by Tim Waggoner
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 warforged 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.
Bergerron didn’t look up as the lean warforged guard approached with Vaddon in tow. This wasn’t necessarily a bad sign, Vaddon knew. Bergerron had the ability to focus single-mindedly on a task, concentrating so deeply that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. Vaddon hadn’t seen Bergerron for months, not since the symbiont project began, but the warlord hadn’t changed all that much. He’d put on a few pounds, but given his love of good food and drink, that was hardly a surprise. Despite the extra weight, and the fact that the man was in his mid-sixties, Bergerron still resembled the strong soldier he once was. He was broad-shouldered, strong-jawed, and though his shoulder-length hair was silver, his full beard still held a goodly amount of black. Though Bergerron was a powerful, wealthy man, he dressed simply, as was the fashion for Karrnath’s warlords, who wished to prove that despite their exalted rank, they were still in touch with the common soldiers they had once been.
The lean warforged stopped in front of the warlord’s chair and waited to be recognized, while the squat guard took up a position near the door. Bergerron continued reading until he finished the page he was on, then closed the book and looked up.
“General Brochann to see you, Warlord,” the warforged said in a hollow, unemotional voice.
“Thank you, Longstrider. You and Shatterfist may leave.”
The warforged named Longstrider turned toward Vaddon and regarded him for a moment. Longstrider’s stone features remained fixed and unchanging, as was normal for his kind, but Vaddon had the feeling the creature was sizing him up and trying to decide whether he could be trusted alone with his master. Evidently Vaddon passed muster in the end, for the warforged departed, followed by Shatterfist,
who closed the library door behind them. Vaddon knew the guards would take up positions on either side of the door in the outer hall and wait for Bergerron’s summons should he need them. Bergerron may have implicitly vouched for Vaddon’s trustworthiness by telling the guards they could leave, but that didn’t mean the two warforged would go far.
Bergerron smiled at Vaddon. “Sorry it took me a moment to realize you were here. I often get lost when reading poetry.”
“I prefer military histories, myself.”
Bergerron smiled. “Spoken like a true son of Karrnath. Still, it never hurts to broaden one’s horizons, does it? Remember what they teach at Rekkenmark: ‘One never knows what knowledge may turn the tide of battle.’ ”
“True.” But even so, Vaddon didn’t think he’d be borrowing any of Bergerron’s poetry collections in the near future.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Bergerron asked. “I assume you received my message to shut down the Outguard’s project and vacate the lodge.” He frowned. “I hope you’re not here to try to get me to change my mind.”
“No, Warlord. I received your message. I’m here to report what I did upon reading your message”—he paused—“and what happened afterward.”
Bergerron raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing, merely waited for Vaddon to continue.
Despite his rank and decades of experience, right then Vaddon felt like a green recruit called on the carpet in front of his commanding officer. He took a deep breath and without preamble launched into his report, though it was a struggle for him to maintain control of his emotions toward the end. Bergerron listened without expression or reaction.
“So, the project was a success of sorts,” he said after a moment.
Vaddon started to object, but Bergerron held up a hand to forestall him. “Of course what happened to your brother and daughter is regrettable, but their transformations have proven Elidyr’s basic theory: Symbionts can make significant weapons. Perhaps not controllable ones at this point, but even if the hosts remained wild and chaotic, they could still be of use. We would only need to aim them at an enemy and turn them loose …”
Vaddon didn’t believe what he was hearing. When he was a young soldier, he’d served under Bergerron in numerous campaigns, and he’d always admired the man’s bravery and sharp, strategic mind. That was why he’d continued to serve the warlord even though the Last War was over. Whenever the Next War inevitably came, Vaddon wanted to be leading troops under Bergerron’s banner. But the words coming out of the warlord’s mouth now were madness.
“My lord, did you not listen to my tale? The experiment was a disaster! Not only were Lirra and Elidyr turned into uncontrollable monsters, we almost allowed a daelkyr lord to come through into our world!”
Bergerron gave Vaddon an icy glare. “You are understandably distraught over what has happened to your family members, Vaddon, and for that I shall forgive your impertinence. This time. But try to remember your training—in battle, emotions are often the real enemy we must fight.”
Another platitude they passed along at the Rekkenmark Academy, and up to this point, one Vaddon had believed in. But now it was just a hollow saying, bereft of meaning. How could he ignore the hideous transformation that had befallen his beloved daughter and brother? But Bergerron was his warlord, and Vaddon had pledged his allegiance to the man, and so he would do his best to keep a tighter rein on his emotions.
Vaddon inclined his head stiffly. “Please accept my apologies, Warlord, along with my gratitude.”
Bergerron made a dismissive gesture, and a thoughtful expression came over his face.
“You did the right thing by coming here as soon as possible to inform me of what occurred,” Bergerron said. “Tell me, what are the rest of the Outguard doing right now?”
