by Tim Waggoner
Lirra didn’t blame him, but it meant that the Outguard had only sixty or so members. A decent-sized force under other circumstances, perhaps, but Lirra feared it wouldn’t be enough, not against Elidyr and the sort of creatures he could create. But it was all they had, so it would have to suffice.
One detriment to having such a large party was that it slowed their progress through the forest. The Nightwood was old, full of large, ancient trees growing close together, and while hunters and explorers had forged paths through the forest over the years, Ranja claimed this was the route that Elidyr, Sinnoch, and Rhedyn had taken, and so the sixty members of the Outguard made their way through the dense forest as best they could. One good thing about traveling with so many people was that it would discourage all but the largest and fiercest of predators, and so far their journey through the Nightwood had been without incident. But that didn’t mean any of them were complacent. Every man and woman kept close watch on the surrounding woods as they passed, alert for the slightest hint of movement. A number of soldiers rode with crossbows resting on their laps, bolts loaded and ready to loose at the first sign of trouble. Others kept one hand on their horses’ reins, the other never far from their swords. They all knew that Elidyr was far from the only monster inhabiting the forest that day.
Osten was one of those holding a crossbow, and he continually swept his gaze back and forth as they rode. Occasionally he’d give Ranja a sidelong glance, frowning slightly. He’d said less than a dozen words to the shifter since they’d left Geirrid, and it was clear to Lirra that he didn’t approve of the woman. Lirra might almost have thought Osten was jealous, that he viewed Ranja as a rival of sorts as it was his assigned task to be Lirra’s nursemaid. The thought was ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake it. For her part, Ranja seemed to delight in talking as often as possible to irritate the young warrior, a result she accomplished all too easily.
Osten glanced at Ranja again, and this time the shifter flashed him a smile that was a touch more feral than usual.
“See something you like, big boy? You know what they say about shifter women …”
Osten’s cheeks turned bright red. “No, I don’t, and I’d prefer you don’t enlighten me!” he snapped.
Ranja laughed and gave him a wink, but she said nothing more. Osten glared at her one more time before turning to Lirra.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
He didn’t need to make the question more specific. Lirra knew what he meant. He’d seen the tentacle whip kill the starling.
“The symbiont is getting a bit restless, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” She kept her tone light, in hopes of reassuring Osten, but in truth she was starting to become concerned. When the Outguard had first set out for the Nightwood, she’d thought the quiet routine of travel would relax her and help to keep her calm, which in turn would make it easier for her to control the tentacle whip. But instead the opposite had happened. The monotony of sitting in the saddle hour after hour had worn down her nerves to the point where she thought she might scream if something didn’t happen soon. When Vaddon had talked with her at the garrison barracks in Geirrid, he’d wondered aloud how much she’d been changed by hosting a symbiont. It seemed she’d been changed in ways both great and small. It was important she came to understand those changes, for the symbiont would attempt to exploit any weakness to slip past her guard and wrest control from her. And that was something she couldn’t let happen, not even for an instant. For if she did, there was a good chance her mind, her spirit, her very self, would be lost forever.
It hadn’t helped any that her mount, a piebald mare, was skittish about having a rider with a symbiont sitting in the saddle. Elidyr, Sinnoch, and Rhedyn had taken the mounts that had been enchanted to tolerate the presence of aberrations when they’d fled from Geirrid, and Lirra had been forced to make due with one of the horses from the garrison stable. Since Geirrid was surrounded by farms, the town had a number of animal handlers who could lay spells on cattle and horses to make them more tractable, and the garrison stable-master was skilled at such spellcraft. Unfortunately, he’d never had to enchant a horse to carry a rider fused with an aberration before, and while the mare tolerated Lirra’s presence, Lirra had to constantly pay attention to her mount to make sure she didn’t spook. Two days of babying her horse had worn Lirra down even further.
She sat up straight in the saddle and forced herself to take several deep, even breaths to calm herself before turning to Ranja.
“How are we faring?” she asked.
