by Tim Waggoner
Rhedyn was a few years older than Lirra, close to thirty, and like her, he’d been trained at the Rekkenmark Academy. He was a nephew of Veit Bergerron and, since the warlord had produced no children of his own, that made him a potential heir to Bergerron’s lands. Despite his noble upbringing, Rhedyn didn’t act as if he were better than any other soldier, and he was as skilled as any warrior she’d ever served with.
She admired how well Rhedyn controlled his own symbiont-a shadow sibling-although she had to admit that she found herself at times uncomfortable around him since he’d joined with the creature.
“Osten’s failure is as much my fault as his,” Lirra said. “I’m the one that recommended he be considered for a symbiont.” She looked over at the young man once more, self-conscious to be talking about him as if he weren’t there. But Osten was still sleeping soundly.
“He was a good choice,” Ksana said. “He’s young and strong, and don’t forget, he volunteered willingly. And your uncle interviewed him thoroughly before approving him.”
“And it wasn’t as if he received just any symbiont,” Rhedyn added. “That tentacle whip is particularly strong and willful. It will make a powerful weapon … assuming a suitable host can be found.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Lirra conceded. “Thanks for stepping in to help. If you hadn’t stunned the tentacle whip …”
“I could hardly stand by and allow my captain to be killed, could I?” Rhedyn smiled. He started to reach out to touch her hand, but then paused, as if thinking better of it. Before he could withdraw his hand, she reached up and clasped it. His flesh felt cool and too smooth, like a serpent’s, and she had to force herself to keep holding on.
Rhedyn smiled gratefully and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
“What happened to the whip?” Lirra asked. “Was it damaged?”
“Not permanently. After I stunned it, your father’s sword blow weakened Osten to the point where the whip could fight no more on its own, and your uncle was able to detach it from Osten’s body. Elidyr and Sinnoch are making sure that the symbiont is returned to its cage as we speak.”
Lirra remembered capturing this particular aberration. She often led the hunting parties that journeyed into the Nightwood in search of symbionts. Osten’s tentacle whip had a presence that was stronger than most. It radiated a sly, baleful intelligence that Lirra found daunting, and in retrospect, she wasn’t all that surprised that the creature had proved too much for Osten to handle. She wasn’t certain Rhedyn would’ve been able to master it, and he had already proven that he could serve as a host to a symbiont without having his personality overwhelmed.
“I hate to do this to you,” Rhedyn said, “but the general sent me to bring you to the den. He wants to, and I quote, ‘Have a few words with that rock-headed daughter of mine.’ ” He turned to Ksana. “He’d like you to come too, cleric-and he’s summoned Elidyr as well. Not Sinnoch though. I don’t think your father cares for the dolgaunt.”
That was understatement. Vaddon absolutely loathed the creature.
Ksana glanced at Osten, who still slumbered fitfully.
“I’d prefer not to leave Osten’s side,” she said.
“The general was most insistent,” Rhedyn said.
Ksana sighed. “What else is new?”
“Osten’s well liked among the Outguard,” Lirra said. “I won’t have any trouble finding a volunteer to sit with him so you can attend the meeting.”
Lirra sat up and swung her legs over the side of the cot. The movement made her feel a touch lightheaded, but the sensation soon passed and she was able to stand without difficulty.
Her father had summoned them all. She knew it had to have something to do with the reason why he’d insisted on being present during Osten’s test, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be, and there was no way to guess. Her father was a man of many moods, and she’d never been able to predict them with any degree of accuracy. One thing was certain though. Whatever Vaddon wanted, Lirra doubted she was going to like it.
“Gently now. I don’t want this one hurt.”
Elidyr stood watching while a pair of soldiers attempted to wrestle the tentacle whip into its cage. The soldiers-one man, one woman-wore full armor, including helms and visors, that had enchantments embedded in the metal by Elidyr to repel a symbiont attack. Even with the armor, there was still a risk that a symbiont might be able to attach to the wearer, especially if the symbiont was strong and determined. But it helped to cut down on the danger.
