Lady Ruin: An Eberron Novel

by Tim Waggoner

  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.”

  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, y
ou 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 collapsed 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.