by Tim Waggoner
“Get off my land.” Averone tried to speak in a strong, confident tone, but he couldn’t keep his voice from quavering.
The man continued approaching. He glanced at the dead cow as he passed it and shook his head.
“You really should take better care of your animals. This poor thing looks as if it was slaughtered by a blind butcher with a dull cleaver and a bad case of arthritis.”
The man let out a high-pitched giggle at his joke, and the sound sent a chill racing down the length of Averone’s spine. It was not the sort of sound a sane person would make.
The man stepped closer, and Averone was able to make out his basic features, enough to see that he was a thin, middle-aged man. At first, Averone relaxed a bit. The farmer was young and strong, and if it came down to a physical contest, he had no doubt he’d be able to take the older man. But there was that thing on his shoulder, and Averone noticed that one of the man’s hands was significantly larger than the other. He remembered the serpent the woman had commanded, and for the first time he wondered if it had been a serpent at all. Whatever the woman had been, he had a feeling that this new arrival was something similar, and that scared him. He’d been lucky to survive his encounter with the woman, and now he was being confronted by a second lunatic. Even more, there was something about the man’s manner that told Averone he was far more dangerous than the woman.
Despite his training, Averone found himself backing up several steps as the man approached.
“I don’t want any trouble, so why don’t you just be on your way?”
The man smiled, his teeth gleaming blue-white in the moonlight. “I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I’d just like to you stand still for a bit.”
Before Averone could react, the man opened his mouth and a thin tendril not unlike the serpent thing possessed by the woman shot forth. A barbed tip struck Averone at the base of the throat, and a sensation of coolness swiftly spread throughout his body. His muscles spasmed and locked tight, and within seconds he could no longer move, though he could still breathe, if only shallowly.
The tendril withdrew into the man’s mouth. “That’s better,” he said.
Averone calmly wondered how the man could speak with such a strange tongue, and a distant part of his mind realized that his body wasn’t the only thing that had been paralyzed. His emotions had been too. He felt no fear, no concern over what might happen to him while he was unable to move. Only a mild curiosity.
The man walked around Averone, looking him up and down as if the farmer was a steer he was considering purchasing. Averone was still able to blink, although he couldn’t move his eyes or turn his neck to follow the man with his gaze. But the man was now close enough that when he moved in front of Averone’s eyes, he could see that the shape he had taken for a familiar was some manner of snakelike creature with a single large eye. If Averone hadn’t been in the grip of the strange paralysis, he would’ve recoiled at the sight of the thing. As it was, he still found it somewhat disturbing.
“I saw you talking with my niece,” the man said. “Lovely girl, isn’t she? A bit on the serious side, but she gets that from her father. We’ve been playing hide and seek all day, but of course I have an unfair advantage. I always carry a few toys around with me—including a device called a concealer that allows me to roam about undetected if I wish. For the last few hours I’ve been within shouting distance of Lirra and she didn’t know it. It’s been amusing watching her adjust to the presence of her new friend, and I was especially intrigued by her encounter with you. After she took the life of your cow, I thought for certain that she wouldn’t be able to resist taking yours. The lust to spill blood runs strong in symbionts, you see, and once they start killing it becomes almost impossible to stop them. But Lirra was able to resist the symbiont’s influence and spare your life. I always knew my niece was strong, but I’m beginning to see that she’s far stronger than I ever imagined. I’m going to have so much fun plumbing the depths of her strength and learning what it takes to finally break her.”
The man stopped in front of Averone and grinned.
“But in the meantime, there’s something else I’d like to try. You might have noticed that I’ve recently acquired several new friends of my own.” The man raised his misshapen clawed hand, and the sinuous creature draped across his shoulders trained its single milky white eye on Averone. “But my symbionts aren’t the only gifts I’ve received. A powerful benefactor graced me with his touch, and not only did he open my eyes to the true nature of reality, but he granted me certain abilities as well—abilities that I’ve been dying to try out.”
