Lady Ruin: An Eberron Novel

by Tim Waggoner

  You’re going to regret not running when you had the chance.

  And as the soldiers began to march her down the street, while the rest of the Outguard fell into line, Lirra wondered if the symbiont would be proven right.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  You know, my mother always said that curiosity would be the death of me.”

  Lirra sat on the wooden bunk, the only furniture in the small cell, eyes closed, arms folded over her chest, listening to Ranja complain as she paced around the room like a restless caged animal.

  “And she said if that didn’t do it, greed would probably finish me off. I should’ve quit while I was ahead. If I had, I’d have a pocket full of new silver, which I’d no doubt be spending on good food, good wine, and questionable men. Instead, what am I doing? I’m stuck inside a garrison cell with you! I never did get all the muck the creature released when it died off my boots, and it’s starting to stink something fierce. Even you must be able to smell it! The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of here is buy myself a new pair of boots and burn the old ones.”

  Lirra could smell the stench, and it was rank indeed. But she’d endured worse smells on the battlefield in her time. She spoke without opening her eyes.

  “You could’ve fled when Ksana killed the creature. None of my father’s soldiers would’ve been able to catch you. They probably wouldn’t have even noticed, given how focused they were on capturing me. But you didn’t flee. You stuck around and allowed yourself to be brought to the garrison. Why?”

  Ranja stopped pacing and sat on the bunk next to Lirra.

  “I plead temporary insanity.”

  Lirra smiled, though she still didn’t open her eyes. “I see two other possibilities: One, you still think there’s a way to turn this situation to your advantage—and increase your profit in the process. After all, given the skills you’ve acquired in your profession, you can probably escape whenever you want to.” Lirra didn’t want to refer directly to Ranja being a freelance spy, for the two warforged were standing guard just outside the cell door.

  Ranja didn’t deny Lirra’s words. Instead, she asked, “What’s the second possibility?”

  “That you’re not quite as much of a cold-hearted silver-hungry mercenary as you pretend to be, and you didn’t want to abandon a new friend.”

  Ranja laughed, though it sounded a trifle forced to Lirra. “Shows what you know! Now I have no doubt that bonding with a symbiont has affected your mind.”

  The tentacle whip had been mostly still since they reached the garrison, but it moved slightly against her forearm, as if irritated by Ranja’s words. Lirra ignored it.

  “You must be getting used to my carrying a symbiont,” Lirra said. “You no longer keep your distance like you did when we met.”

  “I suppose I am getting used to it … a little. Besides, the scent of the thing is mild compared to the stench of the white-eye muck.” Ranja paused before going on. “I’ve seen you in action a couple times now, Lirra. I know you can control your symbiont, at least as much as anyone can. I may not trust the damned thing that’s attached itself to your body, but I trust you.”

  More fool, you, the thought-voice said.

  Lirra opened her eyes and turned to face the shifter. “Thank you.”

  Ranja looked uncomfortable, but she nodded. Then she turned to stare at the backs of the two warforged.

  “So what happens next?” she asked.

  “Father will send for you soon. He’ll interview you to find out who you are and what you were doing with me. Just tell him the truth—that I hired you to help me track down Elidyr. And only tell him the truth.”

  Lirra gave Ranja a meaningful look that she hoped said, For the Host’s sake, don’t tell him you’re a spy for Raskogr. The situation was complex enough without introducing another element to destabilize it. She had hired Ranja to track Elidyr. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  “When you say your father is going to interview me …” Ranja trailed off.

  “Don’t worry. He’s a member of the Order of Rekkenmark. The Academy teaches us to adhere to a strict code of honor. We don’t use coercion tactics on prisoners.” She paused. “Except in the most extreme circumstances, of course. And this isn’t one of them.”

  Ranja sighed. “How reassuring.”

