Lady Ruin

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 somewhere 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.

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?”

The man’s comment had obviously been about the dwarven merchants sitting close by, and it had just as obviously been said loudly enough for them to hear. The dwarves scowled but they didn’t rise to the bait.

Lirra gritted her teeth upon hearing the young soldier’s taunt. She was tempted to go over to the soldiers’ table and give them a quick refresher on manners, and she actually started to rise from her seat, but she stopped herself. There was no way she could confront the rude soldier, not in her current … condition. She decided to do her best to ignore the idiot and refocused her attention on Ranja.

“Why did you follow me instead of Elidyr?” she asked.

Ranja shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “To be honest, he frightened me. Not only does he have three … pets compared to your one, the man struck me as completely mad. Not the best combination, in my book.”

Ranja broke off as the serving woman brought her stew and ale. As soon as she departed, Ranja dug into her food, and Lirra realized she hadn’t touched hers at all. Lirra had no intention of letting her guard down around Ranja, but she’d come to the Wyvern’s Claw to fill her belly, and it would be foolish of her to ignore the food sitting right in front of her. So she too ate, and the women continued talking between mouthfuls.

“Why tell me these things?” Lirra asked. “I thought spies were supposed to be secretive.”

Ranja grinned. “My curiosity still isn’t satisified. I know in general what you were doing at the lodge, but I want to know the whole story. And while skulking around in the shadows can be a great deal of fun, sometimes it’s more effective to take the direct approach when you want to know something.” She paused to take a long swig of her ale. “And to be blunt, there are certain business considerations at work.”

It took Lirra a moment to understand what the shifter was getting at. “You’re hoping that Bergerron will pay you more than Raskogr to keep your mouth shut about our project.”

She grinned. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve played one Karrnathi warlord against another to maximize my profit.”

Lirra was about to respond when the table full of soldiers broke out in fresh laughter.

“I agree,” one of the soldiers-a red-headed woman-said. “The feathers in their caps are quite colorful. It puts one in mind of a trio of exotic birds imported from Xen’drik, does it not?”

“A trio of small birds!” amended the young soldier who’d first taunted the dwarves.

The soldiers laughed once more, and this time one of the dwarves slammed his fist down on the table and glared at them. One of his companions laid a hand on his arm, shook his head, and spoke softly. Lirra couldn’t hear the words, but she could well imagine them: We’re here on business, just passing through. No need to antagonize the local military-even if they are fools.

Anger roiled within Lirra’s heart, and she felt the tentacle whip stir in response. Karrnath had a long, proud military tradition, but even in the Karrnathi army there were those who abused the power and authority granted them by their rank, even if they were only low-ranking garrison soldiers in a small farming town like Geirrid.

Are you going to let those fools disgrace everything you’ve believed in your entire life? What would your father do if he were here? What would your mother do? Or your brother?

Lirra recognized the thoughts as not her own-or at least, not entirely her own-and she knew her symbiont was attempting to goad her into confronting the soldiers. She clamped down on her anger and concentrated on finishing the last of her stew. When she was done, she pushed the empty bowl away from her and looked at the shifter sitting across from her.

“You’re wasting your time. Not only won’t I tell you anything about the project, I can’t put you in touch with Bergerron.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Ranja challenged.

“Both, I suppose,” Lirra admitted.

The shifter glared at her for a moment before shrugging again and draining the last of her ale.

“I figured as much. If you were in the good graces of your people, you’d have returned to the lodge and rejoined them to hunt down Elidyr. I’m not sure what you did, Lirra, but it must’ve been serious. They had patrols out looking for you last night, you know.”

Despite her determination to keep silent, Lirra said, “It’s not what I did. It’s what I’ve become.”

“Not your choice, eh? Don’t bother denying it; I can hear it in your voice.” Ranja leaned forward and spoke more softly. “You can get rid of it, or so I understand. I’ve heard it’s a difficult, but not impossible.”

The shifter’s words caused the tentacle whip to rustle within Lirra’s sleeve like a restless serpent. She ignored it.

“Right now I need it.”

Ranja nodded. “To help you deal with Elidyr. I suppose what happened to him wasn’t his choice either? No answer? Ah, well. Still, you’re a brave woman, Lirra. Braver than I am. After what I saw Elidyr do last night, I wouldn’t want to come within a hundred miles of him.”