The man reached toward Averone’s face with his left hand—this one perfectly normal—and brushed the tips of his fingers across the farmer’s cheek. Averone felt his flesh grow warm beneath the artificer’s touch, and when the man pulled his fingers away, the skin stuck to them, stretching like warm tree sap.
“I can now shape flesh and bone the way a potter shapes clay, and you, my dear farmer, are going to be my first work of art.”
Averone could see the light of madness shining in the artificer’s gaze as the man shook loose the strands of cheek flesh from his fingers and reached toward his forehead. He paused for an instant and then plunged his hand into Averone’s skull, fingers passing through flesh and bone as easily as if they were made of water. Still paralyzed, Averone stood completely still as the artificer went to work molding, shaping, and rearranging his mind, but inside he screamed in agony.
Ranja crouched on a hilltop a quarter of a mile from where the two men stood. She kept low to the ground, her mottled green clothing helping to conceal her from them. She’d been following Lirra at a distance and watched as the woman savagely killed a cow for no apparent reason. She’d seen the farmer confront Lirra, and she’d fully expected the woman to slay him as well, and she’d been surprised when Lirra had turned away and departed, leaving the man alive. Fusing with a symbiont had clearly taken a toll on Lirra’s mind, but she’d been able to resist the urge to kill the farmer. It seemed the woman hadn’t completely succumbed to madness yet, and that intrigued Ranja. She respected strength and courage, and it appeared Lirra had an abundant supply of both.
When Lirra rendered the farmer unconscious and departed, Ranja had fully intended to follow her, though she’d planned to wait before doing so to allow the woman to put some distance between them. But as she waited, she was shocked by the sudden appearance of Elidyr. And “appear” was precisely what the man had done. One moment he wasn’t there, the next he was. Ranja didn’t know what sort of magic the man had used, but she was familiar with any number of spells or devices that could accomplish the task, and the specifics didn’t really matter to her. As this was the first time she’d seen Elidyr since he’d walked away from the lodge, she decided to stick around and see what he’d do. She could always catch up to Lirra later.
But Ranja regretted her choice when she saw a symbiont burst forth from Elidyr’s mouth to paralyze the farmer, and she really regretted it when he touched the farmer’s face, stretching the man’s flesh as if it were bread dough. And when he actually stuck his hand inside the farmer’s head …
The hackles rose on the back of Ranja’s neck, and a low growl sounded deep in her throat. Instinctively, she changed form, teeth and claws lengthening, hair thickening and becoming furlike, her face assuming a more bestial aspect.
Perhaps it was her growling, soft though it was, or perhaps it was due to some preternatural sense that Elidyr possessed, but the man looked away from the farmer and turned his gaze toward the shifter. He grinned, as if delighted to see her, raised his oversized claw of a hand and waved.
That was too much for Ranja. She bolted and fled as swiftly as her bestial form would allow.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The town of Geirrid lay in the center of Warlord Bergerron’s lands, surrounded by open fields and dense forests beyond. It was the kind of place you stopped briefly at on your way to somewhe
re else, and that was precisely why Lirra hoped she’d be able to move about without drawing too much attention to herself.
The guards stationed at the town’s main entrance hadn’t given her a first glance, let alone a second, as she entered. Though identification papers were still required and checked in the larger cities and bordertowns, those living in Karrnath’s interior were able to travel freely and only had to show their papers if they caused a disturbance or were suspected of a crime. As a soldier, Lirra had been against such lax discipline, but she was grateful for it now, as it allowed her to enter Geirrid unchallenged and unnoticed.
After leaving the farmer lying unconscious in his field, Lirra had walked all night to reach Geirrid, and while her symbiont made her physically stronger, she was bone-tired, and it took an effort of will for her to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She’d managed to find water during her journey, but nothing to eat, and her stomach was so empty she thought it had probably forgotten what food was by now. Concealed by the folds of her “borrowed” cloak, the tentacle whip continually squeezed her forearm in a rhythmic pattern. She could sense the symbiont’s hunger. After all, it drew nourishment from her blood, and if she didn’t put food in her belly, the symbiont would have nothing to sustain itself. The way the aberration squeezed her arm reminded her of a hungry pet whining and pawing at its owner’s leg in order to get fed.
