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 more 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
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