  Sure enough, just as Lirra had predicted, a pair of soldiers arrived to take Ranja away for questioning. As she left with them, she turned to give Lirra a parting wink, as if to say everything was going to be all right. With Ranja gone, Lirra was tempted to lie back on the bunk, uncomfortable though it was, and try to get some sleep. She’d been awake for over twenty-four hours, and while her symbiont granted her greater endurance, her supply of energy wasn’t inexhaustible, and she was bone weary. But given the situation, she knew that she couldn’t afford to waste time resting. Better to use it to gather some intelligence.

  She rose from her bunk, walked over to the cell door, and leaned on the iron bars.

  “So you’re the two newest members of the Outguard. What are your stories?” Lirra had a good idea how the constructs had come to be under her father’s command, but she wanted to get them talking to see what, if anything, she could learn from them.

  “We’re not supposed to talk to prisoners,” the lean one said. Lirra had heard some of the human soldiers call him Longstrider, and given his legs, she could understand how he’d come to be called that. He didn’t turn around to face her as he spoke.

  “Though admittedly, you’re not just any prisoner,” the squat one, Shatterfist, said. He too didn’t turn to face her. “We know you’re General Vaddon’s daughter, and that you used to be second in command of the Outguard.”

  “Technically, I still am second in command. That is, unless my father has gotten around to putting in the official paperwork to have me removed from the position.”

  “Please tell me you’re not going to try to convince us to let you go because you still have your rank,” Longstrider said. Though warforged didn’t breathe and therefore couldn’t sigh, somehow the construct managed to give that impression with his tone. “Just because we’re not made of flesh doesn’t mean we’re stupid.”

  “Why would I think that?” Lirra asked. “I fought alongside many of your kind during the war, and on average, they seemed just as intelligent—if not more so—than flesh-and-blood soldiers.” And they were a damn sight tougher too. Which was no doubt the main reason Vaddon had assigned them to guard her cell. Their stone and metal hides made them impervious to the tentacle whip’s poison, and she couldn’t use her symbiont coils to cut off their air supply and render them unconscious, for they had no need to breathe.

  “Now you’re attempting to flatter us in order to gain our trust,” Shatterfist said.

  “Not at all,” Lirra said. “Besides, you’re warforged. Flattery means nothing to you. That’s a failing of us meat-and-bone types.”

  Shatterfist turned his head slightly so that one of his glowing crimson eyes could focus on her.

  “Not necessarily. We are more alike than you might imagine.”

  Now Longstrider half turned to look at her. Lirra thought there was something strange about the construct’s eyes. They still had the same glowing coal look common to warforged, but their color was slightly darker, and they were noticeably larger than normal.

  “Please forgive my friend,” Longstrider said. “He fancies himself something of an expert on human behavior. Especially humor.”

  “Would you like to hear a joke?” Shatterfist asked. “I know hundreds.”

  “Maybe later,” Lirra said. “You never did tell me how you came to be in my father’s command.”

  “Lord Bergerron sent us,” Longstrider said, “as you doubtless have surmised by now.”

  “We’re supposed to assist General Vaddon in whatever way we can,” Shatterfist added.

  “While at the same time still serving your real master, Bergerron,” Lirra said. “I’d say you w
ere nothing more than the warlord’s spies, sent to keep a close eye on my father, but I know you’re more than that. I saw you fight against Elidyr’s creatures. You were most impressive.”

  Shatterfist did a passable imitation of a shrug, though he really wasn’t built for it. “It’s what we were made for. And of course we’ve been assigned to keep watch on your father. He’s aware of our dual purpose—although he does resent us for it. He doesn’t much like warforged, does he?”

  “He’s never been completely comfortable with your kind,” Lirra admitted.

  Now it was Longstrider’s turn to shrug. Given his lean body, the gesture seemed more natural on him. “Many breathers don’t like us. We’re used to it.”

  “Breathers?” Lirra asked. “I’ve never heard that word before.”

  “It’s a warforged word,” Shatterfist said. “One we sometimes use for your kind. It’s not very nice, though, and we’re careful not to say it around others.” He looked at Longstrider. “Although some of us are more careful than others.”