In response, Ranja raised her chin and sniffed the air. “Still on track. The scent’s good and strong, as well it should be considering that the three we’re tracking are all aberrations of one sort or another.” She wrinkled her nose. “They reek. Even if a strong rain came along, I doubt it would be enough to dampen their scent trail. How about you? Sense anything yet?”
Lirra concentrated. She felt a slight tingle at the base of her skull, and a cold flutter deep in her stomach, but neither sensation lasted more than an instant. “I’m not certain. Right now, I’d say your nose is a lot more reliable.”
Behind them, Shatterfist called out. “Speaking of noses, have you heard this one? One gnome walks up to another gnome and says, ‘My dog has no nose.’ The second gnome asks, ‘Then how does he smell?’ And the first gnome answers, ‘Terrible!’ ”
Lirra groaned. She almost wished some unspeakable horror would come shrieking out of the woods and tear her to shreds. At least then she wouldn’t have to listen to any more of Shatter-fist’s awful jokes. She wondered if she could convince her father that the warforged were still too close to Ranja and were interfering with her tracking. Perhaps then he’d move them farther back in the—
Tingling erupted at the base of her skull, and her gut twisted with sudden nausea as intense as when she’d sensed Elidyr’s white-eyes in Geirrid. More so, in fact, and she knew that couldn’t be good.
She raised her hand to call for a sudden halt. Vaddon saw her signal and commanded the Outguard to stop. He rode forward, Ksana riding at his side, until both of their mounts were at the front of the party with Lirra, Ranja, and Osten.
“What is it?” Vaddon asked without preamble.
“There’s something ahead of us,” Lirra said. “Something big. And it’s coming toward us. I think it’s an aberration of some sort … or maybe many aberrations massed together. I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it’s approaching fast.”
Vaddon looked at her skeptically for a moment, as if he didn’t trust her perceptions. He turned to Ksana, and the halfelf cleric raised her right hand, closed her eyes, and whispered a quick prayer to her goddess.
She opened her eyes. “I think Lirra is right. Whatever’s coming feels like those creatures of Elidyr’s we fought in Geirrid. Not evil in the supernatural sense, but definitely unnatural.”
Vaddon turned in his saddle to face the rest of the Outguard and made a series of silent hand gestures. The men and women under his command—including those who’d only just joined the Outguard—understood the code: We’re about to be attacked. Make ready. Crossbows were raised and swords were quietly drawn from their sheaths. Without a word, the soldiers moved their horses into a circular battle formation so that they’d be prepared for the attack no matter which direction it came from. Lirra and the others did likewise, Longstrider and Shatterfist stepping forward to join them at the head of the circle.
Ranja sniffed the air and made a face. “They definitely stink like the white-eyes and that dolgaunt friend of your uncle’s. Like rotten mushrooms covered in snail slime.” The shifter shuddered in disgust. “I can hear them too. Dozens of them, approaching from all sides.” She cocked her head as she listened more closely. “They aren’t big, but there’s a lot of them.”
Lirra could hear them now as well. Thudding footfalls on the forest floor, harsh, labored breathing, and muttering voices. She felt the tentacle whip’s coils slacken around her arm as the symbiont prepared f
or action, and the thought-voice whispered with glee: Finally!
Seconds later, the first wave of creatures came at them. Though she’d never seen them in the flesh before, Lirra recognized the things at once, thanks to the briefings Elidyr had given the Outguard on aberrations, the daelkyr, and their servants. These were dolgrims, creatures created by the daelkyr during their long-ago invasion of Khorvaire. To create a dolgrim, a daelkyr took two goblins and fused them into a single being using its flesh-molding powers. The resultant creature was a loathsome thing, three-and-a-half feet tall, squat and hunchbacked, with four spindly arms and no head. Its face was located on its chest, and it had a pair of toothsome mouths, one set atop the other. The skin was oily and white, though a number of these dolgrims bore garishly colored tattoos upon their flesh, as if to differentiate themselves from their brethren. They wore dark leather pants as their sole clothing, and carried four weapons, one for each hand: a morningstar, a spear, a light crossbow, and a shield, though some dolgrim wielded greatswords instead of spears. According to Elidyr, the creatures possessed two brains, though one personality was primarily dominant, and sometimes they held conversations with themselves, which explained the muttering Lirra had heard. While the creatures weren’t particularly smart, their dual brains did allow them to wield all four of their weapons in a coordinated attack, which made them foes to be respected.
