Lirra opened her eyes and turned to face the shifter. “Thank you.”
Ranja looked uncomfortable, but she nodded. Then she turned to stare at the backs of the two warforged.
“So what happens next?” she asked.
“Father will send for you soon. He’ll interview you to find out who you are and what you were doing with me. Just tell him the truth-that I hired you to help me track down Elidyr. And only tell him the truth.”
Lirra gave Ranja a meaningful look that she hoped said, For the Host’s sake, don’t tell him you’re a spy for Raskogr. The situation was complex enough without introducing another element to destabilize it. She had hired Ranja to track Elidyr. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
“When you say your father is going to interview me …” Ranja trailed off.
“Don’t worry. He’s a member of the Order of Rekkenmark. The Academy teaches us to adhere to a strict code of honor. We don’t use coercion tactics on prisoners.” She paused. “Except in the most extreme circumstances, of course. And this isn’t one of them.”
Ranja sighed. “How reassuring.”
Sure enough, just as Lirra had predicted, a pair of soldiers arrived to take Ranja away for questioning. As she left with them, she turned to give Lirra a parting wink, as if to say everything was going to be all right. With Ranja gone, Lirra was tempted to lie back on the bunk, uncomfortable though it was, and try to get some sleep. She’d been awake for over twenty-four hours, and while her symbiont granted her greater endurance, her supply of energy wasn’t inexhaustible, and she was bone weary. But given the situation, she knew that she couldn’t afford to waste time resting. Better to use it to gather some intelligence.
She rose from her bunk, walked over to the cell door, and leaned on the iron bars.
“So you’re the two newest members of the Outguard. What are your stories?” Lirra had a good idea how the constructs had come to be under her father’s command, but she wanted to get them talking to see what, if anything, she could learn from them.
“We’re not supposed to talk to prisoners,” the lean one said. Lirra had heard some of the human soldiers call him Longstrider, and given his legs, she could understand how he’d come to be called that. He didn’t turn around to face her as he spoke.
“Though admittedly, you’re not just any prisoner,” the squat one, Shatterfist, said. He too didn’t turn to face her. “We know you’re General Vaddon’s daughter, and that you used to be second in command of the Outguard.”
“Technically, I still am second in command. That is, unless my father has gotten around to putting in the official paperwork to have me removed from the position.”
“Please tell me you’re not going to try to convince us to let you go because you still have your rank,” Longstrider said. Though warforged didn’t breathe and therefore couldn’t sigh, somehow the construct managed to give that impression with his tone. “Just because we’re not made of flesh doesn’t mean we’re stupid.”
“Why would I think that?” Lirra asked. “I fought alongside many of your kind during the war, and on average, they seemed just as intelligent-if not more so-than flesh-and-blood soldiers.” And they were a damn sight tougher too. Which was no doubt the main reason Vaddon had assigned them to guard her cell. Their stone and metal hides made them impervious to the tentacle whip’s poison, and she couldn’t use her symbiont coils to cut off their air supply and render them unconscious, for they had no need to breathe.
“Now you’re attempting to flatter us in order to gain our trust,” Shatterfist said.
“Not at all,” Lirra said. “Besides, you’re warforged. Flattery means nothing to you. That’s a failing of us meat-and-bone types.”
Shatterfist turned his head slightly so that one of his glowing crimson eyes could focus on her.
“Not necessarily. We are more alike than you might imagine.”
Now Longstrider half turned to look at her. Lirra thought there was something strange about the construct’s eyes. They still had the same glowing coal look common to warforged, but their color was slightly darker, and they were noticeably larger than normal.
“Please forgive my friend,” Longstrider said. “He fancies himself something of an expert on human behavior. Especially humor.”
“Would you like to hear a joke?” Shatterfist asked. “I know hundreds.”
“Maybe later,” Lirra said. “You never did tell me how you came to be in my father’s command.”
“Lord Bergerron sent us,” Longstrider said, “as you doubtless have surmised by now.”
“We’re supposed to assist General Vaddon in whatever way we can,” Shatterfist added.
“While at the same time still serving your real master, Bergerron,” Lirra said. “I’d say you were nothing more than the warlord’s spies, sent to keep a close eye on my father, but I know you’re more than that. I saw you fight against Elidyr’s creatures. You were most impressive.”
Shatterfist did a passable imitation of a shrug, though he really wasn’t built for it. “It’s what we were made for. And of course we’ve been assigned to keep watch on your father. He’s aware of our dual purpose-although he does resent us for it. He doesn’t much like warforged, does he?”
“He’s never been completely comfortable with your kind,” Lirra admitted.
Now it was Longstrider’s turn to shrug. Given his lean body, the gesture seemed more natural on him. “Many breathers don’t like us. We’re used to it.”
“Breathers?” Lirra asked. “I’ve never heard that word before.”
“It’s a warforged word,” Shatterfist said. “One we sometimes use for your kind. It’s not very nice, though, and we’re careful not to say it around others.” He looked at Longstrider. “Although some of us are more careful than others.”
Longstrider ignored his companion’s jab and focused his attention on Lirra’s left arm. She still wore her “borrowed” robe, but though her symbiont remained concealed, she had no doubt that’s what had drawn Longstrider’s interest.
“Your symbiont fascinates us,” he said. “As does your people’s attitude toward you for hosting it. It is common for our kind to have variations in our basic design, Shatterfist and I being obvious examples of this. I am built for speed, he for brute strength. But our forms can be altered if we so choose-and if we can afford it. Many of our kind seek to acquire attachments that are in many ways similar to your symbiont, weapons or tools that we can use to perform various tasks.”
“It’s one of the reasons we work,” Shatterfist said. “That, and to afford basic maintenance on our bodies, much the same way your kind works to buy food and drink.”
“Your people do not view your symbiont as an enhancement,” Longstrider said. “Why is this?”
“Because it’s not merely a tool that can be wielded with ease,” Lirra said. “It’s a living being with a mind of its own, and it fights me for control of my body. Not only that, but its constant psychic presence threatens to contaminate my own mind, endangering my sanity.”
“Ah, I see!” Shatterfist said. “You’re defective. No wonder your people wished to capture and imprison you. I assume they will attempt to make repairs on you, but if that proves impossible, they will most likely keep you locked away.” He thought for a moment. “Unless they come to believe you’re a total loss and simply decide to destroy you.”
“You have an awfully bleak outlook for someone who’s supposed to possess a sense of humor, you know that?” Lirra said.
“I’m not certain I would label you defective,” Longstrider said. “After all, every weapon has its purpose. Some purposes are just easier to divine than others. I believe Lord Bergerron will be most interested to learn about you and your newfound abilities.” The construct leaned closer until his face nearly touched the bars, the crimson light in his overlarge eyes seeming to glow more intensely. “Most interested indeed.”