weapon, and started running toward the horses.
Inside the tent, Sinnoch and Rhedyn heard Vaddon’s command, and the dolgaunt smiled.
“See?” Sinnoch said as he began gathering up the pieces of the Overmantle. “I told you we had only to wait.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nothing personal, Lirra,” Ranja said, “but I’m not sure Lord Bergerron has enough silver to get me to go up against those things! I’m not sure even Kaius has enough!”
Elidyr’s white-eyed servants walked stiffly toward them, like puppets manipulated by unseen strings, and their vacant, slack-jawed expressions never changed, whether they were simply walking down the street or slaughtering someone who’d gotten in their way.
“Go then,” Lirra said. “I won’t think any the less of you for it.”
Ranja grinned as she reached into one of her tunic pockets. “What, and miss all the fun?”
From her pocket, she withdrew a handful of what looked like iridescent pearls. The shifter pulled back her arm and hurled the tiny spheres toward the oncoming white-eyes with all her considerable strength. The pearl-like objects soared through the air and struck a number of white-eyes, exploding with bright, soundless flashes of light. Lirra had witnessed any number of magical weapons used during the Last War, but she’d never seen anything quite like these. Instead of tearing apart the white-eyes’ bodies with concussive force as she expected, the energies released from the spheres caused the white-eyes to begin collapsing inward on themselves. Their bodies began to compress, as if they were being pushed upon by an invisible force from all directions. Their forms began to crumple and shrink, bones snapping, muscles tearing, skin splitting as their bodies were reduced to a fifth their original size. The process wasn’t a smooth one, however. The white-eyes’ healing ability struggled to fight off the effects of Ranja’s spheres, and sometimes the compression would halt, even begin to reverse, but then the magic would intensify and the process would continue. When all was finally said and done, five white-eyes had been reduced to lopsided fleshy masses lying still upon the stone street.
“A working girl has to spend her money on something. I like to make sure I have the best toys.” Ranja gave Lirra a wink.
Elidyr raised his hand and the surviving white-eyes halted.
“Most impressive, shifter!” Elidyr said, his tone holding all the enthusiasm of a young child who’d just witnessed a particularly entertaining feat. “Whoever made those for you did fine work. Now shall I show you one of my tricks?”
The stormstalk curled around Elidyr’s shoulder straightened, trained its overlarge eye on Ranja, and an instant later a bolt of lightning leaped forth from the creature’s orb and streaked toward the shifter. Lirra had anticipated Elidyr’s move, and even before he’d finished speaking, she’d commanded the tentacle whip to grab hold of Ranja’s arm and yank the shifter out of harm’s way. The stormstalk’s bolt sizzled through empty air and dissipated without doing any damage.
A soft whine escaped Ranja’s throat as she frantically shook herself free of the tentacle whip’s coils.
“Thanks but, eew!” The shifter shuddered. “It felt like being grabbed by a length of animated intestine.”
“Stop complaining,” Lirra muttered. “The whip kept you from getting your fur scorched, didn’t it?” She turned to face her uncle. He hadn’t commanded the white-eyes to continue their advance, and she had the feeling that he hadn’t seriously been trying to injure Ranja, that he’d loosed the bolt of lightning at her more for amusement’s sake than anything.
The sight of her uncle filled Lirra with conflicting emotions. It was because of him that she’d become a monstrosity, and while she wasn’t sure how he’d done it, she was certain that he was responsible for whatever foul magic had created the hideous white-eyes. Elidyr had become a fiend, and he needed to be stopped before he could hurt anyone else. But she also felt overwhelming sorrow for the transformation that had befallen her uncle. He’d been a brilliant man, and while he could be arrogant and short-tempered at times, he’d been kind and loving as well, a good uncle to her, and despite the differences between him and Vaddon, a good brother to her father. She wondered if anything of the man Elidyr had been still remained buried somewhere inside, or if the dark influence of his symbionts-along with the daelkyr’s foul touch-had irrevocably corrupted both his mind and soul. She hoped some way might be found to restore Elidyr to sanity, but she feared it was already too late to save him.