Neither of the soldiers showed any sign of having heard the artificer’s words of caution as they continued fighting the thrashing, writhing symbiont. Though the tentacle whip made no sound-indeed, it possessed no capability of doing so-the air in the chamber was charged with tension, and the other captive symbionts moved about restlessly in their cages. The soldiers wielded devices Elidyr had specially designed for handling symbionts-metal poles with retractable cable nooses. Both ends of the tentacle whip-the barbed tip and the mouth-were held tight by the nooses, allowing the Karrns to drag the symbiont across the stone floor to its cage. Though someone unfamiliar with symbionts would’ve thought the whip fought fiercely, Elidyr knew the whip was putting up only a token fight, weakened as it was by Rhedyn’s attack and the forced removal from its host. Still, its struggles were strong enough that it might injure itself if its handlers weren’t cautious.
The hooded brown-robed figure standing beside Elidyr sniffed in derision.
“It seems the reputation you Karrns have for bravery is somewhat exaggerated. Not only do your people need to wear armor to handle one symbiont, they also need enchanted armor.” The dolgaunt spoke in a phlemgy, whispery rattle, his voice a sickening parody of human speech.
“I’d speak more softly if I were you, Sinnoch. Your presence in the lodge is tolerated only because I’ve interceded with my brother on your behalf. But his sufferance is not without limit, and if he heard you speaking of soldiers in his command like that, he’d run you through without a moment’s hesitation.”
Sinnoch sniffed again, but he said nothing more. Sinnoch’s robe was large on his almost skeletal frame, the voluminous hood and long sleeves concealing the dolgaunt’s inhuman features. There was movement beneath the cloth over Sinnoch’s shoulder blades, sinuous and serpentlike, indicating Sinnoch’s true nature. Elidyr didn’t know if the movement of the shoulder tentacles was an unconscious gesture on the creature’s part, or if he did it on purpose to remind all within eyeshot that he wasn’t human. Given the chaotic thought patterns of Sinnoch’s kind, it was impossible to know for sure, perhaps even for Sinnoch himself.
Elidyr Brochann was a middle-aged man with an unruly mass of white hair badly in need of trimming. Elidyr was reed thin-almost as thin as the dolgaunt. The artificer had a tendency to remain motionless until such time as movement was required, and even then he moved with a deliberate precision and economy of motion that said he was a man who despised waste of any sort. He wore a leather apron over a plain white shirt, gray trousers, and black boots. Bloodstains covered the apron, remnants from the rushed and none-too-gentle removal of the tentacle whip from Osten. The blood didn’t bother Elidyr. After all, it was something of an occupational hazard for him these days.
Finally, the two soldiers managed to get the symbiont inside its cage, loosen the cables binding it, and withdraw the poles. After that they swiftly closed the door, visibly relaxing once it was locked. The symbiont cages had been fashioned from spell-reinforced steel built to Elidyr’s precise specifications by artisans of House Kundarak, and in addition, Elidyr had added an enchantment to the cages to keep the symbionts sedate. Once the tentacle whip was inside, the spell went to work, and the creature curled up and became still.
The soldiers stepped away from the cage and lifted their visors as they approached Elidyr. The man kept his gaze fastened on Elidyr, but the woman looked at Sinnoch with undisguised disgust. The tentacles on the dolgaunt’s back writhed m
ore noticeably beneath his robe, and the woman quickly looked away. Sinnoch let out a soft, hissing laugh.
Before either of the soldiers could speak, Elidyr said, “Thank you. That will be all.”
They nodded, both looking grateful to be excused, and departed the chamber. Elidyr walked over to the tentacle whip’s cage and Sinnoch followed, the dolgaunt moving with silent, inhuman grace. Elidyr gazed upon the quiescent symbiont for a time before speaking.
“This is the most magnificent specimen Lirra has ever brought back for us. So strong, so willful … to think my brother wanted to destroy it.” He shook his head.
“You made a mistake in allowing Osten to serve as the whip’s host,” Sinnoch said. “He was too weak.” He glanced sideways at Elidyr. “You are all too weak.”
Elidyr refused to rise to the bait, but privately he admitted the dolgaunt was right. The whole point of this project was to find the perfect marriage of host and symbiont, and Osten had been completely overmatched by the tentacle whip. The boy was strong in body, but his mind and spirit simply weren’t enough to stand up to the symbiont’s corrupting influence. The whip would make a wonderful weapon-provided they could find the right person to wield it.
