Lady Ruin: An Eberron Novel

by Tim Waggoner

  “What … happened?” he whispered.

  Osten didn’t see Vaddon coming up behind him, and Lirra’s father couldn’t see the expression on the other man’s face. Lirra tried to call out a warning, to tell her father that Osten was no longer under the influence of the symbiont, but her voice refused to work, and all that came out of her mouth was a soft croak. The general’s own features were horribly calm as he stepped up to Osten, raised his sword and brought it slicing down onto the man’s arm where the symbiont was attached.

  Osten screamed, and Lirra’s fragile hold on consciousness evaporated.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Warm healing energy spread through Lirra’s side like liquid sunlight, suffusing skin, muscle, and bone, washing away pain as it mended. The sensation was so soothing that Lirra found herself drowsing, and she nearly started when a soft feminine voice spoke a single word.

  “Better?”

  Lirra opened her eyes and looked up at the speaker, a lithe middle-aged woman with large green eyes and pointed ears whose blonde hair held only a few strands of gray. “Much. Thank you, Ksana.”

  The half-elf smiled. “You’re most welcome.” The cleric removed her hand from Lirra’s side, and the warmth dissipated. Lirra started to sit up, but the half-elf gently yet firmly pushed her back down onto the cot.

  “Best to lie still for a few moments longer,” Ksana said. “A bit of rest will do you good.”

  The bedroom window was open and the curtains drawn back, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to filter into the infirmary, along with a pleasantly cool breeze. The wind felt soothing on Lirra’s skin, but she was especially grateful for the sunshine. Summers in southern Karrnath were cloudy more often than not, and sun was always a welcome sight.

  Lirra looked at the cot where Osten lay, eyes closed, hands—both of them; Ksana had managed to save his arm, she noted with relief—folded on his stomach. The tentacle whip was gone and he was alive, but despite Ksana’s attentions, the young soldier’s skin was pale and his breathing shallow. His clothes had been exchanged for a simple white robe—a good thing, considering how much blood had been on them. At first Lirra had no idea if the man was conscious, but then she noted the way his eyes moved erratically beneath his closed lids, saw his facial muscles jerk and spasm. He was sleeping then, but from the look of it, not sleeping peacefully.

  “Will Osten recover?” Lirra asked.

  Ksana’s expression grew more serious. “Yes … despite your father’s best efforts to kill him.” She shook her head, though Lirra couldn’t tell whether she did so in frustration, admiration, or a combination of the two.

  “He was just trying to protect me.”

  “Of course he was,” Ksana said. “Vaddon is never more dangerous than when he thinks you’re in trouble.”

  Lirra started to reply, but she bit back her words. She knew Ksana wasn’t mocking her father. Ksana had served with Vaddon on numerous campaigns, and she’d been around so often while Lirra had been growing up that she was like a member of the family. When Lirra’s mother Mafalda had been killed during the Battle of Jaythen’s Pass when Lirra was just a child, it had been Ksana who’d helped Lirra through her grief. And the cleric had done the same a few years later when her brother Hallam fell at the Siege of Thiago. Ksana might tease on occasion, but she would never mock someone she cared for.

  “The boy’s strong, which is a damned good thing considering the state he was in when he was brought to me. After Osten lost control of his symbiont, your father ordered the creature be removed from his body. It wasn’t an easy—or a neat—process with the boy unconscious, but your uncle and his”—her upper lip curled in disgust—“assistant helped, and in the end they managed to detach the tentacle whip. Unfortunately for Osten, his injuries were so severe that being weakened like that nearly killed him. If I hadn’t been there to tend to him as soon as the symbiont was removed … Well, it was a close enough thing as it was, and let’s just leave it at that. He will recover, though even after the blessings of Dol Arrah, it may yet be a couple days before he regains his full strength.”

  “Thank the Host,” Lirra said.

  Ksana smiled. “As always,” she said, but her smile quickly fell away. “Would that I could heal his mind as easily as I mended his flesh. Being bonded with a symbiont can take a heavy toll on the host’s mind and spirit. Vaddon told me what happened during Osten’s test. I won’t know for certain what sort of damage it might have done to his mind until he awakens.” Ksana turned to regard Lirra.