“I gave them orders to complete our withdrawal from the lodge, and then to return to the garrison at Geirrid when the task was finished. Three of my people will make camp on the town’s outskirts where they will guard the dolgaunt Sinnoch until my return. The creature swears he had nothing to do with the Overmantle’s malfunction, but I don’t trust him. I’d have killed him if I didn’t think he might still be of some use in finding Lirra and Elidyr.”
Bergerron nodded. “Very good. And what of the Overmantle?”
“Elidyr damaged it before departing the lodge, but it remains with those guarding the dolgaunt. There is no danger of the creature repairing it and using it for his own purposes, not without my brother’s guidance.”
“I see.” Bergerron paused for a moment then, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. “Do you have any idea why I ordered you to shut down the symbiont project so abruptly?”
“I’d assumed that the project’s secrecy had been compromised somehow. I intended to look into the matter after we had vacated the lodge.”
“You assumed correctly, Vaddon. One of my spies informed me that Arnora Raskogr had somehow gotten wind that something strange was going on at my hunting lodge and that she was planning on letting Kaius know.” Bergerron gave Vaddon a thin smile. “We couldn’t have that now, could we?”
“No, Warlord.”
Vaddon had guessed it was something like that. The intrigues between Karrnath’s warlords were constant and never-ending, and they’d only gotten worse with the cessation of hostilities. Warriors needed battles to fight, he supposed, even if they had to manufacture the reasons for those battles themselves.
“I thought you and Warlord Raskogr were on relatively good terms,” Vaddon said.
“The key word is relatively.” Bergerron grimaced. “For a time she was allied with those of us who believe Kaius to be too weak to lead our nation, but recently she’s begun cozying up to him in order to gain his favor. I doubt she’s suddenly had a change of heart regarding Kaius’s suitability as a ruler. But if nothing else, Arnora has always been a pragmatic woman, and she’s likely come to believe that the winds of fortune are currently blowing in Kaius’s direction. If she could cast suspicion on me, and Kaius learned of my true feelings about him and the steps I’ve taken to, if not overthrow him, at least undermine his power, Kaius would be grateful, and Arnora would rise significantly in status.”
“How did she find out about the symbiont project?”
Bergerron shrugged. “No doubt from one of her spies serving in my keep. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Vaddon. We all have spies planted in each other’s homes.” He grinned. “Keeps us on our toes.”
It all sounded more than a little childish to Vaddon, and he was beginning to regret his pledge to serve Bergerron. “At least the lodge is vacant now, and all traces of the experiment have been removed. Warlord Raskogr will never learn of what happened there.”
Bergerron scowled. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. In order to provide Kaius with more than idle speculation, she would’ve dispatched agents of her own to investigate what was happening at the lodge. It’s entirely possible my message—though sent as swiftly as possible—arrived too late, and you were already under surveillance. If that was the case—”
“Then someone might’ve witnessed both Elidyr and Lirra leaving the lodge,” Vaddon finished.
Bergerron nodded. “And the whereabouts of both remain unknown?”
Despair clutched at Vaddon’s heart, but he did his best to keep his feelings from showing. “Yes, Warlord. We searched the environs around the lodge before I left, but we found no trace of them. None of the horses were missing, so we know both are on foot.” Considering the way a horse would react to a rider bonded to a symbiont, it wasn’t surprising both Lirra and Elidyr had chosen to walk. “This leads me to the main reason I’ve come before you. I request permission to keep the Outguard together for the time being and to remain in command of them, so that I might search for my daughter and brother. Not merely because I am personally concerned for their safety,” he hastened to add, “but because I believe that in their current state they pose a very real threat to the people of Karrnath. And whil
e the safety of our fellow countrymen is no doubt of most importance to you, it would be awkward for you if one of the other warlords—Raskogr, say—should learn about Lirra and Elidyr and capture them first.”
Bergerron looked Vaddon up and down as if reappraising him. “I imagine you spent quite a lot of time working up that little speech.”
Vaddon kept his expression carefully neutral. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Well, it worked. I’m actually rather impressed. You always struck me as less of a thinker and more of a reliable, stolid man at arms. Looks like you have a bit of warlord in you, Vaddon.”
Vaddon’s gut curdled at what he took to be an insult, but he forced himself to say, “Thank you, Warlord.”
“Very well, permission granted.” Bergerron held up a pair of fingers. “With two conditions: One, when you capture your brother and daughter, I want them brought here to my keep. If there’s any chance we can train them to be … cooperative soldiers, I want to make sure we give them every opportunity. Agreed?”
Vaddon’s face remained impassive but inside he seethed with anger. He wanted to capture Lirra and Elidyr so that the aberrations that corrupted their bodies and minds could be removed and, the Host willing, their sanity restored. He knew that he’d never be able to turn them over to be used as tools in Bergerron’s intrigues—Lirra especially. The symbiont project was misguided and misbegotten from the start. Vaddon regretted ever taking part in it, and once Lirra and Elidyr were returned to normal, he intended to do everything he could to make certain that symbionts were never used as weapons in Karrnath again. But he knew that if he told Begerron any of this, he’d never obtain the man’s permission to continue commanding the Outguard. And that meant, for the first time in his career, Vaddon would have to lie to a superior.