Patience, she told the whip. We need to find a place where we won’t be noticed.
But the tentacle whip refused to be mollified and continued squeezing Lirra’s forearm.
She felt a wave of irritation, but she was too weary for the emotion to build into anger. She knew she couldn’t afford to wait much longer to eat though. She needed her mind strong and clear if she was to continue resisting the aberration’s corrupting influence—and so she could plan a strategy for tracking down Elidyr. She didn’t know why she’d ever thought that she’d find her uncle by simply wandering around Karrnath’s countryside hoping to stumble onto him. Elidyr might not have been a soldier, but he was an intelligent man and an artificer as well, and even before his transformation yesterday, Lirra would’ve had a difficult time locating him if he didn’t want to be found. But now he had additional abilities to drawn on, and just because he was insane didn’t mean he was any less intelligent. To find her uncle, she would need a better plan, a real plan. But first she needed a decent meal.
This wasn’t Lirra’s first time in Geirrid. When her father had formed the Outguard, he’d drawn a number of members from the town’s garrison, Osten among them. Lirra had helped with the interview process, and thus had spent a number of days in town, though she’d spent most of the time in the garrison’s barracks and had taken her meals there. Still, she remembered Osten telling her of one particular tavern the soldiers often ate at when off duty. The food was simple, but there was plenty of it, and best of all, it was cheap. Osten had also told her that the owner had originally come from Thrane and was friendly to foreigners, so outlanders often patronized the establishment as well. It sounded perfect for her needs. Now if she could just remember where it was located …
As she continued walking, she had the sudden feeling that someone was following her. When she turned a corner, she ducked into the nearest alley and waited to see if anyone suspicious passed by, but in her current weary state of mind, everyone seemed suspicious. Finally, she decided it had only been her imagination, and she left the alley and resumed her search for the tavern.
She wandered the streets for another fifteen minutes before finally giving up and asking a halfling wearing an eyepatch if he knew the way to the Wyvern’s Claw. As he was giving her directions, the tentacle whip squeezed her arm more violently, causing her to let out a surprised yelp and earning her a curious look from the halfling.
“Hunger pangs,” she explained. The halfling eyed her dubiously, and she thanked him for his help and headed for the tavern.
The Wyvern’s Claw wasn’t much to look at from the outside—a plain stone facade, with a simple wooden sign hanging above the door displaying a crudely painted lizard’s claw.
When she stepped inside, she saw that the tavern’s interior was even less impressive than its exterior: dirt floor covered with straw to soak up spills, lopsided wooden tables and chairs that looked as if they’d been built by a particularly clumsy-handed child, and a pervasive odor of boiled cabbage and unwashed bodies. But Lirra had endured far worse conditions in her time as a soldier, and she walked into the room and took a seat at an empty table. She made sure to lower herself onto the rickety-looking chair carefully, as it appeared incapable of supporting anything heavier than a mouse. But the chair held, and Lirra signaled for the serving woman to come over.
Lirra ordered a bowl of beef stew, along with some bread and cheese, and a mug of ale to wash it all down. After the woman left, Lirra started to reach up to pull back her hood, but she stopped herself. It had been several months since the last time she’d been in town, but there was a chance, however remote, that someone might recognize her. Her father would be looking for her, and knowing Vaddon, he wouldn’t stop until he found her. Best not to give him any help, she decided. So the hood would stay up and with any luck, she’d remained unrecognized.
The patrons of the Wyvern’s Claw were the usual mix of travelers and down-on-their-luck vagabonds that passed through Geirrid, most of whom kept to themselves and looked as if their fondest wish was to be left alone. Good, Lirra thought. She should blend in here without any trouble.