  “The situation got out of hand today,” she said. “You’re lucky you weren’t injured more seriously than you were. Attempting to control symbionts is a chancy proposition under the best of conditions, but Osten—”

  “Nothing personal,” Lirra interrupted, “but I’m bound to get a lecture from my father about what happened today. I don’t need one from you too.”

  The cleric scowled and was about to reply when the infirmary door opened and Rhedyn stepped into the room. His shadowy aspect wasn’t drawn so tightly around him at the moment, and his features were clear—handsome face, chestnut-colored hair brushing his shoulders, neatly trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes—though even with the sunlight from the open window, he still appeared partially cloaked in shade. He smiled as he walked over to the two women.

  “Good afternoon, Ksana. I see you’ve managed to keep our Lirra alive for yet another day.”

  “That’s Captain Lirra, to you,” Lirra said in a mock-stern voice.

  Rhedyn smiled as he executed a half bow. “Of course. My apologies.” As he straightened, he glanced over at Osten and his expression became grim. “I suppose he’ll recover as well.”

  Ksana gave Lirra a last look before turning to Rhedyn. “You don’t sound too happy about the prospect.”

  “Osten failed to maintain control of his symbiont, and in so doing, he placed Lirra in great danger and forced the general to nearly take his life.”

  “Try not to judge Osten so harshly,” Lirra said. “It’s not an easy task to resist a symbiont. You know that better than most.”

  The shadowy sheen surrounding Rhedyn’s body darkened slightly, and the effect caused his blue eyes to appear dark gray. “It’s precisely because I know what that struggle is like that I can judge him. Osten didn’t merely hesitate due to the symbiont’s influence, nor did he simply fail to make it obey his commands. The tentacle whip took him over completely, both body and mind. Osten was the puppet, and the symbiont was the one pulling the strings.”

  Rhedyn was a few years older than Lirra, close to thirty, and like her, he’d been trained at the Rekkenmark Academy. He was a nephew of Veit Bergerron and, since the warlord had produced no children of his own, that made him a potential heir to Bergerron’s lands. Despite his noble upbringing, Rhedyn didn’t act as if he were better than any other soldier, and he was as skilled as any warrior she’d ever served with.

  She admired how well Rhedyn controlled his own symbiont—a shadow sibling—although she had to admit that she found herself at times uncomfortable around him since he’d joined with the creature.

  “Osten’s failure is as much my fault as his,” Lirra said. “I’m the one that recommended he be considered for a symbiont.” She looked over at the young man once more, self-conscious to be talking about him as if he weren’t there. But Osten was still sleeping soundly.

  “He was a good choice,” Ksana said. “He’s young and strong, and don’t forget, he volunteered willingly. And your uncle interviewed him thoroughly before approving him.”

  “And it wasn’t as if he received just any symbiont,” Rhedyn added. “That tentacle whip is particularly strong and willful. It will make a powerful weapon … assuming a suitable host can be found.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Lirra conceded. “Thanks for stepping in to help. If you hadn’t stunned the tentacle whip …”

  “I could hardly stand by and allow my captain to be killed, could I?” Rhedy
n smiled. He started to reach out to touch her hand, but then paused, as if thinking better of it. Before he could withdraw his hand, she reached up and clasped it. His flesh felt cool and too smooth, like a serpent’s, and she had to force herself to keep holding on.

  Rhedyn smiled gratefully and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

  “What happened to the whip?” Lirra asked. “Was it damaged?”

  “Not permanently. After I stunned it, your father’s sword blow weakened Osten to the point where the whip could fight no more on its own, and your uncle was able to detach it from Osten’s body. Elidyr and Sinnoch are making sure that the symbiont is returned to its cage as we speak.”

  Lirra remembered capturing this particular aberration. She often led the hunting parties that journeyed into the Nightwood in search of symbionts. Osten’s tentacle whip had a presence that was stronger than most. It radiated a sly, baleful intelligence that Lirra found daunting, and in retrospect, she wasn’t all that surprised that the creature had proved too much for Osten to handle. She wasn’t certain Rhedyn would’ve been able to master it, and he had already proven that he could serve as a host to a symbiont without having his personality overwhelmed.

