Prince of Lies - James Lowder [15]
With fire and steel, he scourged Black Oaks from the map of Faerun. As his Zhentilar burned the squalid houses, Cyric herded the halflings together and beheaded them one by one. The heads were set in neat rows, like gawking, bloody cabbages awaiting harvest; Cyric then cursed the bloated lumps of bone and flesh to an unending living death. To this day, the ravaged skulls speak to all who look upon them, decrying their foolishness.
Because his blade had been so dulled by his tiresome work upon the halflings, Cyric sought another to replace it. He liberated a powerful enchanted sword from the hands of Sneakabout, the greatest warrior in Black Oaks and the only one to escape the village that day. The spirit of the blade had broken the halfling's will, making him an unquestioning slave. There was no shame in this, for until Cyric held her, the rose-hued sword had been unconquered. Great was the line of soldiers and kings destroyed trying to bend the blade to their purposes, but only Cyric had sufficient will to triumph over her.
The enchanted, rose-hued sword served Cyric well, shielding him against the chill winds of Marpenoth, healing the wounds he received in the fierce battles for the Tablets of Fate. In return, Cyric rewarded her with blood. Like all who serve him selflessly, the sword received that which she desired most.
Fane, a Zhentilar officer, was the first to give his life to the blade. The halfling Sneakabout was next. Yet the essence of these men would prove to be mere scraps before the banquets on which the blade soon feasted.
AtBoareskyrBridge, Cyric slew Bhaal, Patron of Assassins, Lord of Murder. So great was the chaos unleashed at Bhaal's death that the Winding Water still runs black and poisonous fromBoareskyrBridgeto Trollclaw Ford. Every creature that drinks of the river dies cursing those who stand against Cyric, for such resistance is futile, as the poisoned water surely proves.
Bhaal was not the last god unmade by Cyric's hand. Atop thetowerofKhelben"Blackstaff" Arunson, a mage known as a foe of both Zhentil Keep and her agents, Cyric faced his united enemies, forMidnighthad allied with Myrkul, the fallen God of Death. Together they had hatched a cowardly plan to place the Tablets of Fate – and thus all the lands of Faerun – into the hands of those gods who worshiped Law and Good above all sense. Cyric slew Myrkul for turning against his worshipers. With a single stroke of his enchanted blade, he sliced the god's avatar in two. The corpse dissolved into ashes, which rained down upon Waterdeep, melting away buildings and roads.
Kelemvor Lyonsbane died that glorious day atopBlackstaffTower, too. And the traitorousMidnightwould have followed her lover to destruction had she not called upon her magic to flee from Cyric's wrath. It is because of this cowardice that Lord Ao commandedMidnightto abandon her name when he raised her up to take the place of the destroyed Goddess of Magic. And so it was thatMidnightbecame Mystra.
Thus has the enchanted, rose-hued short sword come to be known as Godsbane, for no other weapon in the history of Faerun has been used to strike down the powers that rule over the mortal realms.
Bevis closed the gathering.Readingin the braziers' flickering light had given him a throbbing headache, and his mouth was strangely dry. He rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to banish the ache, but the grisly illuminations flashed in his mind. The words of the history echoed in his thoughts like a siren song, calling him to read on. Perhaps it was a spellbook of some sort, disguised to appear as a life of Cyric. Or perhaps the clerics had placed a curse on the pages to punish anyone who might read it uninvited.
His heart pounding, Bevis overturned the stack of pages in search of a clue. The scribes' guild in Zhentil Keep required its members to place a colophon on a manuscript's final