Prince of Lies - James Lowder [104]
Rinda fought back the urge to go out and help the child, to stanch his bleeding and still his sobs.
It would be best for you to stay inside, the god said. Though the inquisitors are gone, Cyric will be undoubtedly unleash new terrors on the city to search for traitors.
"Get out of my head," Rinda snapped. She focused her thoughts on the most sacrilegious, profane things she could imagine, just in case he had lingered there.
Fzoul and Vrakk have found a way to go about their lives, Rinda. You should strive to do the same.
"Oh really?" She planted her hands on her hips. "They became part of this plot willingly. I didn't. Both you and Cyric simply strolled in and demanded my cooperation."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Finally, the voice spoke: I'm doing this for you and all the other mortals who would suffer under Cyric's rule.
"So you say," Rinda murmured, her voice as cold as the winter twilight settling over the Keep. "But I've got no reason to believe you, not when you won't even tell me who you are."
That knowledge would be dangerous for you. If Cyric discovered your duplicity-
"Stop it. If Cyric discovers The True Life, he'll drag me off to Hades whether I know who I'm working for or not." She ran a hand through her dark curls, trying to rein in her growing fury. "And you wouldn't lift a celestial finger to help me, would you? Of course not. Then you'd be on the front lines, instead of skulking around behind the scenes."
Enough, Rinda. You're becoming irrational.
"Why shouldn't I be irrational?" she shouted then laughed hysterically. "I'm being volleyed between gods like a shuttlecock! And no matter who wins the match, I'll be the one punished for it!" Rinda picked up a mug and dashed it against the wall. "That's it. I'm not going to play at this any longer…"
The scribe hurried to the desk where she worked on The True Life of Cyric. She scattered the books she'd stacked atop the pages then shredded the silk wrappings that guarded the priceless gatherings. Before she could tear the parchment, though, a dark-skinned hand grasped her wrists.
"Enough," the god said. He gently turned the scribe to face him. "I cannot let you destroy that knowledge."
Rinda stared at the avatar. His slight frame was draped in a monkish robe, austere save for the ermine trim on the hood and sleeves. Dark eyes full of infinite wisdom returned her gaze. There was something else in those eyes, too, a powerful sadness. She felt an urge to bow, but her anger dispelled the inclination before she had a chance to act on it.
"I am Oghma," the god said, "Patron of Bards, God of Knowledge. The other powers call me Binder, though I rather dislike the name. It makes me sound too rigid, too unyielding."
Rinda's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Then the question finally found its way from her throat. "Why?"
"As I said, I'm doing this to protect the mortal realms from Cyric. His book would sow ignorance, spread it like a plague to everyone who reads the lies you have penned in his name."
"No," the scribe said. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Why reveal yourself to me?"
Oghma smiled. "Because you reminded me that sometimes the best path to travel may not necessarily be the safest, especially if one intends to be true to oneself." At the confusion in Rinda's eyes, the Binder pointed to the stack of parchment. "You knew that being trapped in this intrigue was denying your calling, and you would have destroyed these pages to set yourself free. It would have been a mistake, but a rather heroic one, all things considered."
The God of Knowledge patted her hand. "Mortals understand that better than we gods – making choices, I mean."
"I thought you meant mistakes."
They're the same thing." Oghma said. "At least in part. Anyway, you have questions about our plans, and it's time I guided you to the knowledge you seek… After you see to the child, of course. He still needs your help, and I know how pointless it would be to try to detain you."
Rinda had already tossed her cloak over her shoulders