Lady Ruin

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,