“I have to go,” Elidyr said. “My brother has summoned me to a meeting.”
“I take it I’m not invited,” Sinnoch said. He reached up with clawed hands and lowered his hood to reveal a pale inhuman face with empty eye sockets. His skin was covered in a layer of writhing cilia, and a mane of longer tendrils surrounded his head. “Too bad. I do so love to visit Vaddon and bask in his utter loathing of me.” He grinned, displaying a mouthful of discolored fangs. “Go. I’ll stay here a bit longer to make certain our friend suffered no ill effects from its less-than-tender treatment at the hands of your oh-so-valiant countrymen.”
Elidyr scowled at the dolgaunt, and handed his gore-smeared leather apron to Sinnoch. “Take care of this for me, would you?”
“With pleasure.”
The dolgaunt snatched the bloody garment from Elidyr and held it up to his nose. He inhaled the blood scent, the mane of tentacles surrounding his head quivering with excitement. Elidyr then turned and walked away as the dolgaunt began licking the apron clean with eager strokes of its grotesquely long tongue.
CHAPTER THREE
Vaddon Brochann’s office was located in the den, one of the most impressive rooms in the entire lodge: stone fireplace, oak-paneled walls draped with tapestries depicting hunting scenes, leather-upholstered furniture, and-incongruously-an obscenely expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling with everbright crystals in place of candles.
Vaddon stood in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, when Lirra, Rhedyn, and Ksana entered. Vaddon had discarded his protective armor in favor of the basic Outguard uniform: green leather armor vest over a white shirt, black leather gauntlets, black pants, and black boots. Warlord Bergerron’s crest was emblazoned on the left side of the vest, with a sigil representing the Outguard branded onto the right. Whenever Vaddon was in the lodge, he went without the silver helm and crimson cape that designated his rank, and Lirra didn’t blame him. She thought they looked silly.
Despite the absence of flames-or perhaps because of them-Vaddon stared into the fireplace as if he were searching for something within it. He didn’t turn to greet Lirra and the others as they entered, and she took that as a bad sign. Vaddon wasn’t a man given to deep contemplation, and when he was lost in thought, it usually didn’t bode well.
“How fares Osten?” He spoke without turning to face them, his voice soft.
“His wound is healed,” Ksana said. “He’s resting now.”
“I’m glad. Osten’s a brave lad, and I’d hate to lose him.”
Lirra noted that Ksana refrained from mentioning her concerns about the state of Osten’s mind, most likely because she didn’t wish to say anything to Vaddon until Osten woke and she’d had a chance to examine him more thoroughly. Ksana and Vaddon had been friends for many years, and while the cleric didn’t keep information from the general, she often delivered it at a time of her own choosing-especially if she thought it was information that would only worry Vaddon unnecessarily.
The general glanced over his shoulder at them. “Sit down, please. I don’t want to begin until my brother-”
As if Vaddon’s words had summoned him, the door opened and Elidyr walked into the den.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting, but I had to make sure Osten’s symbiont was returned safely to its cage.” He paused. “Well, to be technical, I suppose it isn’t Osten’s anymore, is it? Still, you’ll all be happy to know that the tentacle whip sustained no serious injury as a result of today’s test.”
Vaddon turned away from the fireplace and faced them, as if goaded by his brother’s words. “I’m sure Osten will take that as a great comfort.”
“Perhaps,” Elidyr replied, “but I doubt it will be as much of a comfort to him as knowing that he’s going to get to keep the arm you tried to lop off.”
Vaddon scowled, but otherwise didn’t respond.
Every time Lirra saw her father and uncle together, she was struck by the stark differences in their appearance. They were clearly brothers-same thick hair, blue eyes, and sturdy chin, and their voices sounded so similar that if you closed your eyes, you might have trouble telling which one spoke at any given moment. But Elidyr’s body was scarecrow slender, in contrast to Vaddon’s more muscular frame, and while Vaddon’s mien was normally serious to the point of being dour, Elidyr smiled often. In terms of temperament, they couldn’t have been more different. Vaddon was a soldier through and through, and he lived his life by core principles of honor, duty, and sacrifice. Orders were given, and orders should be carried out. End of discussion. But despite serving his mandatory two years in Karrnath’s military, Elidyr was a scholar who’d studied the craft of artificing at Morgrave University in Sharn, and he believed that everything should be questioned-authority included-otherwise, how could true learning take place?