“What are you talking about?” Lirra’s body tensed, and it took all the control she had not to reach across the table and grab Ranja by the front of her tunic and shake the answers out of her.

Ranja told her of how she’d witnessed Lirra slaying the cow last night and her subsequent encounter with the animal’s owner. She also told her that Elidyr had appeared after she’d departed, and he’d done something to the farmer once the man had regained consciousness … something awful.

“I didn’t stick around to watch,” Ranja said. “My curiosity only carries me so far. But it looked as if Elidyr was somehow using his bare hands to … to mold the man’s flesh.” The shifter shuddered. “It was horrible.”

Lirra knew that none of the symbionts that had fused to her uncle’s body granted such a power, and she doubted the ability was due to some magical device he’d created. Then she remembered something Elidyr had once told her about the denizens of Xoriat. The aberrations were created by the daelkyr lords, and they often took ordinary creatures and reshaped their flesh to turn them into dolgaunts, dolgrims, and the like. Somehow yesterday-whether it was due to the malfunction of the Overmantle or the touch of the daelkyr who’d reached through the portal or a combination of both-Elidyr had gained the power to mold flesh. Lirra wondered to what mad purpose her uncle might turn his newfound ability, and the thought terrified her. She was now more determined than ever to find and stop him-but in order to accomplish that task, it was becoming clear to her that she was going to need help.

“I have a proposition for you, Ranja. You came to me in hope that I’d be able to introduce you to Lord Bergerron. I will do so-if you help me track down my uncle.”

The shifter’s eyes narrowed. “Earlier, you said you couldn’t put me in touch with Bergerron.”

“Not now,” Lirra admitted. “But once my uncle has been dealt with, I’ll be able to give up my … pet.”

The symbiont tightened painfully around her arm, but she ignored it.

“After that, I won’t have to avoid my people any longer. My father was in command of the symbiont project, and he has Bergerron’s ear. If you assist me in stopping Elidyr, I will ask my father to introduce you to Bergerron, and I have every confidence he will do so. He may not trust me right now, given my condition, but he wants Elidyr stopped as much as I do. And once I’m free of my pet, as you put it, I have no doubt things between us will return to the way they were.”

At least, that was her hope. What if, even with her symbiont removed, Vaddon saw her as irredeemably tainted by corruption? Would he still trust her judgment as a soldier? Would he still regard her as his daughter? Would he still love her? Or in his eyes would she always remain a monstrous thing?

Ranja regarded Lirra for several moments while she thought, and Lirra took the time to finish off the last of her ale.

“Tempting,” Ranja said. “But it seems something of a gamble. First off, I’d rather not go anywhere near your uncle. Secondly, you can’t put in a good word for me with your father if Elidyr kills you, and from what I’ve seen of the man so far, he wields more power than you do. We have a saying in my line of work: ‘A promise of payment is always an empty one.’ ”

Lirra shrugged. “Then forget we talked and go take your information to Lady Raskogr. But if you help me, you’ll learn even more about the symbiont project, and that will give you more bargaining power with Bergerron. And the more of his secrets you know, the more likely he’ll be to pay you to keep quiet about them.”

“If he doesn’t kill me outright to keep me from talking,” Ranja said. “Still, I didn’t get into this line of work to play it safe.” She grinned. “All right, Lirra. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

The shifter stuck out her hand to shake, but before Lirra could reach for it, the woman quickly drew it back, an expression of near panic on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Ranja said. “I just … I mean, I can’t …”

“That’s all right.” Lirra understood. This must have been how Rhedyn had felt when she’d been reluctant to touch him, and she felt guilty for ever having made him feel this way.

“Let’s settle up and we can get started.” Lirra raised her hand to get the serving woman’s attention, but just as the woman started toward their table, one of the garrison soldiers loudly said, “Bankers, eh? Well, they must deal in small change then!”

Fury blossomed inside Lirra like a red-hot flower. Gritting her teeth and doing her best to hold in her anger, she reached into her purse, removed a couple silver coins and tossed them onto the table. “That ought to take care of the bill,” she said to Ranja, her voice tight. “Let me know if it doesn’t.” She then stood and forced herself to move slowly as she made her way to the soldiers’ table.

