Prince of Lies - James Lowder [100]
The three gods made their way along the twisting path to the weird castle that lay somewhere amongst the sprawl. A sibilant hiss filled the air around them, a weave made up of false oaths, the vows of unfaithful lovers, and the treacherous plots of trusted minions. Footsteps echoed from darkened corners, the padding of thieves as they stalked each other through the murk. The only other sounds were the short, sharp shriek of daggers clashing or the wet squelch of a strangler's garrote biting into someone's throat.
Torches guttering all along the alley walls sent up a sour smell of pitch, which mingled with the cold fog. The few sages who had visited Mask's realm claimed the discomforting aroma was meant to resemble the stench of fear from a robbery victim. To Oghma, it was a distilled essence of ignorance, the gasping breath of knowledge trapped in intricate webs of deceit.
The air seemed to invigorate Mask. The Lord of Shadows gulped in lungful after lungful, though the action was only a show. "Ah, can you sense them?" he whispered gleefully. "They're all around us."
"Who?" Mystra murmured, glancing uneasily over her shoulder.
"My faithful." Mask smiled like a proud father bragging over a gifted child. "Those shadowy blurs are my lads and ladies. No doubt they've hatched a dozen plans to attack us before we get to the keep."
Light from the torches danced on the walls of the high buildings, but did not push the darkness back very far. If Mask's faithful were stalking nearby, the Patron of Thieves had reason to be proud. Oghma and Mystra glimpsed only flickers of movement, patches of shadow that seemed to flow with more purpose than the rest.
"And you expect me to tolerate this?" Oghma blurted. He summoned a magical light, illuminating the entire alleyway. Shades wrapped in cloaks of shadow, much like their god, fled before the radiance. They melted into doorways and windows, cracks in the walls and fissures between the cobbles. Flares of light reflected off their daggers as they went
"How rude," Mask said. He spread his cloak and drew the light into him, plunging the alley into darkness once more. The faint sounds of thieves moving amongst the shadows returned almost instantly.
"I'm God of Intrigue," the Shadowlord explained, his red eyes flashing behind his mask. "What did you think my faithful would be like?" He shook his head. "Don't worry about them attacking, if that's what's disturbing you. I've taught them never to strike against someone more powerful – unless they have a chance of making a kill. They won't attack us unless someone's given them all god-slaying blades, like Cyric's."
"That's a comforting thought," Mystra said. Though she knew the likelihood of an attack was terribly slim, several facets of her mind drew powerful defensive enchantments to the ready. No sense trusting Mask, especially in his own domain.
They continued in silence the rest of the way to Mask's palace, shadowed at every turn by lurking thieves. At last the alley opened onto a huge plaza. The structure dominating the square seemed to be constructed out of darkness alone. The palace walls wavered in the perpetually failing twilight, the battlements and towers warping like smoke on the wind. Bats fell through the air above the palace. The sound of their wings drowned out the constant murmur of intrigue hissing from the alleys.
"Welcome, master," two deep voices rumbled in unison as the gods approached the castle.
Oghma had taken the hulking shapes to either side of the door to be gatehouses, but they shifted suddenly. With subtle grace, the twin creatures slid away from the walls. Their serpentine tails uncoiled, their huge wings unfolded from hunched shoulders. Finally the shadow dragons opened sulphur-yellow eyes. They kowtowed to the lord of the keep, their long necks stretched almost to full length.
Mask nodded to the beasts, and they rose again to take up their posts. With their