Needless to say, the two didn’t always see eye to eye.
“So why did you summon the four of us, Brother?” Elidyr said. “I’m sure you have an extremely good reason for pulling us away from our work.”
Vaddon walked toward a large cherrywood desk in the corner of the den, picked up a document from its otherwise empty surface and carried it over to Elidyr.
“This arrived this morning, carried by a rider from the garrison at Geirrid,” Vaddon said. “It’s from Bergerron. He had it delivered to the garrison from his keep by an Orien courier.”
Lirra was surprised. Delivering a message using a teleporter from House Orien was an extravagant expense, especially considering that Bergerron couldn’t have the courier teleport directly to the lodge, given the secretive nature of the work taking place there. Though Bergerron was their patron and funded their experiments, the warlord left them alone to do their work as they saw fit. He hadn’t contacted them once during the months the lodge had been operating. So why start now, Lirra wondered, and why pay so much money to have a message delivered so swiftly? It had to be bad news.
Vaddon handed the letter to Lirra, and she immediately began reading the missive.
“What does my uncle have to say?” Rhedyn asked.
Lirra looked up from the letter and looked at Rhedyn with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Basically, he says, ‘Stop.’ Bergerron wants us to shut down the project, erase all signs of its existence, and depart the lodge within a day. See for yourself.”
Lirra gave the letter to Rhedyn who quickly scanned it.
“Bergerron can’t do this!” Elidyr said. “He’s supported us from the beginning.”
The Last War might have been over, but not everyone in Khorvaire was optimistic enough to believe it truly would be the last. The cessation of hostilities in Khorvaire was due in no small part to the nation’s ruler, Kaius ir’Wynarn III, who pressed for peace toward the end of the Last War and helped establish the
Treaty of Thronehold. At the time, many of the Karrnathi warlords believed their king mad, but the nobles had since come to believe that Kaius’s desire for peace was a ruse, that the king truly wished for hostilities to cease only long enough so that Karrnath might rebuild its strength and once again seek an advantage against the other nations. But some warlords-Bergerron among them-believed Kaius was soft, and they viewed the Treaty of Thronehold as a symbol of his weakness. Refusing to support a weak king, these warlords began seeking ways to return Karrnath to its former glory. To that end, the rebel warlords had set a number of schemes in motion, and one of Bergerron’s was the Outguard’s experimentation with symbionts.
“Bergerron is a warlord,” Lirra said, “which means at heart he’s as much politician as soldier. My guess is some other warlord has gotten wind of our project-perhaps someone loyal to Kaius-and Bergerron wants to erase all signs of our work as swiftly as possible, before the king is informed and sends someone to investigate.”
“Those were my thoughts as well,” Vaddon said.
“It would explain my uncle’s haste to get the message to us,” Rhedyn said.
“Whatever his reason, the man’s a fool,” Elidyr said, voice tight with barely controlled fury.
“Perhaps the truth of the matter is entirely opposite,” Ksana said, “and Bergerron has found a measure of wisdom.”
Elidyr turned to glare at the half-elf. “What do you mean by that, cleric?” he snapped.
Lirra knew her uncle could be sharp-tongued at times, especially when he was dealing with people he viewed as his intellectual inferiors, but she’d never known him to get this upset before. She understood why he was so passionate about the project though. Exploring the use of symbionts as potential weapons of warfare had been Elidyr’s idea originally. As a scholar, he’d always believed that knowledge was a far greater weapon than any object forged of steel, no matter how sharp its edge. During the course of his studies, he’d become fascinated with Xoriat and the daelkyr, and he’d learned about those called impure princes, warriors who chose to accept the corrupting embrace of a symbiont in order to use its power to hunt down and destroy the aberrations of the world. Fight kind for kind, blow for blow, was an old saying in Karrnath, and it seemed a philosophy well suited for impure princes. But Elidyr had realized that symbionts could be used for purposes other than fighting those malformed monstrosities created by the daelkyr and loosed upon the world; they could serve as weapons of war.