All three of the dwarves were glaring at the soldiers, and two of the dwarves had their hands on the pommels of the long knives they wore at their sides. The dwarves were of a type-all male, black hair, black beards, squat noses, thin lips-and she assumed they were family based on their resemblance. Brothers, or perhaps cousins. Dwarven businesses were usually family ones.

The soldiers were laughing too hard to notice her at first, but before long the young soldier who’d been the first to start taunting the dwarves looked up at her. He was younger than she’d thought at first, younger even than Osten, and she doubted he’d been with the garrison more than a couple months.

The youth regarded her for a moment before giving her a sneer. “I’d say ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ but not even the most flea-bitten feline would go anywhere near something as ratty looking as you.”

The tentacle whip twitched beneath Lirra’s robe, eager to strike out at the loudmouthed youth, and Lirra restrained it with an effort of will. She forced herself to speak calmly as she addressed the soldier. “You may be off duty, but you’re still wearing your uniform. I don’t think Rol Amark would appreciate the way someone under his command has been mocking visitors to his town. Do you?”

The youth was clearly taken aback by her mention of the garrison commander’s name. He glanced at his friends, saw them looking at him with amusement that he was being called out by a stranger, and he turned back to Lirra, determined not to be made a fool of.

“What gives you the right to lecture us? We’re Karrnathi soldiers. We don’t answer to civilians.” He looked her up and down. “And certainly not ones who look as if they spent the night sleeping on a dung heap.”

Fresh anger surged through Lirra, and she imagined drawing her sword and lopping the fool’s head off. That would silence him right enough. She felt the tentacle whip’s excitement at the thought of the loudmouth losing his head, and she concentrated on keeping her sword hand relaxed at her side.

The other soldiers started to laugh at the insult their comrade had delivered, but their merriment quickly died away when they saw the grim expression on Lirra’s face. Up to this point, she’d allowed her cloak to cover her uniform, and she was tempted to reveal it to the soldiers now, but she resisted. She didn’t want anyone in town to know who she was.

“I’m a veteran,” she said, “and I doubt I’m the only one in here.”

Everyone in the Wyvern’s Claw had gone silent as they watched the confrontation taking place in their midst. More than a few of the patrons cheered at Lirra’s words. She noticed the dwarves were watching her carefully, and while they hadn’t made any comments of their own so far, all three of them now gripped the handles of their long knives and had drawn them halfway out of their sheaths. Lirra continued, her tone becoming increasingly strained as she went.

“The way you’re acting is a disgrace to your homeland and your family. I suggest that you apologize to the three gentlemen sitting over there”-she nodded toward the dwarves-“and then go back to the barracks to sleep off all the ale you’ve swallowed before you embarrass yourselves or Karrnath any further.”

Though Lirra currently looked like any other down-on-her-luck ex-soldier, her military bearing and confident tone of command caused the soldiers no small amount of confusion. A couple looked as if they thought it best to do as she said and depart, but of course the loudmouth wasn’t having any of it. The last thing he wanted to do was lose face in front of his friends.

He stood and turned to face Lirra. He was taller than she was, and he stepped toward her, clearly intending to use his height to intimidate her, but she didn’t move so much as a fraction of an inch away from him. He scowled, displeased that his petty tactic hadn’t worked. He then held out his hand.

“Travel papers.”

Lirra groaned inwardly. She had her papers with her, of course. Karrnathi citizens were required to keep them on their person whenever they weren’t in their homes, and soldiers carried their papers all the time, regardless of where they were. But her papers would reveal her to be Lirra Brochann, Captain in the Karrnathi army, and a member of the Order of Rekkenmark. She outranked every soldier here. Indeed, she outranked every member of the garrison, with the exception of Rol Amark, who was also a captain. But she couldn’t afford to expose her true identity just to put a wet-behind-the-ears soldier in his place.

She held up her right hand in what she hoped was a gesture of conciliation. “Look, why don’t you just apologize to the dwarves, and then we can-”

The youth drew a dagger from the sheath on his hip, stepped forward, and pressed the tip to the underside of Lirra’s jaw.

He leaned in close to her face, and she could smell the stew and ale on his breath. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, bitch. I said present your papers-now.”

