Prince of Lies - James Lowder [148]
Mystra streaked above the city, a huge blue-white phoenix. Magical light rained down from her, driving the darkness and despair from every corner of the ruined realm. The wind from her passing snuffed out the fires still burning in the city, and her shrill cry of joy made the cruel things that preyed upon the damned cower in their burrows.
Torm and Oghma trailed in Mystra's wake, flares so bright that none could look upon them. Their passing left streaks of fire arched over the necropolis. Like banners proclaiming Cyric's defeat, the twin flames lingered over the Realm of the Dead as the three gods settled inBoneCastle's deserted bailey.
Kelemvor leaped from the wall and walked to Mystra's side. She looked much as he remembered her – slender and graceful, raven-black hair cascading down her shoulders, a slight smile upon her full lips. Only her eyes were different, blue-white and flickering with power from the weave of magic.
They stared at each other for a time, neither speaking. Kelemvor was the one who finally broke the silence. "Cyric's gone," he said. "I don't know where."
Mystra nodded. "And Mask?"
"As near as I can tell, he was disguised as Godsbane all along," Kel replied. "Ever since Cyric stole the sword from the halflings at Black Oaks. Anyway, Cyric shattered the blade. That freed me, but destroyed Mask. He melted away into darkness, crying out for forgiveness. He really seemed penitent."
"That's unlikely," Torm noted stiffly.
"Perhaps not," Mystra offered. "After all, Mask read the Cyrinishad. Who's to say the book doesn't contain the power to twist a god's mind, as well?"
In the silence that followed, Torm remembered his manners. "Forgive me, Lord Kelemvor," he murmured, bowing formally. "We have not yet been introduced."
"No need, Torm," Oghma said. "Kelemvor knows who – or, more precisely, what we are. He could sense it the moment we entered his realm."
"His realm?" The God of Duty gave Kelemvor a skeptical look. "Only Ao can bestow godhood, and he-"
"He will ratify what the damned have already decided for themselves," the God of Knowledge interrupted. "If I can recognize the wisdom in their choice, I am certain Ao will, as well." He turned to the new Lord of the Dead. "Tell me, Kelemvor, what do you plan to do for a clergy?"
Kel shrugged. "Gather together people who want to see the underworld ruled by law, I suppose. That's all the denizens and the damned want." He frowned fiercely. "I really don't understand any of this. I never set out to be a god. All I wanted was justice. I didn't do anything to deserve a reward like this."
"Reward?" Oghma asked, the sound of tiny bells chiming amusement in his musical voice. "What makes you think being made Lord of the Dead is a reward? The last two deities to hold the post went mad."
Kelemvor glanced up at the grim tower that would become his home. "I liked this all better when I thought it was a reward," he murmured.
At the wounded look on Kel's face, Mystra laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "The title will be what you make of it, but don't doubt your worthiness for a moment. Sometimes heroes must fight to prove their mettle, sometimes they need be patient enough and wise enough to stay their sword while others fight around them. You did both." She slid into his arms. "Besides, I have your reward, Kel. I've been keeping it safe for ten years now."
They kissed, and as their mortal-seeming facades embraced, their spirits curled together in a far more intimate union.
"Come, Binder," Torm said. "We have other duties to attend to." He stalked away from Kelemvor and Mystra, puzzlement clear on his handsome features.
The Patron of Bards spared