Many of these dolgrims were different from the standard breed, however, and Lirra knew that her uncle had added his own special touches to these before sending them out to attack. Some were covered with bony spikes, while others were encased in insect-like armor. Several possessed claws long and sharp as sabers, and a few had discolored foam—which Lirra had no doubt was poisonous—dripping from their twin mouths. As dangerous as the creatures had been before, they were doubly so now, thanks to Elidyr.
Vaddon shouted for the Outguard to attack, but he needn’t have bothered. The dolgrims were upon the soldiers so swiftly that it was all they could do to defend themselves. The Outguard’s horses had been trained for battle, and many held steady, but they hadn’t been trained to deal with unnatural creatures like dolgrims, and some whinnied, bucked, and threw their riders. Those horses tried to flee in panic and were quickly dispatched by the dolgrims, though a few of the creatures fell beneath pounding hooves before all the terrified horses had been dealt with.
The creatures seemed reluctant to attack Lirra. She swiftly dismounted and smacked her horse on the rear to send her on her way. The mare had been a thorn in Lirra’s side for the last two days, but she wished the horse good luck as she turned to face the nearest dolgrims, sword in hand, tentacle whip uncoiling of its own accord, eager to draw blood. Lirra didn’t chastise her symbiont for acting on its own. Now was precisely the time to allow the whip the freedom to act on its own.
The whip lashed its barbed tip toward a dolgrim—this one covered with spikes—and struck the creature in the eye. The dolgrim howled as poison flooded its system, and it dropped all four of its weapons as it staggered backward, dying. Meanwhile, Lirra swung her sword at a different dolgrim, this one gnashing foam-flecked teeth. It swung its morningstar at her, but she batted it aside easily and dodged to the side as the dolgrim followed up with a spear thrust to her abdomen. Before she’d bonded with the tentacle whip, the strike might have hit home, but she was faster now and more agile, and while the spear tip tore the cloth of her tunic, it didn’t draw blood. The dolgrim attempted to follow up its strike with a blow from its shield, but Lirra was ready for that. She commanded the tentacle whip to grab hold of the dolgrim’s shield hand by the wrist, and then she took the opportunity to jam her sword into one of the creature’s eyes.
The dolgrim shrieked in agony and fell away from her sword, blood spraying from the ruined socket where its eye had been. Lirra turned away from the creature before it could fall to the ground, selected another target, and set upon it.
Ranja assumed her full bestial aspect and leaped off her horse to engage the nearest dolgrim, while Osten remained on his mount, swinging his sword as the creatures came at him. But given the dolgrims’ diminutive stature, his sword missed as often as it hit, and the creatures were able to come in close and attack his horse, using their weapons or even their teeth to wound the animal. The steed screamed in pain and started to go down under the assault. Osten vaulted out of the saddle in time and managed to land on his feet just as a pair of dolgrims rushed at him. His horse fell to the ground and was overrun and slain by dolgrims who then quickly moved on to other targets.
Longstrider and Shatterfist lost no time in engaging the enemy. It was, after all, what they’d been created for. The two warforged waded into the sea of dolgrims with devasting effect, Longstrider’s spiked feet slashing flesh, snapping bones, and crushing bodies with his spinning kicks while Shatterfist’s hands reduced dolgrims to so much oily white pulp with one blow after another. The creatures shrieked as they died, their cries high-pitched and grating, sounding more like yowling cats than unnatural aberrations.
