Prince of Lies - James Lowder [109]
"Lord Cyric," he whispered fearfully. His voice creaked like ice beneath a heavy sledge.
The giants leaned forward expectantly, waiting for Zzutam to smite the blasphemer with a mighty fist or skewer him upon a bolt of ice. Instead, the elemental bowed his head. "Great lord of Hades," Zzutam murmured. "How may I serve you?"
Cyric smirked. "You could start by teaching your unwashed lap dogs some proper respect," he chided.
His slitted eyes flashing as white as the sky in a blizzard, Zzutam turned to his worshipers. One by one, they heeded his silent command and dropped to the dirty floor to kowtow. Thrym was the last to obey, bending only one knee in supplication – more to show his disappointment in the elemental than as a slight against Cyric.
"Much better," the Prince of Lies noted. "Now, Zzutam, you are going to order these leviathans to attack the human city known as Zhentil Keep. I honored the place by declaring it my holy city, but they insult me with silly revolts and heresies. I want them punished."
"But these twelve can do little against the mages and soldiers of such a great city," Zzutam objected.
"Other troops will be joining them," Cyric said. He sat cross-legged on the altar. "I will be recruiting all their fellow brutes in this area, as well as whatever gnolls and goblins I can gather. Even as we speak, an agent of mine is riling up a flight of white dragons. The wyrms will be attacking the Keep, too, though they don't know they're working for me just yet."
Zzutam looked genuinely puzzled, which wasn't surprising since his intellect barely surpassed that of the giants who worshiped him. "What's this army supposed to do?"
"Destroy the Keep, of course." Cyric scowled in consternation. They will be a manifestation of my unholy wrath. You know – a force meant to teach the yokels not to slack off in their devotions and sacrifices again."
"We not fight beside goblins or gnolls," Thrym said flatly. They scum. 'Sides, you kill us if we break down the black walls."
"I said nothing of the kind," Cyric rumbled. He leaped to his feet and stepped off the altar. Instantly he was as tall as Thrym. "Well, how did you come to that conclusion, you oaf?"
The chieftain met Cyric's flame-red eyes with a level, unwavering gaze. "I had dreams. There were dogs that breathed fire, and they killed us for attacking your city."
The Prince of Lies paused, stunned by both the giant's temerity and the accuracy of his vision. Cyric planned to set the monstrous army against the Keep, but only to galvanize the city's worship, force them to reach out to him as their savior. The enhanced worship would give him enough power to activate the spell needed to locate Kelemvor Lyonsbane. Then he would destroy the giants and dragons before they scratched a single stone in the Keep's night-black walls.
"You're interpreting the dream wrong," Cyric lied. "I will lead my hell hounds here if you don't destroy the city." He looked meaningfully to Zzutam.
Enthusiastically the frost creature nodded its great, spiky head. "You will do as the death god asks," he wheezed. "His word is my word."
"Very dramatic," Cyric said snidely. "Have you been taking lessons from Torm or Tyr? That's the sort of pompous drivel I'd expect from them…"
The death god gestured to Thrym. "I want you under way tonight. The trip will take you a few days, and I want this over with as soon as possible. The rest of the army will fall in with you as you travel." He drew Godsbane and tapped the kneeling giant on both shoulders. "I dub you General Thrym. Keeping order will be your responsibility – and that means no fighting amongst yourselves, do you understand? For every soldier killed before you reach the city.