  “I hate to do this to you,” Rhedyn said, “but the general sent me to bring you to the den. He wants to, and I quote, ‘Have a few words with that rock-headed daughter of mine.’ ” He turned to Ksana. “He’d like you to come too, cleric—and he’s summoned Elidyr as well. Not Sinnoch though. I don’t think your father cares for the dolgaunt.”

  That was understatement. Vaddon absolutely loathed the creature.

  Ksana glanced at Osten, who still slumbered fitfully.

  “I’d prefer not to leave Osten’s side,” she said.

  “The general was most insistent,” Rhedyn said.

  Ksana sighed. “What else is new?”

  “Osten’s well liked among the Outguard,” Lirra said. “I won’t have any trouble finding a volunteer to sit with him so you can attend the meeting.”

  Lirra sat up and swung her legs over the side of the cot. The movement made her feel a touch lightheaded, but the sensation soon passed and she was able to stand without difficulty.

  Her father had summoned them all. She knew it had to have something to do with the reason why he’d insisted on being present during Osten’s test, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be, and there was no way to guess. Her father was a man of many moods, and she’d never been able to predict them with any degree of accuracy. One thing was certain though. Whatever Vaddon wanted, Lirra doubted she was going to like it.

  “Gently now. I don’t want this one hurt.”

  Elidyr stood watching while a pair of soldiers attempted to wrestle the tentacle whip into its cage. The soldiers—one man, one woman—wore full armor, including helms and visors, that had enchantments embedded in the metal by Elidyr to repel a symbiont attack. Even with the armor, there was still a risk that a symbiont might be able to attach to the wearer, especially if the symbiont was strong and determined. But it helped to cut down on the danger.

  Neither of the soldiers showed any sign of having heard the artificer’s words of caution as they continued fighting the thrashing, writhing symbiont. Though the tentacle whip made no sound—indeed, it possessed no capability of doing so—the air in the chamber was charged with tension, and the other captive symbionts moved about restlessly in their cages. The soldiers wielded devices Elidyr had specially designed for handling symbionts—metal poles with retractable cable nooses. Both ends of the tentacle whip—the barbed tip and the mouth—were held tight by the nooses, allowing the Karrns to drag the symbiont across the stone floor to its cage. Though someone unfamiliar with symbionts would’ve thought the whip fought fiercely, Elidyr knew the whip was putting up only a token fight, weakened as it was by Rhedyn’s attack and the forced removal from its host. Still, its struggles were strong enough that it might injure itself if its handlers weren’t cautious.

  The hooded brown-robed figure standing beside Elidyr sniffed in derision.

  “It seems the reputation you Karrns have for bravery is somewhat exaggerated. Not only do your people need to wear armor to handle one symbiont, they also need enchanted armor.” The dolgaunt spoke in a phlemgy, whispery rattle, his voice a sickening parody of human speech.

  “I’d speak more softly if I were you, Sinnoch. Your presence in the lodge is tolerated only because I’ve interceded with my brother on your behalf. But his sufferance is not without limit, and if he heard you speaking of soldiers in his command like that, he’d run you through without a moment’s hesitation.”

  Sinnoch sniffed again, but he said nothing more. Sinnoch’s robe was large on his almost skeletal frame, the voluminous hood and long sleeves concealing the dolgaunt’s inhuman features. There was movement beneath the cloth over Sinnoch’s shoulder blades, sinuous and serpentlike, indicating Sinnoch’s true nature. Elidyr didn’t know if the movement of the shoulder tentacles was an unconscious gesture on the creature’s part, or if he did it on purpose to remind all within eyeshot that he wasn’t human. Given the chaotic thought patterns of Sinnoch’s kind, it was impossible to know for sure, perhaps even for Sinnoch himself.

  Elidyr Brochann was a middle-aged man with an unruly mass of white hair badly in need of trimming. Elidyr was reed thin—almost as thin as the dolgaunt. The artificer had a tendency to remain motionless until such time as movement was required, and even then he moved with a deliberate precision and economy of motion that said he was a man who despised waste of any sort. He wore a leather apron over a plain white shirt, gray trousers, and black boots. Bloodstains covered the apron, remnants from the rushed and none-too-gentle removal of the tentacle whip from Osten. The blood didn’t bother Elidyr. After all, it was something of an occupational hazard for him these days.

