Prince of Lies - James Lowder [116]
"With this blood I set my wards. This book cannot be altered in shape or content. Neither can it be removed from the mortal realms," the Lord of the Dead intoned then turned to the grinning skull. "You are my guardian. Your life is borrowed from me, and I will suffer you to live only so long as my book is safe. Do you understand?"
The skull clacked its teeth together, as if chewing on the words before uttering them. "Of course, Your Magnificence. I exist to do your bidding."
Rinda shrank back in horror. The tiny skeletal face spoke with her voice.
"You look shocked," Cyric said as he ran his hand along the scribe's cheek. "You shouldn't be. Your blood animates the book's guardian. Think of it as your lock on immortality. That's what most authors want, right – to live on in their works? I'm afraid, however, that the Cyrinishad is the only book you're going to be writing." With a flick of his wrist, the Prince of Lies tossed the dagger to Fzoul. "Kill her."
Rinda's hand came up in a block an instant too late. The mesmerized priest slammed the knife into her stomach, burying the blade to the hilt. Rinda gasped once at the pain. That was all she had time to do before Fzoul twisted the dagger and shoved her to the floor.
"Did you think for an instant I wouldn't find out you were plotting behind my back?" Cyric shouted. "Especially after one of my inquisitors killed a heretic on your damned doorstep?" The Lord of the Dead stood over Rinda, and the short sword at his side pulsed in time with the blood flowing from her wound. "Did you think I wouldn't realize the Binder would try to counter my book?"
He glared at Fzoul, his face contorted with fury. "I know you're in on this, too, priest. And now that you've come to see my greatness, I think you should explain what Oghma had in mind."
Rinda felt her strength flowing away, and with it went her voice. She could only listen mutely as Fzoul Chembryl explained how Oghma had contacted him and other members of the underground in hopes of starting a revolt against the death god. The focus of this uprising would be The True Life of Cyric, a history meant to discredit the malevolent book being crafted by the Prince of Lies. Because Rinda was a scribe and not devoted to Cyric, the Binder felt obliged to protect her mind from the baleful influences of the Cyrinishad. He recruited her, intending to have her finish the text so it could be copied and distributed through Cyric's churches.
With two slashes of Godsbane, the Prince of Lies shattered the floorboards covering the leather-wrapped gatherings of the The True Life. "This would be the Binder's book, I suppose." He tore away the wrapping and paged through the parchment, pausing now and then to laugh at some passage or another. Finally he scattered the gatherings into the air. "The text isn't even magical!" he hooted. "I don't believe it. The Binder thought the truth would undo me!"
The Prince of Lies walked to Rinda's side, coming to stand just at the edge of the spreading pool of blood. "It looks like the knife hurt more than I told you, milady. But, then, I knew it would." Smiling, he crouched to look into her face. "I lied, you see. I do that."
Cyric toed the pool of blood, staining the tips of his boots crimson. "I wasn't lying about your fate if you betrayed me, though," he said with enthusiasm. "I've got a horrible place all ready for you in Hades. Even now my denizens are waiting for your soul to arrive."
Rinda watched the room grow vague around her. The shapes and colors blurred together, the sounds melded into a nagging murmur. Occasionally one image would leap into focus – the beady eyes of a rat from its vantage in the rafters, the flutter of a manuscript page as it settled to the floor, the food Cyric had conjured turning to maggots – then a wave of unconsciousness would drag her away. Each time, she felt herself drawn farther