  Longstrider ignored his companion’s jab and focused his attention on Lirra’s left arm. She still wore her “borrowed” robe, but though her symbiont remained concealed, she had no doubt that’s what had drawn Longstrider’s interest.

  “Your symbiont fascinates us,” he said. “As does your people’s attitude toward you for hosting it. It is common for our kind to have variations in our basic design, Shatterfist and I being obvious examples of this. I am built for speed, he for brute strength. But our forms can be altered if we so choose—and if we can afford it. Many of our kind seek to acquire attachments that are in many ways similar to your symbiont, weapons or tools that we can use to perform various tasks.”

  “It’s one of the reasons we work,” Shatterfist said. “That, and to afford basic maintenance on our bodies, much the same way your kind works to buy food and drink.”

  “Your people do not view your symbiont as an enhancement,” Longstrider said. “Why is this?”

  “Because it’s not merely a tool that can be wielded with ease,” Lirra said. “It’s a living being with a mind of its own, and it fights me for control of my body. Not only that, but its constant psychic presence threatens to contaminate my own mind, endangering my sanity.”

  “Ah, I see!” Shatterfist said. “You’re defective. No wonder your people wished to capture and imprison you. I assume they will attempt to make repairs on you, but if that proves impossible, they will most likely keep you locked away.” He thought for a moment. “Unless they come to believe you’re a total loss and simply decide to destroy you.”

  “You have an awfully bleak outlook for someone who’s supposed to possess a sense of humor, you know that?” Lirra said.

  “I’m not certain I would label you defective,” Longstrider said. “After all, every weapon has its purpose. Some purposes are just easier to divine than others. I believe Lord Bergerron will be most interested to learn about you and your newfound abilities.” The construct leaned closer until his face nearly touched the bars, the crimson light in his overlarge eyes seeming to glow more intensely. “Most interested indeed.”

  There was something disturbing in the warforged’s tone, and Lirra decided she’d talked to the constructs enough. She turned away from them, walked back to the wooden bunk, lay down, and closed her eyes. She’d changed her mind about getting some sleep. It wouldn’t be long before her father was ready to question her, and she’d prefer to be more rested when the time came for them to talk.

  “Tell me if you’ve heard this one before,” Shatterfist said. “Two halflings walk into a temple, and the first halfing says to the other …”

  Lirra groaned and jammed her fists against her ears. Maybe her father had posted the warforged outside her cell not merely to guard her but to torture her as well. If so, it was working.

  Close to two hours passed before her father summoned her. He sent a soldier to inform the warforged that they were to bring Lirra to him, and Longstrider unlocked the cell door and stepped aside so that she could exit. Her tentacle whip urged her to flee, and she half seriously considered an escape attempt, but she knew she’d never be able to get away from the two warforged in these close quarters. Besides, she wanted to talk with her father. The warforged marched her down the narrow corridor of the garrison barracks to Rol Amark’s commandeered office.

  “General Vaddon is waiting for you inside,” Longstrider said. He then took up a position on the left side of the door, while Shatterfist stood on the right.

  So the warforged were going to stay outside during their talk. She wondered if her father was trying to reassure her with a show of trust. It was something she might’ve tried if their positions had been reversed. She opened the wooden door and stepped into the office.

  Once inside, she understood the reason why the warforged hadn’t accompanied her. She’d forgotten that Rol Amark’s office was simply too small to accommodate them. Geirrid wasn’t exactly a thriving metropolis, and the garrison barracks, while serviceable, weren’t lavish by any means. The office was plain as field rations: four stones walls, no windows, an oak desk with a single stool in front of it. Vaddon sat behind the desk, while Ksana stood behind him. The stool, obviously, was meant for Lirra. She elected to stand.

  Lirra noted that Ksana held her halberd, while Vaddon’s sword was drawn and laid out on the desk before him. His right hand rested on the table, in easy reach of his weapon. It hurt Lirra to see two of the people she loved most in the world prepared to defend themselves against her in case she decided to attack.