The anger she’d fought so hard to contain now roared through Lirra like an uncontrollable wildfire, and an instant later the tentacle whip uncoiled from around her forearm and grabbed hold of the young soldier’s wrist. It squeezed and the bones inside snapped like kindling. The soldier cried out in pain as his fingers sprang open and the dagger tumbled to the floor.

Lirra leaned forward until her mouth was close to his ear. Her voice was cold and dagger-edge sharp. “A couple words of advice: First, never draw a weapon on an opponent until you’ve taken the time to gauge his or her strength. And second, never call me bitch.”

With a thought, she commanded the tentacle whip to hurl the youth away. He soared through the air and slammed into the wall next to the tavern’s fireplace, bounced off, and hit a table occupied by a half-elf who only barely managed to jump out of the way in time. The table collapsed into kindling and the youth hit the ground, groaned once, and lay still. Lirra had no idea how badly injured the fool was, and at that moment, she really didn’t care. As angry as she was, he was lucky to be alive.

The youth’s fellow soldiers sat for a moment, stunned, but they quickly gathered their wits. They leaped to their feet, drew their swords, and glared at Lirra with undisguised loathing. She realized what she’d done then. Despite her best intentions, she’d revealed her true nature. She was a host to a symbiont, an impure thing to be reviled. Seeing the mingled fear and disgust in their eyes caused Lirra’s anger to drain away. She didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

A voice came from someone standing at her side, startling her. She hadn’t heard anyone approach.

“You’ve seen what my companion can do,” Ranja said, her words coming out as a near growl. Her full bestial aspect was upon her, and she looked more animal than human. “Your friend undoubtedly needs a healer. Why don’t you collect him and leave before there’s any more trouble?”

The soldiers looked at each other, clearly unable to decide what the best course of action was. Lirra could almost read their thoughts. As Karrnathi soldiers stationed in Geirrid, they were pledged to protect the town, and one of their own had just been put down by a woman bearing a symbiont. On the other hand, they had been acting like children, and their friend had drawn a dagger on Lirra when she’d made no aggressive move toward him. In the end-and in the absence of orders from a superior officer-they gathered up their unconscious comrade and carried him out of the tavern, casting dark looks back at Lirra as they departed. With the soldiers gone, the show was over and the noise level in the Wyvern’s Claw returned to normal as the patrons went back to their various conversations.

Lirra commanded the tentacle whip to withdraw into her sleeve and coil around her forearm once more. The symbiont wasn’t pleased about having its fun cut short, but it did as it was told. Lirra then turned to Ranja, weary from fighting so hard to control her anger and disappointed that she’d failed. She’d have to do better if she were to have any hope of using the symbiont instead of being used by it.

“Thank you,” she said.

The shifter’s bestial aspect was already fading, and by the time she finished speaking, she appeared fully human again. “You’re welcome.” She grinned. “Besides, I can’t have you getting killed before you can get me my introduction to Bergerron, can I?”

“Then let’s get going. The sooner we track down Elidyr-” But before Lirra could finish the thought, one of the dwarves rose and walked over to her. He carried himself with great dignity, and if he was afraid of her at all, he didn’t show it. The conversation in the room died down once more as the patrons sensed more entertainment might be in the offing.

“I am Quarran Delletar, Secundar of Clan Delletar.” The way he spoke his family’s name told Lirra that he expected her to recognize it, but when it was clear she didn’t, he went on. “You have our thanks for standing up for the honor of our clan, though it was unnecessary. We are perfectly capable of defending our name.”

His tone was gruff, and his gratitude obviously grudging. There was also an edge of challenge in his voice, as if he was angry with Lirra for what she’d done. She glanced over at Quarran’s two companions and saw their expressions were neutral.

They’re waiting to see what I’ll do, she thought.

She inclined her head in acceptance of his thanks. “It was my honor, Secundar Delletar. Those soldiers needed a lesson in manners, and as a veteran of the Karrnathi military, it was my duty to see that they received it.”

Quarran’s gaze strayed to her left arm and then returned to her face. “You have an unusual … skill. There are those who would look askance at such talent, but my people are practical first and foremost. We have a saying: ‘A tool is only as effective as the one who wields it.’ You wielded yours most effectively, and with restraint. I appreciate restraint. I believe in control, and I loathe waste.”