  Finally, the two soldiers managed to get the symbiont inside its cage, loosen the cables binding it, and withdraw the poles. After that they swiftly closed the door, visibly relaxing once it was locked. The symbiont cages had been fashioned from spell-reinforced steel built to Elidyr’s precise specifications by artisans of House Kundarak, and in addition, Elidyr had added an enchantment to the cages to keep the symbionts sedate. Once the tentacle whip was inside, the spell went to work, and the creature curled up and became still.

  The soldiers stepped away from the cage and lifted their visors as they approached Elidyr. The man kept his gaze fastened on Elidyr, but the woman looked at Sinnoch with undisguised disgust. The tentacles on the dolgaunt’s back writhed more noticeably beneath his robe, and the woman quickly looked away. Sinnoch let out a soft, hissing laugh.

  Before either of the soldiers could speak, Elidyr said, “Thank you. That will be all.”

  They nodded, both looking grateful to be excused, and departed the chamber. Elidyr walked over to the tentacle whip’s cage and Sinnoch followed, the dolgaunt moving with silent, inhuman grace. Elidyr gazed upon the quiescent symbiont for a time before speaking.

  “This is the most magnificent specimen Lirra has ever brought back for us. So strong, so willful … to think my brother wanted to destroy it.” He shook his head.

  “You made a mistake in allowing Osten to serve as the whip’s host,” Sinnoch said. “He was too weak.” He glanced sideways at Elidyr. “You are all too weak.”

  Elidyr refused to rise to the bait, but privately he admitted the dolgaunt was right. The whole point of this project was to find the perfect marriage of host and symbiont, and Osten had been completely overmatched by the tentacle whip. The boy was strong in body, but his mind and spirit simply weren’t enough to stand up to the symbiont’s corrupting influence. The whip would make a wonderful weapon—provided they could find the right person to wield it.

  “I have to go,” Elidyr said. “My brother has summoned me to a meeting.”

  “I take it I’m not invited,” Sinnoch said. He reached up with clawed hands and lowered his hood to reveal a pale inhuman face with empty
eye sockets. His skin was covered in a layer of writhing cilia, and a mane of longer tendrils surrounded his head. “Too bad. I do so love to visit Vaddon and bask in his utter loathing of me.” He grinned, displaying a mouthful of discolored fangs. “Go. I’ll stay here a bit longer to make certain our friend suffered no ill effects from its less-than-tender treatment at the hands of your oh-so-valiant countrymen.”

  Elidyr scowled at the dolgaunt, and handed his gore-smeared leather apron to Sinnoch. “Take care of this for me, would you?”

  “With pleasure.”

  The dolgaunt snatched the bloody garment from Elidyr and held it up to his nose. He inhaled the blood scent, the mane of tentacles surrounding his head quivering with excitement. Elidyr then turned and walked away as the dolgaunt began licking the apron clean with eager strokes of its grotesquely long tongue.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Vaddon Brochann’s office was located in the den, one of the most impressive rooms in the entire lodge: stone fireplace, oak-paneled walls draped with tapestries depicting hunting scenes, leather-upholstered furniture, and—incongruously—an obscenely expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling with everbright crystals in place of candles.

  Vaddon stood in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, when Lirra, Rhedyn, and Ksana entered. Vaddon had discarded his protective armor in favor of the basic Outguard uniform: green leather armor vest over a white shirt, black leather gauntlets, black pants, and black boots. Warlord Bergerron’s crest was emblazoned on the left side of the vest, with a sigil representing the Outguard branded onto the right. Whenever Vaddon was in the lodge, he went without the silver helm and crimson cape that designated his rank, and Lirra didn’t blame him. She thought they looked silly.

  Despite the absence of flames—or perhaps because of them—Vaddon stared into the fireplace as if he were searching for something within it. He didn’t turn to greet Lirra and the others as they entered, and she took that as a bad sign. Vaddon wasn’t a man given to deep contemplation, and when he was lost in thought, it usually didn’t bode well.