  Vaddon must’ve noted the way her gaze took in their weapons, for he said, “Both Ksana and I apologize for bearing arms like this, but given the circumstances …” He trailed off, his eyes fixed on her left arm.

  “No need to apologize,” Lirra said. “I understand.”

  He nodded, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat before speaking next. “Tell me about your association with the shifter.” His tone was unemotional, the general questioning a soldier under his command. But Lirra was Vaddon’s daughter, and she could hear the undercurrent of sadness in his voice, and she knew this was just as hard on him as it was her. She decided to follow his lead and respond to his question as unemotionally as she could.

  “There’s not much to tell. I tried to track down Elidyr on my own last night and failed.” She chose to leave out the fact that she hadn’t been in her right mind while scouring the countryside searching for her uncle. She didn’t want her father worrying more about her sanity than he already was. “I hired Ranja to help me find him. We were on our way to buy supplies when Elidyr and his … creations attacked us.” She shrugged. “Guess I didn’t need to hire her after all.”

  Vaddon frowned, clearly unhappy with the brevity of Lirra’s answers. “A number of farmers and their families went missing last night. What do you know about it?”

  “Elidyr used them as raw material to fashion his monsters. At least, that’s what he told us before he ordered them to attack.”

  Ksana interrupted. “What else did he you tell you?”

  “He plans to reopen the portal to Xoriat and release the daelkyr lord that nearly came through last time. He believes by doing so he’ll be able to transform our world into a paradise—or at least his twisted version of it. He also asked me to join him. I refused. That’s when he set his white-eyes on me.”

  “White-eyes?” Ksana asked.

  “Those monsters he made.”

  Ksana said nothing more, and for several moments both she and Vaddon just looked at Lirra. She looked back and waited for them to make the next move.

  After a time, Vaddon said, “Elidyr’s transformation drove him completely insane. How are we to know the same thing didn’t happen to you?” Despite himself, his concern for her came through in his voice.

  Lirra wanted to reassure him, but she felt she owed him the truth. “Oh, I’m not as mad as Elidyr. I don’t think he could pretend to be sane if he wanted to. I don
’t think he even knows what sane is anymore. But I believe I’m sane. The problem is convincing you that I am.”

  Sadness crept into Vaddon’s gaze. “Whatever the state of your mind, you’re not the woman you were.” He nodded toward Lirra’s left arm.

  “It’s true that I’ve changed,” she admitted. “It’s a constant struggle for me to maintain control of my symbiont. But I am in control.”

  For the moment, the thought-voice said. Lirra ignored it and continued talking.

  “Perhaps that’s so,” Vaddon said, a tinge of hope in his voice. “If it is, you’ll let us help you.”

  Lirra didn’t like the sound of that. “Help me how?”

  “By removing your symbiont,” Ksana said.

  Lirra felt a surge of panic from the tentacle whip, and it began uncoiling from around her wrist, determined to defend itself. Vaddon reached for his sword, and Ksana moved her halberd into battle position.

  Stop it! Lirra mentally shouted at the symbiont. You go wild now, they’ll be convinced I can’t control you, and they’ll remove you for certain! Calm down and let me play this my way, and there’s a chance you and I will walk out of this room still bonded together!

  For an instant, she thought the tentacle whip was going to go ahead and attack anyway. But then it hesitated and slowly, reluctantly, coiled itself about her forearm once more and grew still. It remained on guard, however. If Vaddon and Ksana came to believe she couldn’t control the symbiont, they’d attempt to remove it from her by force—and that would be bad for everyone concerned.

  “It’s all right,” Lirra said. “I’ve got it calmed down.”

  Vaddon and Ksana looked at her, as if they were deciding whether or not to trust her. Finally, Ksana held her halberd at ease once more, and Vaddon removed his hand from his sword handle. Neither fully relaxed, though, and Lirra didn’t blame them.

  “As you can see,” Lirra began, “the symbiont is a little touchy about any talk of our being separated.”