Prince of Lies - James Lowder [101]
"I usually accept guests in the throne room, but no need for pomp between allies," the Shadowlord said as they passed through the entry hall. "We'll go to my study."
Wraithlike servants flitted through the keep, dancing from one shadow to another. The doors, even the hallways themselves, had been built with odd angles and jutting corners. Hidden alcoves lined both walls and ceiling. More often than not, weird creatures lurked in these places, their ghastly features hidden by darkness and the thin yellow fog that curled around everything.
A panting shadow mastiff, as large as a bear, greeted the God of Intrigue as he entered the study. The beast seemed to float across the intricately patterned carpets. A tongue black as a moonless night lolled over equally ebon teeth. Only the creature's eyes stood out from its shadowy form, bright and glinting like platinum reflecting candlelight.
Mask took a seat in a wing-backed chair, so overstaffed it seemed to engulf his form completely. "So, Oghma, what exactly have you been up to?"
The God of Knowledge remained standing, uncomfortable even surrounded by Mask's library. "Meaning?"
"Your plan against Cyric," Mask prompted, idly patting the shadow mastiff. "You've obviously got some plot in motion."
"That can wait," Mystra interrupted. "We're safe from scrying here, Mask. Where's Kelemvor?"
"In Cyric's grasp – well, very nearly." At Mystra's angry glare, he held up a gloved hand defensively. "No more pyrotechnics, Lady. I'll be more specific."
The God of Intrigue shooed the mastiff away. After wandering close to Oghma, the hound settled in the shadows around the fireplace. "As I was saying," Mask began, "the soul of Kelemvor Lyonsbane resides in the City ofStrife, but hidden from Cyric by a very powerful being."
"Who?" Oghma prompted.
"Come now," Mask chortled, "both of you are intelligent."
Where do you begin looking for something you've lost?" He paused for an instant then answered: "Why, where you last saw it, of course. And Kelemvor was last seen atopBlackstaffTower, skewered on the end of-"
"Godsbane!" Mystra shouted. "The sword's been hiding his soul from Cyric all these years?"
Mask bowed his head in mock humility. "I must admit to helping her keep Kel hidden, at least a little."
"I want him back." Mystra took a threatening step toward the Shadowlord. "Now." The mastiff leaped to its feet and bravely set itself, growling, between the two gods.
Casually, the God of Intrigue pushed the hound to a sitting position. "It's not that simple. Godsbane will give up Kelemvor's soul if we help her get revenge on Cyric. She's quite miffed – something about Cyric trying to break her will during the Time of Troubles…"
"And where do you come in, Mask?" Oghma asked. "No, let me guess. You and the sword have plotted to overthrow him."
Mask nodded appreciatively. "Quite correct, Binder. There may be hope for you yet."
Pacing back and forth before the hearth like some caged beast, Mystra suddenly stopped and turned on the God of Knowledge. "What about you? What's your part in all of this?"
"Last time I asked that, you cut him off," Mask smirked.
Oghma ignored the Shadowlord. "I've been trying to counter Cyric's book," he said, finally settling into a chair. "A task that is well within my office."
"But what, exactly, are you doing?" Mask pressed. He leaned forward eagerly. "Whatever it is, you've hidden it well. I've been trying to find out for quite some time."
"Aiding the underground in Zhentil Keep," Oghma admitted reluctantly. "With my help, they're creating a true version of Cyric's life."
"Brilliant!" Mask crowed. "I never would have thought you had it in you, Binder, but that's a smashing plan! When the book's done, the conspirators will use it to undercut Cyric's worship-"
"They will use it to supplant his lies," Oghma corrected. "To insure his book doesn't rewrite the true history of the world." He leaned back in the