Tim Waggoner - Lady Ruin

“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.”

There was something disturbing in the warforged’s tone, and Lirra decided she’d talked to the constructs enough. She turned away from them, walked back to the wooden bunk, lay down, and closed her eyes. She’d changed her mind about getting some sleep. It wouldn’t be long before her father was ready to question her, and she’d prefer to be more rested when the time came for them to talk.

“Tell me if you’ve heard this one before,” Shatterfist said. “Two halflings walk into a temple, and the first halfing says to the other …”

Lirra groaned and jammed her fists against her ears. Maybe her father had posted the warforged outside her cell not merely to guard her but to torture her as well. If so, it was working.

Close to two hours passed before her father summoned her. He sent a soldier to inform the warforged that they were to bring Lirra to him, and Longstrider unlocked the cell door and stepped aside so that she could exit. Her tentacle whip urged her to flee, and she half seriously considered an escape attempt, but she knew she’d never be able to get away from the two warforged in these close quarters. Besides, she wanted to talk with her father. The warforged marched her down the narrow corridor of the garrison barracks to Rol Amark’s commandeered office.

“General Vaddon is waiting for you inside,” Longstrider said. He then took up a position on the left side of the door, while Shatterfist stood on the right.

So the warforged were going to stay outside during their talk. She wondered if her father was trying to reassure her with a show of trust. It was something she might’ve tried if their positions had been reversed. She opened the wooden door and stepped into the office.

Once inside, she understood the reason why the warforged hadn’t accompanied her. She’d forgotten that Rol Amark’s office was simply too small to accommodate them. Geirrid wasn’t exactly a thriving metropolis, and the garrison barracks, while serviceable, weren’t lavish by any means. The office was plain as field rations: four stones walls, no windows, an oak desk with a single stool in front of it. Vaddon sat behind the desk, while Ksana stood behind him. The stool, obviously, was meant for Lirra. She elected to stand.

Lirra noted that Ksana held her halberd, while Vaddon’s sword was drawn and laid out on the desk before him. His right hand rested on the table, in easy reach of his weapon. It hurt Lirra to see two of the people she loved most in the world prepared to defend themselves against her in case she decided to attack.

Vaddon must’ve noted the way her gaze took in their weapons, for he said, “Both Ksana and I apologize for bearing arms like this, but given the circumstances …” He trailed off, his eyes fixed on her left arm.

“No need to apologize,” Lirra said. “I understand.”

He nodded, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat before speaking next. “Tell me about your association with the shifter.” His tone was unemotional, the general questioning a soldier under his command. But Lirra was Vaddon’s daughter, and she could hear the undercurrent of sadness in his voice, and she knew this was just as hard on him as it was her. She decided to follow his lead and respond to his question as unemotionally as she could.

“There’s not much to tell. I tried to track down Elidyr on my own last night and failed.” She chose to leave out the fact that she hadn’t been in her right mind while scouring the countryside searching for her uncle. She didn’t want her father worrying more about her sanity than he already was. “I hired Ranja to help me find him. We were on our way to buy supplies when Elidyr and his … creations attacked us.” She shrugged. “Guess I didn’t need to hire her after all.”

Vaddon frowned, clearly unhappy with the brevity of Lirra’s answers. “A number of farmers and their families went missing last night. What do you know about it?”

“Elidyr used them as raw material to fashion his monsters. At least, that’s what he told us before he ordered them to attack.”