He seemed to consider for a moment before reaching into a vest pocket and removing an iron token shaped like a coin. He flipped it to Lirra and she caught it easily. She examined it and saw that on one side was a design of a pick and shovel with their handles crossed, and on the other side was a series of runes she couldn’t decipher, but which she recognized as Dwarven letters.

“That’s a token of Clan Delletar. If you ever have need of assistance, show this to any trader in Karrnath, and you shall receive aid. Any cost incurred by their assistance will be covered by my family.”

Lira wasn’t sure when or if she’d ever have need to redeem the dwarf’s token, but she had no desire to offend him, so she tucked it into one of her uniform pockets.

“Thank you, Secundar. You are most gracious.”

“Not at all, Lady …”

The question hung in the air, and Lirra didn’t know how to respond to it. She didn’t want to give her real name, but she also didn’t want to lie to Quarran. Still, she had little choice. But as she struggled to come up with a false a name to give the man, Ranja stepped in.

“She is known as Lady Ruin,” the shifter said.

Quarran raised an eyebrow at this, but then he slowly smiled at Lirra. “It suits you, my lady. Good travels to you.” He nodded to Ranja. “And you as well.”

The dwarf started to turn, but before he did, Lirra said, “One more thing, Secundar.”

He paused and gave her a questioning look.

“Why did you and your friends stop in here? It’s a humble tavern, to say the least, and the stew leaves more than a little to be desired.”

Quarran laughed. “You humans lack the discerning palates of dwarves. This tavern serves the best stew in the entire country-and they charge almost nothing for it!”

Chuckling, Quarran turned and walked off. The other two dwarves rose from their table and joined him, and the three departed the tavern without a backward glance. The patrons of the Wyvern’s Claw once more went back to their conversations, but they were hushed, more than a few men and woman tossed furtive glances Lirra’s way, and once or twice she heard the words Lady Ruin pass their lips.

She turned to Ranja, but the shifter just grinned.

“My people have a saying, too: ‘A name is what your friends call you.’ ” She glanced in the direction of the table that had been broken when Lirra flung the loudmouthed soldier through the air. One of the servers was busy clearing away the splintered remnants of the table and trying not to look at Lirra as she worked. “Lady Ruin has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” the shifter said. “And you have to admit, it’s appropriate.”

“It’s not exactly the name of someone who wishes to travel unnoticed,” Lirra said, irritated, “but I suppose it will do as well as any other.”

“Fortune smiled upon you this day, my friend. Clan Delletar is one of the most powerful banking families among the dwarves, and they don’t hand out their tokens lightly. You must’ve really impressed them. And it’s not a one-time thing, you know. The token is yours to keep for life, and you can use it as many times as you wish. It’s a very handy thing to have indeed.”

The greed in Ranja’s voice was unmistakeable, and Lirra reached into her vest to pull out the token. “Do you want it? Perhaps we can count it as partial payment for your helping me find Elidyr.”

“I’d love to take it from you, but I can’t. It’s only good for you. Quarran and his friends will soon begin spreading the word among the dwarven community that they gave a token to a woman with a symbiont who goes by the name Lady Ruin. And if anyone else ever tries to use your token, Clan Delletar will make them regret it.”

Lirra didn’t know how she felt about that. It was possible that the token would come in handy somewhere down the line, but she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of the name Ranja had saddled her with being spread throughout Karrnath, and perhaps beyond. Still, there was nothing she could do about it, and she placed the dwarven token back into her vest pocket and decided to forget about it for now.

“All right,” Lirra said. “Now if we can get started?”

The two women crossed the room to the door, Lirra uncomfortably aware of the patron’s gazes following them as they left. So much for keeping a low profile, she thought.

Once on the street, Ranja starting ticking off a list of things they would need.

“We could probably use a pair of horses. And we’ll need packs and other supplies. I don’t know how much silver you have on you, but I suppose I can cover the cost of whatever we buy for now.” She grinned. “Unless we get lucky and can find a dwarven merchant in town. In which case we can start putting that token of yours to good use.”

