“Calm yourself, Brother.” Vaddon said. “Bergerron has given us ample time to test your theories regarding the use of symbionts in warfare, and he’s been more than generous when it came to funding. I remember something you told me once, back when I was in command of a regiment of undead. Since the dead do not tire, it occurred to me to try using them to perform menial duties as well as martial ones: setting up camp, digging latrines, preparing meals, doing laundry.… And while they could perform all these tasks to a certain degree of effectiveness-though I admit using them as cooks was a bad idea all the way around-they proved too slow and their attention to detail was sorely lacking. They were really only good for one thing: killing the enemy. During one of your visits home from the university, I told you of my experiment. Do you remember what you said to me?”
Elidyr glared at Vaddon and didn’t answer, so Vaddon went on.
“You told me that the majority of experiments end in failure, that the more times we’re wrong, the closer we come to being right. Our experiment here is a failure, Brother. Accept it.”
Elidyr continued to glare at Vaddon for a long moment, and then he slowly smiled, but there was no mirth in the expression. “How clever of you to use my own words against me. I didn’t know you were that smart.”
“There’s no point in arguing,” Lirra said before Vaddon could reply. “The simple fact remains that Bergerron has ordered us to shut down the project and vacate the lodge, and no amount of bickering will change that.”
The two brothers continued glaring at each other, and Lirra thought neither would give in, but finally Vaddon sighed and nodded.
Lirra looked at Elidyr. “Our duty is clear, and that’s what we should be focusing on, whether we like it or not. Don’t you agree, Uncle?”
“I suppose,” he muttered. He paused then, looking suddenly thoughtful. “You say that bickering won’t change Bergerron’s mind about shutting down our project, but I just thought of something that might do the job-if you’re all willing to hear me out.”
“Bergerron has made his wishes quite clear,” Vaddon said, exasperation creeping into his voice. “I doubt there’s anything-”
“What harm is there in listening, Father?” Lirra said. “Remember what you taught me: ‘Good ideas win battles as often as sharp steel.’ ”
Vaddon frowned at her, but one corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I hate it when you quote me like that.” He turned to Elidyr. “Very well. Let’s hear what you have to say, Brother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lirra made her way to the great room of the lodge. A good-sized fire blazed in the large stone fireplace, as the dreary cool summer set in, and the cheery warmth of a fire was always welcome. Thick wooden beams crossed the length of the high-ceilinged room, and the walls were adorned with the stuffed, mounted heads of beasts that Bergerron and his ancestors had run to ground and killed: stags with huge antlers, fierce dire wolves, massive bears, razor-tusked boar, and sleek forest panthers.
Located in the hills on the southeastern edge of the Nightwood, the lodge was well away from main routes of travel but still close enough to the town of Geirrid, where the lightning rail could easily bring supplies. Plus Geirrid had its own garrison, which Bergerron made certain was well funded and well staffed, just in case he should have need of a military force when in residence at the lodge. And while the lodge’s hidden levels had proven perfect for the symbiont experiments, the creature comforts of its aboveground levels had made it a most pleasant place to bunk during the Outguard’s time there.
Chief among those comforts was the great room. Men and women sat in chairs or reclined on couches, talking and laughing while sharing after-dinner ale or playing a game of Conqueror. Over in a far corner of the room, a soldier with a bit of musical talent-a very small bit, judging by his playing-strummed a lute and led a merry group in song. Despite the would-be musician’s meager skills, his friends received his playing with happy enthusiasm, clapping along in time to the tune.
Tonight Lirra had come in search of one soldier in particular, and she spotted him resting on a couch by the fireplace. She walked over to Osten and sat in the empty chair next to him. The others in the great room grew quiet and looked in their direction, more than a little curious. A quick glance from Lirra reminded them to mind their own business, and they resumed their conversations and merrymaking, though perhaps at a softer volume than before.
“Hello, Osten,” she said.
He lay propped up on the couch, a blanket over his legs drawn up to his waist, two pillows supporting his back. He stared into the fire, its flickering orange-yellow light reflected in his brown eyes. At first he didn’t react. She was about to repeat the greeting when he finally spoke.
“Hello, Captain.” His voice was soft, the tone almost completely devoid of emotion. Lirra didn’t like the sound of it.
“Ksana tells me you’re going to make a full recovery,” she said.
“I’m sorry I let you down today, Captain. Sorry that I …” He paused, swallowed, and when he resumed his voice held an undercurrent of sorrow. “That I hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I took far rougher hits than anything you can dish out when my father first taught me how to handle a sword.”
Osten’s lips formed a small smile, but he didn’t take his gaze from the flames. “Knowing the general, I can believe it.” His smile vanished then. He took in a deep breath, let it out. “It’s a lot harder than I thought.”
“What is?”
“Bonding with a symbiont. Your uncle tried to prepare me, as did Ksana. I practiced the meditation techniques the cleric taught me, ran their advice over and over in my mind. And when the day arrived, I thought I was ready.”
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “I was a fool. Nothing can prepare for you for the reality of the experience. Even before the symbiont latches on to you and pierces your flesh, you can feel it beginning to assault your mind. There’s a … a pressure, as if phantom hands have gripped your skull and are squeezing it. And then there’s a whispering in your ears. No, deeper than that. Inside your mind. Words spoken in a soft, sly voice-words that always seem just on the verge of being understandable, but no matter how closely you listen, you can’t make them out. It’s maddening. And then, when the symbiont actually bonds with your flesh …”
He trailed off and shuddered from head to toe. After a moment, he continued speaking, his voice so soft she could barely hear it over the gentle pop and crackle of the fire.
“The whispering in your mind becomes shouting loud as thunder, but you still can’t understand what’s being said. The ghost hands gripping your head squeeze so tight you feel your skull will shatter and collapse inward like a rotten melon. Your blood seems to boil in your veins, and if you could, you’d grab a dagger and slice open your wrists to drain the molten fire out of you, but you can’t move. You can’t even draw in a breath. The symbiont is on the verge of claiming your body as its own and you have to fight, and fight hard, or be lost. It was a near thing for me, Captain, my fight to retain control of my own body, and to be honest, I feared I would lose. But in the end I won. Or at least, I thought I had.”
Osten tore his gaze from the fire and turned to her with a look of haunted desperation in his eyes.
“They’re intelligent. And if they don’t manage to gain control of your body when you first bond, they bide their time and wait for another opportunity. See, they never stop trying to take you over. Never! The voice quiets after a time, the pressure lessens, and the fire in your blood cools somewhat, but the sensations are always there. Sometimes worse than others, but you’re never free of them. It … it wears you down. I thought I was strong. I grew up on a dairy farm not far from Geirrid, the youngest of seven children. Not only did I work hard at my chores, I had to be tough to hold my own against my brothers and sisters when we played, and we played rough. When it came time for me to serve in the military, I chose to apply to the garrison at Geirrid. It was close to home, and my parents were getting older and …”