by Tim Waggoner
“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 that 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.”
Lirra was sickened by her uncle’s words, but she did her best not to show it. “Why me? If you truly are so powerful now, why do you need anyone’s help?”
“I may be powerful, child, but I’m not a god. And as I told you, I’m not insane. I know that the task which lies before me will not be an easy one, and I will have need of strong allies if I’m to succeed. I can’t think of anyone more suited to stand by my side than you. You’re an intelligent woman, a soldier trained at Rekkenmark and seasoned by battle. You bear a symbiont and—through the Overmantle—you have also experienced the power of Xoriat. And in the end, you are family.” He held out his hand, the one covered by the crawling gauntlet. “Come with me, Lirra, and together we shall reshape the world.”
“You’re not really thinking of doing it, are you?” Ranja whispered in her ear. “Because if you are, let me know, so I can turn tail and run like blazes in the other direction.”
Lirra ignored the shifter. “I won’t join you, Uncle. What you see as glorious, I see as horrible. What you view as gifts, I view as abominations.”
“Young people. Always so rebellious.” Elidyr sighed and then shrugged. “Oh well. You can’t say I didn’t try.” He looked over his shoulder at the white-eyes. “Kill them both.”
Elidyr’s monstrous servants shambl
ed forward. Lirra gripped her sword tighter and the tentacle whip swayed in the air, the symbiont gleefully anticipating the mayhem to come. Ranja assumed her bestial aspect as she pulled another object out of her tunic pocket, this one a crystalline shard wrapped in coils of fine silver wire.
“I’d tell you it’s been nice working with you,” the shifter said, as the shard began to glow with a crimson light, “but my mother taught me not to lie.”
Just then a pair of warforged—one squat with large hands, the other tall and lean—came running down the street behind the white-eyes. The constructs were quickly followed by a half-dozen men and women on horseback, soldiers wearing the uniform of the Outguard, and leading them, sword in hand and raised high, was Lirra’s father.
Lirra turned to Ranja and grinned.
“It’s about time they showed up, don’t you think?”
Then she turned back to face her uncle, shouted a war cry, and ran forward to battle. She sensed Ranja hesitate for a moment, and Lirra wouldn’t have been surprised if the spy chose that moment to flee and save her own hide. But instead she charged forward as well, and the two of them ran side by side toward the advancing white-eyes.
Lirra told herself that whatever they’d been before, the white-eyes were no longer people. They were monsters under Elidyr’s control, and the most merciful thing to do would be to kill them and release them from the horrible state of non-life her uncle had forced upon them. But that didn’t make it easier for her to swing her sword at them—especially the children. But she’d been well trained and battle hardened, and she would do what had to be done. She raised her sword and swung at the first white-eye she came in contact with, one who had once been a young girl of no more than fourteen, and she kept on swinging until the creature went down.
As she fought, part of her mind stayed focused on what she was doing, but another part kept watch on what was happening around her. When Elidyr became aware of the Outguard, he ordered his white-eyes to attack the oncoming soldiers. Up to this point, the white-eyes had moved slowly, and Lirra was surprised when several of them leaped into the air and knocked soldiers off their mounts. Two of the Outguard were dead before they hit the ground, but the rest managed to roll with the impact and scramble away from the white-eyes’ grasping hands before the monsters could catch hold. Once the soldiers were on their feet, they began hacking at the white-eyes, but Lirra knew their efforts would only succeed in delaying the monsters. The abominations would heal swiftly, and they did not tire, unlike the mortals who opposed them.
The two warforged fared far better against Elidyr’s creations. Lirra didn’t know where her father had come by them, but her best guess was that he’d reported to Bergerron after the failure of the Overmantle, and the warlord had given the constructs to Vaddon to help track down Elidyr—and likely her as well. Formed of far more durable materials than mere flesh and blood, the warforged fought like living suits of armor, and took little damage from the white-eyes, though the creatures fought with strength far greater than their natural bodies had possessed. Some warforged were highly skilled at the use of weapons, but others had been designed to be weapons in and of themselves, and these two were definitely among the latter. The shorter warforged swung his oversized fists like giant hammers, slamming white-eyes against buildings and onto the ground. Bones splintered and flesh pulped beneath the warforged’s fists, but the moment he withdrew the injured white-eyes—none of whom made so much as a whimper as they’d been wounded—began to heal. As soon as their legs were functional again, they got back on their feet and resumed attacking, even if the rest of them was still in the process of being put right. White-eyes fought with shards of bone sticking out of their arms, with dented heads, with jaws hanging half off. But no matter how serious the injury they’d sustained, still no blood flowed from their wounds.
