The hooded brown-robed figure standing beside Elidyr sniffed in derision.
“It seems the reputation you Karrns have for bravery is somewhat exaggerated. Not only do your people need to wear armor to handle one symbiont, they also need enchanted armor.” The dolgaunt spoke in a phlemgy, whispery rattle, his voice a sickening parody of human speech.
“I’d speak more softly if I were you, Sinnoch. Your presence in the lodge is tolerated only because I’ve interceded with my brother on your behalf. But his sufferance is not without limit, and if he heard you speaking of soldiers in his command like that, he’d run you through without a moment’s hesitation.”
Sinnoch sniffed again, but he said nothing more. Sinnoch’s robe was large on his almost skeletal frame, the voluminous hood and long sleeves concealing the dolgaunt’s inhuman features. There was movement beneath the cloth over Sinnoch’s shoulder blades, sinuous and serpentlike, indicating Sinnoch’s true nature. Elidyr didn’t know if the movement of the shoulder tentacles was an unconscious gesture on the creature’s part, or if he did it on purpose to remind all within eyeshot that he wasn’t human. Given the chaotic thought patterns of Sinnoch’s kind, it was impossible to know for sure, perhaps even for Sinnoch himself.
Elidyr Brochann was a middle-aged man with an unruly mass of white hair badly in need of trimming. Elidyr was reed thin-almost as thin as the dolgaunt. The artificer had a tendency to remain motionless until such time as movement was required, and even then he moved with a deliberate precision and economy of motion that said he was a man who despised waste of any sort. He wore a leather apron over a plain white shirt, gray trousers, and black boots. Bloodstains covered the apron, remnants from the rushed and none-too-gentle removal of the tentacle whip from Osten. The blood didn’t bother Elidyr. After all, it was something of an occupational hazard for him these days.
Finally, the two soldiers managed to get the symbiont inside its cage, loosen the cables binding it, and withdraw the poles. After that they swiftly closed the door, visibly relaxing once it was locked. The symbiont cages had been fashioned from spell-reinforced steel built to Elidyr’s precise specifications by artisans of House Kundarak, and in addition, Elidyr had added an enchantment to the cages to keep the symbionts sedate. Once the tentacle whip was inside, the spell went to work, and the creature curled up and became still.
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 so love to visit Vaddon and bask in his utter loathing of me.” He grinned, displaying a mouthful of discolored fangs. “Go. I’ll stay here a bit longer to make certain our friend suffered no ill effects from its less-than-tender treatment at the hands of your oh-so-valiant countrymen.”
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.”