Prince of Lies - James Lowder [105]
XV
ORACLES OF WAR
Wherein many strange and supernatural events
trouble the people of Zhentil Keep, the Prince of
Lies musters a powerful army to unify his
holy city, and Thrym the frost giant learns
that not all gods are created equal.
Elusina the Gray dumped a handful of grubby chicken bones from a porcelain bowl and waved her hands slowly over the resulting mess. She murmured a nonsensical string of phrases, half words, half musical notes in a decidedly somber key. The fake incantation complete, she began to sway back and forth violently. In summer she cut this part out of the show; now, in the clutches of Nightal, the activity kept the cold from freezing her old joints solid.
Once she felt sufficiently warmed, the old woman turned bloodshot eyes on the Zhentilar officer sitting across the table from her. "Just as the basilisk's eye can turn men to stone, their bones can petrify a man's fate. Here, Sergeant Renaldo -" she gestured to the tangled pile "- here is the shape of your future."
Rubbing his gloved hands together anxiously, the young officer glanced around the tiny, garishly decorated room, as if someone might sneak in and steal the secret of his future. When finally he looked at the bones, though, disappointment stole across his handsome features. "Oh, that's it then? What does it, er – what does it mean?"
Elusina held one clawlike hand out, palm up. "It's dangerous to spy upon the future, Sergeant. For me to risk the wrath of the spirit world, I'll need more… incentive."
The Zhentilar cursed vilely. His commander had told him the old woman was a gifted mystic, but these were the tactics of a sideshow huckster. He drew a dagger from his boot top. "If anything from the spirit world drops by to complain," he said, "I'll be here to protect you."
With bony knuckles, Elusina rapped three times on the table. The thick curtain of beads behind her parted, and a brawny man stepped through. He crossed well-muscled arms over his chest and glowered at the soldier. He was as tall as an ogre and just as ugly, with beady eyes and a nose that had been broken three or four times. From the dented and bloodstained cudgel hanging at his belt, he'd clearly repaid the assaults in kind.
"Brok here protects me," Elusina murmured. "You're supposed to pay me enough to keep him around." She extended her hand again, waiting patiently until the soldier dropped a silver piece and a half-dozen copper into her palm.
The old woman cackled and deposited the coins one by one into a strong box at her feet. They jingled against the cache like a gypsy's tambourine. In troubled times like these, providing glimpses into the future was a profitable business – even for thieves like Elusina, who could no more see a man's fate than walk through a stone wall.
Still, the old woman provided a bit of a show for the men and women who came seeking her advice. She'd been an actress at one time, a lesser light in a decidedly disreputable troupe that toured the Cormyrian countryside. Elusina's skills as a pickpocket had been honed vigorously by the master of the ragged band, but she'd managed to acquire a fair sense of the dramatic along the way.
"Oh, there is much danger in store for you, Sergeant," she began, hovering once more over the chicken bones. "Traitors and heretics lurk everywhere, and it will be your task to route them from the city."
The Zhentilar scoffed. "Everyone knows what the army's job'll be, now that the church is running the Keep. Tell me something you haven't heard on the street."
"You will be promoted soon -" Elusina jabbed at two bones set apart from the rest, crossed like blades in a battle "- before the end of the year. You've been seeking an important post, and it will soon be yours."
That claim caught the soldier's attention, and the look of suspicion began to drop from his features. "How? I mean, what happens to the dolt who's in that spot now?"
Elusina stared at the bones a moment, formulating an answer clear enough to keep the soldier intrigued, but vague enough to keep hidden the