Lady Ruin

CHAPTER TWELVE

Still no word?” Ksana asked.

Vaddon sat upon one of the logs arranged around their campfire, a mug of hot nestleberry tea in his hand. He looked up as the cleric approached and sat down next to him. A metal teapot sat at the edge of the fire, resting in a bed of coals, and Vaddon offered his old friend some, but she declined.

“I’ve already had two cups this morning,” she said. “More than that, and I get jittery.”

Vaddon smiled. “Given your usually placid nature, you being jittery is like another person being half asleep.”

Ksana smiled back. “How many campaigns have we been on together, Vaddon? How many times have we sat around campfires like this, waiting for news-for orders or intelligence-that would tell us it was finally time to act?”

“Too many times to count,” he said. There was a hint of warmth beneath his gruff tone. Ksana might not have been related to the Brochanns by blood, but she was as much a member of the family as if she had been. The bonds forged in battle among Karrnathi soldiers were as strong as any formed by familial relationship, and often stronger. Ksana had stood by Vaddon’s side, as a fellow soldier, advisor, and friend, for more years than he liked to think about. But there was no one he’d rather have by his side during trying times, with the exception of Lirra, and given that his daughter had become possessed by an aberration and had taken leave of her senses, the cleric’s presence was, as always, a great comfort to him.

The Outguard had set up camp on the outskirts of Geirrid, less than a mile from the city. Vaddon wanted to be near the town garrison in case he needed to call upon reinforcements, but he didn’t want to stay at the town’s barracks in order to avoid any of the other soldiers learning about the symbiont project and what had happened to Lirra and Elidyr. A dozen tents were pitched in a circle around the campfire, and about the same number of horses was tethered to stakes not far from camp. Sinnoch remained in his tent-indeed, the dolgaunt hadn’t left it since they’d made camp yesterday, and Vaddon had set Bergerron’s two warforged to stand guard. A half-dozen other soldiers, including Rhedyn and Osten, busied themselves with maintaining their weapons, caring for the horses, or running practice drills to keep in shape.

The rest of Vaddon’s people were out riding across the countryside in search of Elidyr and Lirra, all of them in possession of communication amulets containing psionic crystals. The amulets allowed the wearers to send and receive brief telepathic messages to each other, though the crystals only contained enough power for two or three exchanges before they burned out. Vaddon wore one of the amulets around his neck, and his crystal was larger than the others, allowing it to retain a charge longer. Elidyr had originally created the devices for the Outguard’s use, and the irony that his brother’s handiwork would now be used to track him down wasn’t lost on Vaddon. His own amulet had already seen a significant amount of use that morning.

“I’ve received some reports,” Vaddon said. Each time someone had contacted him, he’d felt a surge of hope that there would be news about Lirra, but he’d been disappointed every time. “None of our people have sighted either Lirra or Elidyr, but they have run across a number of abandoned farms-all of them in a more or less direct line between the lodge and Geirrid.”

“Do you think either Lirra or Elidyr had anything to do with it?”

“There’s no evidence to suggest that, but you know as well as I that coincidences are never to be trusted in a campaign. I’ve ordered a couple of our soldiers to ride to Geirrid and see what, if anything, they can learn there.”

“Do you think Lirra or Elidyr would head for the town?”

Vaddon shrugged. “Who’s to say what either of them will do now? My brother is clearly insane, and Lirra …” He paused and sighed deeply. “She may retain more of her sanity than Elidyr, but her fusion with the symbiont affected her mind as well, and every moment she remains bonded to the foul thing corrupts her further. It’s only a matter of time before she loses her mind as well.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that,” Ksana said softly. “Lirra is strong in body, mind, and spirit. If anyone is able to resist the corrupting influence of a symbiont, it will be her.”

Vaddon dearly wanted to believe that Ksana was right, that his daughter would be able to maintain her sense of self and not be overwhelmed by her symbiont. But it was precisely because he so badly wanted to believe it that he couldn’t allow himself to do so. Lirra was his daughter, and it was tearing him up inside that she had become corrupted in body and mind because the symbiont project had failed-a project he was in command of. But if he was to have a chance of freeing his daughter from the parasite that afflicted her, he had to control his emotions and do what had to be done, just as he’d had to on a hundred previous campaigns, on a hundred different battlefields. But this time he would do it for Lirra.

As if sensing his mood, Ksana turned the conversation in a different direction. She nodded toward the two warforged guarding Sinnoch’s tent. “So what do you think of our new recruits?”

Vaddon snorted. “You know how I feel about warforged. I will say this: They were useful for flagging down the lightning rail. I ordered them both to stand in the middle of the tracks and wave their arms until the engine stopped.”

Ksana grinned. “And I bet you wouldn’t have been disappointed if they’d been run down.”

Vaddon smiled back. “I’ll admit the thought had occurred to me. Unfortunately, the driver stopped in time.” He glanced over at the warforged. Longstrider stood still as a statue-which, Vaddon supposed, came naturally to his kind-but Shatterfist kept talking to his companion, moving about as he did so, almost fidgeting, in fact.

“Bergerron sent them both to keep an eye on us, but they’ve been ordered to assist us as necessary, and I don’t doubt they will.” Vaddon paused. “I can tolerate the tall one,” he said grudgingly. “He’s quiet, does his job, and doesn’t get in the way. As for the short one …” He shook his head. “He talks too much. I’ve begun to wonder if Bergerron didn’t send that one with me as a form of punishment for bungling the symbiont project.”

Ksana chuckled. “I’ve talked with Shatterfist a couple of times. He’s different then most warforged, but that’s his charm.”

Vaddon turned to face the cleric. “You talked to him? Whatever for?”

“To get to know him, of course. I’ve spoken with Longstrider as well.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Vaddon asked, honestly puzzled. “They’re just constructs. They aren’t alive. There’s no more sense in getting to know them than there is getting to know a horseshoe. They’re tools designed to fulfill a purpose, nothing more.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Vaddon. You know how I feel. Just because the warforged were created through magical engineering doesn’t make them any less alive than you or I. The gods have many ways of working their miracles.” She smiled. “Or to put it in a way you might better appreciate, there’s more than one way to skin a wolf.”

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!”

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.”