Читать онлайн «Lady Ruin»

Whenever you’re ready, Osten,” Captain Lirra Brochann said.

The man nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. Coiled in his right hand, the tentacle whip pulsed softly as blood-a mixture of its own and that of its host-circulated through the symbiont’s rubbery red flesh. The barb at its tip quivered slightly, as if it enjoyed the taste of Osten’s blood and looked forward to sampling someone else’s-namely, Lirra’s.

Two men stood on opposite sides of the room, swords belted at their sides, hands resting on the pommels of their blades. One was a handsome man in his late twenties, close to Lirra’s age, while the other was a white-haired lion of a man in his mid-fifties. General Vaddon Brochann, the older man and Lirra’s father, wore full armor with a series of runes engraved upon the breast plate, while Rhedyn, the younger, wore only a mail shirt over a tunic and leggings. Despite the illumination of the everbright sconces set along the cold, gray walls, the younger man’s features were indistinct. Still, Lirra didn’t need to be able to see his face clearly to know that he-like Vaddon-watched the fight intently, ready to step in at the first sign that something was about to go wrong.

Osten’s eyes narrowed in concentration and sweat beaded on his forehead. He was a boyish-looking man with a shock of midnight-black hair cut by a white streak on the left side. While Osten was barely into adulthood, his broad shoulders and strong limbs hinted at the man he would one day become. Osten was serving two years in the Karrnathi military, as was mandatory for every citizen in the country-man and woman-and he had the makings of a fine soldier. At least physically, Lirra thought.

Osten stepped forward, and as he did so his left eye twitched and his lips moved, almost as if he was talking to himself, but no sound came out. Though he was young and strong, his movements were stiff and awkward, as if he were having trouble controlling his limbs. Or as if he were fighting to maintain control, Lirra thought. A distant look came into his gaze, and she knew that his focus had turned inward.

“Hold,” she ordered. If he didn’t have full control … But it was too late. With a sudden motion, Osten extended his right hand and released the tentacle whip.

Lirra kept her gaze fixed on the barbed tip as the fleshy coils of the whip straightened and extended toward her. The barb streaked toward her right eye, and she could see a bead of poison glistening on the tip. A tentacle whip’s range was roughly fifteen feet, and Lirra stood about that distance from Osten, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. She drew her head back, leaned to the left, and brought her wooden sparring sword up to deflect the attack.