The tall warforged fought with his hands as well, but his primary mode of attack was to use his long legs and spiked feet. He leaped into the air and delivered one devastating spinning kick after another, and white-eyes were tossed about as if caught in the throes of a cyclone, their flesh torn by the force of the warforged’s foot spikes. But even though the construct did just as much damage as his brother, the white-eyes refused to stay down, and within seconds they were up and fighting again.
Vaddon remained in the saddle, shouting orders as he swung his sword at any white-eye that came near. Next to him was Ksana, sitting astride a horse and carrying her halberd. The half-elf’s eyes were closed and her lips moved silently as she mouthed a prayer. Lirra felt a wave of warmth pass over her, as if clouds had parted to permit a beam of sunlight to filter down from the heavens. She felt stronger, more alert, and the despair that had been begun nibbling at the edge of her awareness was pushed back. She’d experienced this effect on the battlefield before when Ksana called upon Dol Arrah for aid, but the experience remained as amazing and humbling as the first time she’d felt it.
Lirra knew the others, Ranja included, also felt the effects of Dol Arrah’s blessing, for they fought with renewed vigor, and while the white-eyes continued to heal their wounds, they did so more slowly, and their movements became more sluggish. Her symbiont, however, not only didn’t seem to receive a boost from the goddess’s power, it actually seemed to lose strength. The tentacle whip continued to fight at her command, but it moved more slowly than usual, and its grip was no longer as strong.
What’s wrong? she thought. Surely a bit of divine power can’t harm a big, strong symbiont like you.
The whip didn’t respond, but Lirra had the distinct impression that it would’ve liked to tell her to shut her damn mouth. She dismissed the whip from her mind and continued fighting against the white-eyes.
Rhedyn and Osten were there as well. Both had been among those soldiers who’d been knocked from their mounts during the white-eyes’ initial attack, but they had survived and were standing back to back, swords flashing as they fought to keep Elidyr’s creatures from tearing them apart. Rhedyn had called upon the strength of his shadow sibling, and he was cloaked by the symbiont’s dark aura. Osten had no such special abilities to rely on, but he nevertheless fought like a man possessed, his features set in a grim mask of determination as he swung his sword in one vicious arc after another. Osten had always been a competent fighter, but Lirra had never seen him like this, and she feared that what had happened at the lodge yesterday had caused permanent damage to his mind and spirit. The way he fought, without caution or restraint, made him appear as if he didn’t care whether he lived or died, just as long as he could get one more strike in at his opponent. Such an attitude could be a strong asset for a warrior, freeing him from fear and frightening enemies with his fierceness. But it could also be dangerous, not only for the warrior himself, but for any companions unfortunate enough to get too close to him during a fight.
One member of the Outguard hung back and merely observed as the battle went on. Sinnoch, his features completely hidden by his overlarge robe, sat upon the back of a small brown mare who’d been specially enchanted by an animal trainer bearing a dragonmark of handling so that the horse would carry the dolgaunt without complaint. Even so, the mare pawed the ground restlessly and shook her head, clearly unhappy with having an unnatural creature like Sinnoch sitting astride her. Lirra wasn’t surprised that the dolgaunt only watched. Though he was not trained in the fighting arts, he was much stronger than a human and could’ve aided them if he wished, but that was not his way. She had no doubt he was sitting back and watching the battle unfold before him with great amusement. She wondered why her father had brought the dolgaunt along. Probably so that he might provide some insight into dealing with Elidyr, she decided. Otherwise, Sinnoch was useless. If she’d been in her father’s place, she’d have run the dolgaunt through and tossed his body onto the side of the road for those few scavengers that could stomach the unclean carcass.
She felt a wave of satisfaction come from the tentacle whip.
See? came the thought-voice
that sounded so much like her own. We’re becoming more alike all the time …
Lirra ignored the symbiont’s taunt and refocused her concentration on dealing with the latest white-eye before her. It was the fourteen-year-old girl again, wounds healed and come back for a second helping of punishment. Very well. Lirra would dish out some more for her.
Though Ranja had assumed her full shifter aspect, she fought with her glowing crystal just as much as she did with her claws. She pointed the magical device at white-eyes and a crimson beam of energy lanced forth to strike the creatures. The energy entered into their bodies, suffusing them, until they radiated a gentle crimson light. The energy didn’t stop them altogether, but it slowed them down considerably, making it much easier for Ranja to gouge large chunks of flesh out of them with her claws.
Lirra kept an eye on Elidyr while she fought. Her ultimate goal was to get past these damned white-eyes and reach her uncle. She didn’t know if there was a direct link between Elidyr and his creations, but during the Last War she’d seen wizards whose spells faltered the moment they went down, and so she knew it was possible that if she could render her uncle unconscious—or, if she was forced to, kill him—then the white-eyes might collapse like puppets who’d lost their puppeteer. But try as she might, she was unable to get past the white-eyes. Every time she put one down, another rose to take its place, and by the time that one fell, the first was back on its feet again.