Before Lirra could reply, she heard shouts and cries of alarm coming from the far end of the street. She looked and saw a mass of people running toward them, and her first thought was that word had gotten out that a woman with a symbiont had been brawling in the Wyvern’s Claw, and the outraged citizens of Geirrid had banded together to come after her. She drew her sword and the tentacle whip uncoiled and slipped free of her sleeve. Beside her, Ranja shifted and raised her claws, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

But the wave of townsfolk broke around the two women as if they were a pair of large rocks in a rushing river, and it was quickly clear to Lirra that the people weren’t interested in her. Indeed, from the way they kept casting glances behind them, it appeared they were running from something.

She felt suddenly strange, almost dizzy. There was a tingling sensation at the base of her skull, and cold nausea filled her stomach. She knew instinctively that something was wrong here-very wrong.

Without waiting for Lirra’s command, the tentacle whip lashed out and grabbed a fleeing man by the arm and yanked him to her. The man was middle-aged, lean, with sun-weathered skin that spoke of a lifetime working outdoors. His simple homespun tunic further marked him as a farmer, probably come into town to buy supplies or sell some of his farm’s products. The man was obviously terrified, so much so that he didn’t seem to be aware that he’d been snagged and reeled in by a symbiont. As a battlefield commander, Lirra had dealt with frightened men and women on more than one occasion, and she used a strong, harsh tone to cut through the man’s fear.

“What’s wrong?” she snapped.

The wild look in the farmer’s eyes persisted, and she commanded the symbiont to give him a shake as she barked her question again. This time the man’s gaze cleared and his eyes focused on Lirra.

“Something awful has entered the town … they look human, but they’re not, they’re …” He shook his head. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re killing everyone they see, and nothing seems to stop them! Not swords, not magic … You have to let me go before they get here!”

The man struggled to pull free, and Lirra ordered the whip to release him.

During the few moments Lirra had questioned the farmer, the fleeing crowd had diminished, and there were only a handful of people running down the street. Lirra turned to Ranja to ask what she made of the sudden panic when a line of men, women, and children, more than a dozen in all, came into view. Before them stood a smattering of garrison soldiers-several of whom Lirra recognized as those that had been taunting the dwarves in the Wyvern’s Claw. The soldiers fought a retreating battle as they attempted to halt their enemies’ advance, but their efforts were to no avail. They hacked and slashed with their swords, but every wound they inflicted on their enemies refused to bleed and healed within seconds. A number of different races were represented in the advancing line-human, dwarven, halfing, half-elf-but they all shared a similar appearance. Their eyes were completely white, almost glowing, in fact, and the flesh of their faces was scarred and distorted, as if they’d all been through a fire some time before.

Lirra felt a strange recognition upon seeing their misshapen visages. They were aberrations of some sort, tainted by the corrupting influence of Xoriat. The tingling at the base of her skull and the nausea in her gut intensified, and she knew that the sensations were caused by the presence of these bizarre new aberrations.

As Lirra and Ranja watched, the white-eyed men and women made fast work of the soldiers, ripping off limbs and snapping necks without taking so much as a lasting cut from any of their blades. When the soldiers were dead, the white-eyes tossed them aside as if they were nothing more than broken toys that were no longer fit to play with, and the distorted creatures continued marching down the street toward Lirra and Ranja.

Lirra felt a clawed hand grasp her elbow.

“I don’t know about you,” Ranja said in a bestial voice, “but I’d rather not be standing in the middle of the street when those things get here. Let’s go!”

But Lirra resisted the shifter’s urging. She felt a compulsion to stand her ground and fight the oncoming creatures, even though she and Ranja were seriously outnumbered. At a guess there were a dozen of them, and given the way they rapidly healed their wounds, Lirra knew there was nothing either she or her shifter companion could do to stop them. Nevertheless, the feeling that she had to stay here and fight was so strong it was as if her feet were magically affixed to the ground. An instant later, she understood why.

Following close behind the advancing white-eyes, Elidyr saw her and waved cheerfully.

“There you are, my dear! My new friends and I have been looking all over town for you!”

Ranja leaned her mouth close to Lirra’s ear. “Remember the deal we made that I’d help you find your uncle? Well, there he is.”

“Yes,” Lirra said, tightening her grip on her sword. “Yes, he is.”