As she moved toward Osten, she couldn’t resist sneaking a quick glance at the portal hovering in the air above the Overmantle. It was two feet long and nearly a foot wide, and Lirra could see through to what lay on the other side. But what she saw didn’t make any sense. Swirling images, some blurry and indistinct, some so clear and sharp that it almost hurt to look at them. Things that appeared to be geometric shapes one instant, only to shift into amorphous blobs the next, and then into something so nightmarish it defied description after that. Sounds came through as well-mad laughter, grating low-pitched words spoken in a language she’d never heard, cries like those of exotic animals from deep within the darkest jungles of Xen’drik. Smells filtered into the chamber through the portal too-the foul stink of swamp gas, the cloying odor of thick perfume, the rank stench of decay, the oversweet smell of fruit on the verge of spoiling, and the coppery tang of blood.
The Realm of Madness, indeed, and Lirra found herself almost giggling at the thought. She immediately clamped down hard on the urge.
Careful, soldier, she told herself. The influx of disorienting sensations coming through the portal was starting to affect her mind, and she needed to maintain control of her thoughts. Otherwise, she risked succumbing to madness.
She started to tear her gaze away from the portal, but just as she did she caught a glimpse of a pair of hands reaching through-inhumanly long fingers covered in hard gray armor that reminded her of an insect’s shell with pulsing red muscle visible between the segments. The sight of those alien hands filled her with fear and loathing so strong that for an instant she wanted nothing more than to drop her sword to the floor and flee the lodge in terror. But she kept a tight rein on her emotions and forced herself to look away from the portal. The fear subsided then, though it didn’t entirely leave her. She didn’t know what the creature reaching through the portal was, and she didn’t want to know. Hopefully, Elidyr would find a way to close the portal before the damned thing could make it all the way through into Eberron. In the meantime, she had a job to do.
She started toward Osten.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Osten’s head turned toward her as she approached, and eyes that no longer contained even a shred of humanity focused on her. Osten’s lips stretched into a cruel smile, and Lirra felt a cold pit open in her stomach as she realized the tentacle whip recognized her.
She didn’t waste time on words. The fastest way to stop the symbiont was to weaken it, and to do that, she needed to deprive it of its blood supply-Osten. She rushed forward, sword in her right hand, dagger in her left. The symbiont was intelligent in its own way, and if nothing else it possessed a certain amount of animal cunning. But one thing it didn’t have was battle experience, and Lirra intended to use that failing against it. As she drew near, she raised her sword, feinting with the weapon to draw the symbiont’s attention while she struck with her dagger.
Sorry, Osten, she thought.
The tentacle whip did nothing, and for an instant she felt a surge of hope. Perhaps the aberration was still too mesmerized by the portal to react in time to stop her.
But as her sword arm came around in its feint, Osten grinned, stepped aside, and the tentacle whip lashed out and wrapped its coils around the wrist of her dagger hand. The whip yanked her off balance, and Osten reached out with his free hand, grabbed hold of her other wrist and twisted. His grip was inhumanly strong, and she felt bones grind and a sharp pain shot through her arm. Her fingers sprang open, releasing their grip on her sword, and her weapon tumbled to the chamber floor. Next the tentacle whip squeezed the wrist of her dagger hand, forcing her to drop that blade as well.
Her right wrist blazed like fire, but she grabbed hold of the tentacle whip, grimacing at the warm, greasy feel of the thing’s flesh, planted her feet solidly on the floor, and hauled backward with all her might. The whip was taken by surprise, and Osten’s body stumbled toward her. Lirra lashed out with her foot and swept the man’s left leg out from under him. Osten fell onto his side, hitting the stone floor hard. With the tentacle whip joined to him, the impact wouldn’t do much to slow him down. What she’d wanted was to get Osten’s head-or more specifically, his throat-within striking distance of her boot. She kicked out hard and crushed the man’s windpipe.
Osten’s body stiffened, and she felt the tentacle whip vibrate, as if it were reacting to the blow as well. Osten’s mouth gawped open like a fish’s as his body struggled to draw in air, but the soft wet clicks that emerged from his throat indicated that Lirra’s blow had had the desired effect. He could no longer breathe and would rapidly lose strength and die, rendering the tentacle whip, if not helpless, than greatly reduced in strength. Hopefully weak enough that Lirra would be able to deal with it then. As if its host’s plight were already having an effect on it, the whip released its hold on her wrist and fell to the floor. Lirra decided to take the opportunity to retrieve her weapons. Keeping an eye on the tentacle whip in case it decided to strike again, she reached down and grabbed both her sword and dagger. Osten’s face had turned red and was beginning to shade toward purple. His eyes bulged as he fought a losing battle to breathe, and though Lirra knew that she’d had no other way to stop the symbiont possessing his body, she found herself unable to watch the man’s face as he died. The whip itself still lay limply on the chamber floor, and she decided to risk a quick glance to see how the others were faring.
Vaddon had dealt with the crawling gauntlet in the most expedient way possible-by cutting off the arm of its host at the elbow. The man sat on the floor, white-faced and grimacing in pain, bleeding stump jammed against his midsection to staunch the flow of blood, while the crawling gauntlet-still attached to his severed arm-scuttled across the stone floor searching for somewhere to hide, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake.
Ksana stood before the woman possessed by the stormstalk. The serpentlike creature unleashed a bolt of lightning at the cleric from its overlarge eye, but the cleric raised her hand and the energy discharged harmlessly inches before striking her. Ksana then stepped forward and swung her halberd like a staff, striking the woman on the side of the head with the end. The woman took a stagger-step to the side, and before she could react, Ksana-moving with a savage speed and grace that seemed at odds with her rational, accord-seeking personality-reversed her strike and struck the woman in the side of the neck with her halberd’s axe blade. Blood fountained from the wound and the woman fell onto her hands and knees. Ksana then flipped her halberd around for a new strike and brought the axe head down upon the juncture where the stormstalk had buried its tail into the base of its host’s skull. The stormstalk had no mouth with which to scream, but the way its body quivered told of the pain it suffered from the blow, and the aberration immediately yanked itself free of its host and began frantically slithering away before Ksana could strike at it again. Once the symbiont had left, Ksana dropped her halberd to the floor and rushed forward to place her hands upon the wounded woman and begin healing her.
Rhedyn stood before the woman possessed by the tongueworm, his body cloaked in shadow, sword in his right hand. The worm had attempted to strike at him, but he’d managed to grab hold of the aberration with his left hand before its barb could sink into his flesh and paralyze him. The tongueworm writhed in obvious pain, and Lirra knew that Rhedyn was using the corrupting touch of his shadow sibling to hurt the creature, and through it, to hurt the host body as well. Maintaining his grip on the tongueworm, Rhedyn yanked hard and pulled the host body toward him. When she was close enough, he rammed the sword into her stomach, seeking the spot where the tongueworm was anchored. The woman’s eyes flew open wide and a gout of dark blood spilled past her lips. It was followed by the length of the tongueworm as it abandoned the wounded body of its host. Its mouth end whipped toward Rhedyn’s face, as if it intended to seek him as a replacement host. But Rhedyn cast aside the worm and it fell to the floor in a blood-slick coil and began rapidly slithering away. Rhedyn withdrew his sword from the woman’s body and she slumped forward onto the floor, a pool of blood spreading out from beneath her. Rhedyn didn’t once look at her. His gaze swept the room, searching for more symbionts to deal with.