There were soldiers, of course, wearing the uniform of Geirrid’s garrison, which wasn’t much different from that worn by the Outguard—another reason she was grateful for the concealment of her robe. There were a half dozen of them, men and women, laughing, talking, and drinking as if they were having a night out on the town instead of a late breakfast. Lirra guessed they’d gotten off night duty not that long ago and had decided to have a little fun before taking to their bunks for the day. A trio of dwarves sat not far from from the soldiers, and from their dress, Lirra took them to be merchants or perhaps bankers.
She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of the chair opposite her being pulled back from the table. She looked up to see a smiling shifter woman wearing the mottled green clothing of a scout or hunter sit down.
“Hello, Lirra. I have to warn you—the stew here isn’t very good.”
Lirra tensed and she felt the tentacle whip loosen around her forearm, preparing itself to be deployed if need be.
So much for blending in, she thought. She felt a spark of anger ignite inside her, and she struggled to keep it from fanning into a flame. The last thing she wanted to do was to reveal her symbiont in a crowd like this. If she intended to continue keeping a low profile, she was going to have to maintain control of her emotions, and maintain control of the tentacle whip. She forced herself to speak calmly as she replied to the woman.
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?”
“I’m Ranja, and it’s my business to know things. I get paid—and quite well, I might add—to find them out and then report what I’ve learned to my employer. Right now, that’s Arnora Raskogr.”
Before Lirra could say anything more, the serving woman returned with her food. As the woman set the wooden bowl on the table, Ranja ordered some stew and ale for herself.
When the serving woman departed, Lirra said, “I thought you disliked their stew.”
The shifter shrugged. “I do, but I’m hungry enough that I don’t care what it tastes like. You’re not the only one who was wandering the countryside all night, you know.”
Lirra gritted her teeth against a rising tide of irritation. She felt the tentacle whip’s barbed tip slither toward the edge of her sleeve, and she commanded it to remain hidden. The whip hesitated, and for a moment she thought it was going to reveal itself anyway, but then it reluctantly retreated.
She’s a threat and must be dealt with, her voice—but not her voice—whispered in her mind.
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Maybe so, Lirra thought back. But not here and not now.
“I’m not one for playing games, Ranja. Tell me straight out: What are you doing here?”
Despite Lirra’s determination to keep a tight reign on her emotions, a sharp edge crept into her voice, and she saw the shifter’s eyes narrow, her nostrils flare, and her lips tighten. She drew back, only by an inch or so, but it was noticeable. She’s afraid of me, Lirra realized.
No, her inner voice said with smug satisfaction. She’s afraid of us.
She leaned forward and allowed a cold look to come into her gaze. In response, Ranja’s hair grew slightly coarser, and her nails lengthened a touch. But when the woman spoke, her voice sounded relaxed enough.
“Arnora got wind of your experiment at Bergerron’s lodge, and she sent me to spy on you and find out what you were up to. I was watching yesterday when Elidyr left the lodge, and I saw you follow close on his heels. Well, not all that close, considering you set out in the opposite direction than he did, but you get my meaning.”
So Bergerron hadn’t been acting out of paranoia when he’d ordered the symbiont project to shut down, Lirra thought. Ranja continued.
“I was intrigued, so I decided to follow you to see what I could learn. I tracked you all day and night.” She nodded at Lirra’s left arm. “Not even your little friend was aware of me.”
Lirra wanted to argue that she hadn’t exactly been performing at the peak of her abilities yesterday, given how confused her mind was by the fusion with the symbiont, but she said nothing. Even with a clear head, Lirra might not have detected the shifter’s presence—not if the woman hadn’t wanted her to.
Nearby, one of the garrison soldiers, who couldn’t have been long into his adulthood, laughed a bit too loudly and said to his companions, “Those are awfully fancy clothes for people who live in a hole in the ground, don’t you think?”
