Lady Ruin: An Eberron Novel

by Tim Waggoner

  Vaddon couldn’t help but return the cleric’s smile. “Perhaps so.” But he didn’t truly believe it, and he knew his words didn’t fool his friend. He took another sip of tea before going on. “I’m beginning to question the wisdom of keeping Sinnoch with us.”

  “The dolgaunt hasn’t caused any trouble, has he?”

  “No,” Vaddon admitted. “He hasn’t left his tent since we made camp. Rhedyn checks on him from time to time, but the dolgaunt never seems to need anything. I’m not sure if the damned thing even eats or drinks.”

  “Sits in his tent, make no demands … Sounds like a troublemaker to me.”

  “I simply don’t trust him. He’s like a coiled snake, lying motionless, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I can’t help thinking he had something to do with the Overmantle’s malfunction.”

  “He denied any involvement when Lirra questioned him,” Ksana pointed out.

  An image flashed through Vaddon’s mind: Lirra standing over the dolgaunt, fury twisting her features while her tentacle wrip wrapped around the aberration’s throat and squeezed. He felt a pang of sorrow at the memory.

  “She forced him to answer,” he said. “The dolgaunt might well have said what he thought Lirra wanted to hear in order to save his life.” He thought for a moment. “Then again, who knows why his kind do what they do? They don’t think like you and me, Ksana. You know that. It’s impossible to guess their motives.” He glanced again at Sinnoch’s tent. “I’m not even sure they have motives, not as we would recognize them.”

  “Elidyr trusted him,” Ksana said, though she sounded less certain than she had before.

  Vaddon nodded. “And look where it got him.”

  “If you don’t trust him, why do you allow him to keep the Overmantle?”

  “He claims that he’ll be able to repair and adapt it so that it can be used to separate the symbionts from Lirra and Elidyr.”

  Ksana looked doubtful. “And you believe him?”

  Vaddon shrugged. “Not really. He might have assisted Elidyr, but the dolgaunt’s no artificer. And like I said before, there’s no way to guess what his true motivations are. But if there’s even a chance that Lirra and Elidyr can be freed from the aberrations that have claimed them …”

  “And what if Sinnoch is repairing the Overmantle for his own reasons?” Ksana asked. “What if he wants to reopen the portal to Xoriat and free the daelkyr that touched Elidyr?”

  “The thought had occurred to me,” Vaddon admitted. “But I’m willing to take that risk if it means saving my daughter and my brother. I intend to keep close watch on the dolgaunt to make sure he doesn’t betray us.” He smiled. “That’s the real reason Rhedyn keeps checking on him for me.”

  As if on cue, they saw Rhedyn approach Sinnoch’s tent. The warrior paused and turned to look at Vaddon questioningly, and the general waved him on, giving him permission to talk to the dolgaunt again. Rhedyn nodded and then—after exchanging a few words with Shatterfist and Longstrider—he walked past the warforged guards and slipped into the dolgaunt’s tent.

  After a bit, Ksana said, “You may well be playing a dangerous game, Vaddon Brochann.”

  He smiled sadly at her. “What else is new? When you get a spare moment, say a prayer to Dol Arrah for us, will you? We may need all the help we can get.”

  “I haven’t stopped praying to the goddess since this whole mess began,” the cleric said. She reached out and took Vaddon’s mug from his hand. “I changed my mind about the tea,” she said, and finished off what was left and refilled it.

  The two of them sat in companionable silence for a time after that, alone with their thoughts, until Vaddon felt the amulet he wore grow warm against his chest.

  He must’ve reacted visibly, for Ksana said, “What is it?”

  “Someone is trying to contact me.” He felt a surge of excitement. Perhaps this was it—news of Lirra at last. Vaddon touched his fingers to the amulet, closed his eyes, and opened his mind.

  “Come to visit the dolgaunt again, I see,” Shatterfist said. “That’s … what? The dozenth time this morning?”

  “Only the second,” Longstrider said. “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “Twelve does have a two in it,” Shatterfist pointed out. “So from a certain point of view, I was correct.”

  “Only from your skewed prespective,” Longstrider said. “I’m certain you took one too many blows to the head during the Battle of Atraex.”

  “Lord Bergerron had those dents repaired months ago,” Shatterfist said. “I’m confident there was no lasting damage … certainly none that would impair my ability to think.” The warforged turned to Rhedyn. “What do you think? About my thinking, I mean. I seem rational enough, don’t I?”

  Rhedyn wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m not really an expert on such matters. I’m a soldier, not a philosopher.” Without waiting for a response, he ducked into the tent.

  Inside Sinnoch’s tent, Rhedyn found the dolgaunt in the same position he had the last time he’d paid a visit—sitting cross-legged on the ground, the remains of the Overmantle spread out before him, along with a number of Elidyr’s artificing tools. A bedroll lay untouched to one side, and a small everbright lantern provided the dolgaunt illumination to work by. Alone in his tent, Sinnoch had removed his robe—it lay next to the bedroll—and sat naked, the numerous small tendrils that covered his body swaying like blades of grass in a soundless breeze. Anyone else might’ve found the sight of the unclothed dolgaunt disturbing, if not outright sickening, but Rhedyn could see the strength and strange beauty in the creature’s form.

  A small blue crystal rod encased in wire mesh lay on the ground next to Sinnoch. One of the dolgaunt’s back tentacles stretched down and the tip brushed across the crystal. In response, it glowed briefly, and the air within the tent suddenly felt flat and dead.

  Sinnoch spoke without looking up from his work. “Ah, it’s my watchdog, come sniffing around again. I’m sorry I don’t have a treat for you, doggie.”

  Rhedyn bristled at the dolgaunt’s words, but the dolgaunt went on before he could respond.

  “You may speak freely,” Sinnoch said. “The device I just activated was another of Elidyr’s little toys. It will prevent the sound of our voices from traveling outside the tent, so no one can overhear us.”

  “How goes the work?” Rhedyn asked.

  “I’ve managed to make some headway in the repairs,” Sinnoch said, “but only some. After assisting Elidyr all these months, I could probably construct a new Overmantle if we had the right materials—which we don’t—but without his knowledge or experience, I highly doubt I’ll be able to repair this one.”

  “So we need to get him back,” Rhedyn said.

  “Of course we do.” The tentacles sprouting from Sinnoch’s back reached over his shoulders, picked up a pair of artificer’s tools, and began tinkering with the Overmantle. “But not to worry. We’ll be reunited with our friend one way or another. Either Vaddon will capture him—which is extremely doubtful, given how powerful Elidyr has become—or he’ll grow tired of playing with his newfound abilities and seek us out.” Sinnoch turned to look at Rhedyn with his empty eye sockets and grinned, his shoulder tentacles continuing to work on the Overmantle. “He was touched by Ysgithyrwyn, you see. Not only did that touch change him, Ysgithyrwyn implanted the desire in him to complete my lord’s release from Xoriat. Elidyr will have no choice but to reclaim the Overmantle, repair it, and once again attempt to open the portal between this world and the Realm of Madness. We have but to wait.”

  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!�
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  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.