Prince of Lies - James Lowder [121]
The patriarch shook the dark thoughts from his mind and hurried to seek out the novitiates ministering in other parts of the building. Madness wasn't contagious, not as some on the farms surrounding the Golden Quill claimed. But Adon had learned the company of madmen gave birth to strange fancies. After a month tending the inmates at the asylum, he knew better than to linger in the halls aftermidnight.
Similarly, he hoped Mystra had enough sense not to dwell too long in the other gods' minds, even if only to convince them of her plan. Cyric had proved that madness wasn't something confined to the realms of mortals. The Lady of Mysteries would do well to remember that.
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Even with her myriad incarnations, it took Mystra hours to visit each member of Faerun's pantheon. The Lady of Mysteries informed the gods and goddesses of Zhentil Keep's fate, how the holy city would be turned against its patron and the giants allowed to raze the evil place to the ground. She cast her involvement in the plot just as she had explained it to Adon: as the guardian of magic, it was her responsibility to prevent Cyric's use of forbidden sorceries. No one disagreed.
As for the destruction of the city itself, Mystra dipped into the thoughts of each deity and used that perspective to describe the Keep's fall as something positive. To the Lady of theForest, the giants became a scourge with which to strike down the walls and reclaim the land for the wilderness. To Lathander Morninglord, the end of the city brought with it the possibility for a glorious new kingdom to arise from the torched houses and fractured columns. Talos viewed the promised destruction of the Keep as a desirable end in itself, while Tyr judged the annihilation of Cyric's faithful to be just punishment for their disregard of law and justice. The process was exhausting and often tedious, but before long the members of the pantheon had been convinced Cyric's strife was a glorious victory for their cause and their faithful.
Now, as night began her slow retreat from Faerun, the Lady of Mysteries stood in the courtyard of her heavenly palace. The castle and the walls protecting it were drawn from the magical weave, pulsing blue-white radiance that flickered like faerie fire in amidnightmarsh. Bright penons snapped and fluttered from an infinite number of tall spires. Each flag bore the sigil of a wizard or sage granted a home in Mystra's realm. In their towers lay workshops, wonderfully strange and arcane places where the faithful freely pursued the more elusive secrets of sorcery denied them by the limits of mortal life.
Dragons of silver and gold perched on the high battlements, and unicorns wandered over the lush, verdant lawn. Other creatures of magic called the palace home, as well. Basilisks and cockatrices roamed the gardens, their eyes masked by special enchantments to prevent them from turning the unwary to stone. A ram-headed sphinx perched near the front gate, exchanging riddles with a couatl. The feathered serpent laughed at some jest and beat the air with its alabaster wings.
Such beasts were not unknown to the mortal realms, but to Gwydion, standing in the center of the courtyard, they were all gloriously new.
In his days as a soldier, Gwydion had heard stories about dragons and sphinxes. The creatures populated the tales told by drunken sell-swords and experienced warriors, men and women who'd traveled outside the civilized confines of cities like Suzail. Some of the stories were true. Others were pure fantasy, yarns in which the mere sighting of a manticore's tracks was embellished until it became a bloody fight to the death against three of the scorpion-tailed beasts.
Tales like those had helped to lure Gwydion away from his life in Cormyr's army, drawn him into the unlikely role of mercenary. And though he'd battled more than a few exotic beasts, he'd never encountered creatures as rare and marvelous as the ones gathered before him now. As he watched a phoenix rise high over the palace and spread her fiery wings,