Elidyr came forward, stepping through pools of blood from the slaughtered garrison soldiers that lay scattered on the street. He paused to gaze down at the compressed masses that had been white-eyes and then kicked one as if it were a ball and sent it rolling down the street. He then continued walking forward until he stood within five feet of Lirra and Ranja. Lirra felt her symbiont’s eagerness to attack before Elidyr could strike at them, and as dangerous as he’d become, she was tempted, but she restrained herself. She had to at least make an attempt to reach him.
“I wasn’t joking when I said I was looking all over town for you, Lirra,” he said. “The moment I set foot in Geirrid I sensed your presence. It took me a while to track you down, but then I’m still learning to use my new abilities. As are you, I imagine. Speaking of new abilities, what do you think of my creations?” He gestured toward the surviving white-eyes. “They take a little while to make, but the basic process is relatively simple. Akin to molding clay, when you get right down to it. I gathered them from several farms on my way to Geirrid, and once we arrived, I decided it would be fun to put them through their paces and see what they could do. They’re wonderfully effective, don’t you think? Strong, obedient, resistant to injury.” He scowled at Ranja. “Most injuries, that is.”
Lirra looked at the white-eyes in a different light. They might be monsters now, transformed by her mad uncle, but they’d been families-fathers, mothers, children … simple farmers whose only crime had been to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anger blossomed anew inside her, and the tentacle whip screamed out for her to attack, but she fought to keep her emotions under control. She needed to stay calm while she talked with Elidyr. If she lost her temper, she’d attack him without thought, without strategy, and she knew he was too powerful for her to beat in a straight fight-especially when he had the white-eyes to call upon. And besides, she didn’t want to attack him, she reminded herself. Not unless she had no other choice.
“You need help, Uncle,” Lirra said. “Bonding with so many symbionts has damaged your mind. Those things …” She gestured toward the white-eyes. “No sane mind could’ve created them. Surely you must see that!”
Ranja elbowed her in the ribs. “A word of advice,” she whispered. “Try not to antagonize the scary man and his army of monsters. I have a few more toys at my disposal, but I don’t have that many.”
Elidyr looked at Lirra, and she saw nothing of the man he’d been in his gaze. Only the bright light of madness shone in his eyes. “Concepts like sane or insane no longer have any meaning for me, Niece. Nor should they for you. Instead, you should start thinking in terms of limited and unlimited. This world”-he gestured at the austere stone buildings surrounding them-“is limited. So much so th
at it can scarcely be said to exist at all. It’s only one step up from an illusion, little more than a child’s paint smears on a tissue-thin piece of paper. Crudely rendered and”-he gazed down upon the dead body of a solider-“so easily shredded.” He returned his gaze to Lirra and reached up with the outsized claw of his living gauntlet to gently scratch the head of his stormstalk. “Xoriat is a higher realm than this one, Lirra. A boundless place of endless possibilities. It represents freedom in its most pure and absolute form. That’s what we can bring to this world, and I’m giving you the chance to help me do it.”
Lirra felt the last shred of hope that she might be able to help her uncle fade. He was clearly insane. “Do what, precisely?”
“What do you think?” Ranja hissed. “Help him to achieve whatever megalomaniacal scheme he’s cooked up. I ought to know. I work for Karrnathi warlords, and they practically invented megalomaniacal schemes!”
Elidyr laughed. “The shifter is right enough as it goes, though I’d quibble with her terminology. You and I both needed a period of adjustment, a chance to acclimate ourselves to our new condition, explore our gifts, and better understand our new perspective on the world. But that time is over. Now I intend to do everything in my not inconsiderable new power to bring the glory and wonder of Xoriat to this world. To Karrnath first, then Khorvaire, and finally to all of Eberron! Until the barriers between the planes completely break down and there is no longer any difference between one world and the other. Then, and only then, will everyone know the same joy we’ve discovered.”