Vaddon and Ksana dismounted and smacked their horses on the flank, sending them pounding into the ranks of the dolgrims, in hopes that the animals might escape or, failing that, at least kill some of the creatures before dying themselves. The two fought back to back, Vaddon’s sword flashing almost faster than Lirra’s eyes could track, Ksana’s halberd matching him strike for strike. Despite Vaddon’s age, he fought like a warrior in his prime, his blows precise and economical, guided by years of battlefield experience. Ksana fought with a fluid grace. The cleric’s face was calm, almost beatific, as if she were praying instead of fighting for her life.
How long the Outguard fought against the dolgrims, Lirra couldn’t have said. She fell into a state that she was well familiar with from her time on the battlefield, a state wherein she ceased thinking consciously and gave herself over to her training and experience, letting her body do what it needed to in order to survive. The state was quite peaceful in its own way, and since her symbiont was happily occupied with slaughtering dolgrims, the pressure she felt from the aberration’s constant attempts to escape her control and subvert her mind had lessened. In many ways, this was the most relaxed she’d felt since bonding with the tentacle whip—and wasn’t that a sad commentary on her current state of existence?
But Lirra had fought in too many campaigns not to recognize when her side was outnumbered, and before long she realized that the Outguard was losing this battle. A number of their people had fallen to the dolgrims, though thank the Host those closest to her remained alive, if not altogether unscathed. Still, if they didn’t turn the tide soon, the dolgrims would overwhelm them and they would all perish here, their life’s blood soaking the soil and feeding the Nightwood’s trees.
Lirra heard the thought-voice whisper.
You know this is only a distraction, right?
The whip stabbed another dolgrim in the eye, and the creature screamed briefly before the symbiont’s poison stole away its life. Lirra followed the whip’s action by ramming her sword into a dolgrim’s upper mouth, angling upward to pierce the creature’s brain. As she yanked her blade free, she realized the tentacle whip was right. She’d been a fool. How many times on the battlefield had she commanded a squadron of soldiers to attack as a distraction or delaying tactic so that she could maneuver the main attack force into position? Elidyr might have trained as a scholar and artificer instead of a professional soldier, but he had a keen mind—albeit an insane one now—and would have had no trouble devloping the simple strategy of keeping his foes busy while he prepared to achieve his true aim: repairing the Overmantle and releasing the daelkyr lord from Xoriat. And Lirra and the others had fallen for his stratagem like green recruits fresh out of basic training.
Lirra continued killing dolgrims as she thought furiously. They couldn’t continue fighting a losing battle against these creatures, not if they were to have any hope of reaching Elidyr in time. But given the dolgrims’ superior numbers and their implacable sav
agery, there was no way the Outguard could prevail against them. Not unless something could be done to tip the scales in the Outguard’s favor. But what?
You’d need a way to attack a number of dolgrims all at once, the thought-voice suggested.
Lirra continued hacking away at one dolgrim after another, the tentacle whip sometimes helping by keeping the creature’s extra hands busy, other times simply by injecting poison into their bodies.
The thought-voice spoke again. You don’t just have my abilities to draw on. Remember what your uncle did back at the lodge.
She remembered Elidyr holding forth a hand, the air distorting around them as he unleashed a newfound power, a wave of vertigo passing over her, accompanied by weakness and nausea. She recalled her uncle’s words: Did you enjoy that? It’s a little taste of Xoriat chaos energy.
Was the tentacle whip hinting that she had the same power? She hadn’t been touched by the daelkyr as Elidyr had, but the power of Xoriat had been flowing through the portal while the Overmantle had been active. Perhaps the chaos energy had affected her more than she’d realized. Then again, perhaps her symbiont was toying with her, building up her hopes for its own amusement, just so it could see them dashed when she attempted to use a power she didn’t possess.
Lirra didn’t see what other option she had though. She swung her sword in a wide arc before her in order to push back the nearest dolgrims, and then she thrust out her free hand—the tentacle whip lashing the air to keep more dolgrims at bay—and, without a clue how she might release a power within her that she didn’t know for certain she possessed, she concentrated. At first, nothing happened. But then she became aware of a stirring deep inside her, as if she was tapping into a vast reservoir of power that she hadn’t known existed. The air around her hand began to waver, and then she felt a sudden surge of energy rush through her arm and blast forth from her hand.