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
“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
“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
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.
