Prince of Lies - James Lowder [43]
Cyric looked up at Jergal, surprise in his red-rimmed eyes. "Are you suggesting I cannot do with the citizens of my city as I please?"
"No," the seneschal replied. "Merely reminding you that the laws of the realm-"
"I've sent denizens to their doom from the first day of my reign," Cyric drawled. The hour in which I ratified that foolish pact I also condemned a dozen to become part of the Night Serpent's levy."
They had broken from worshiping you, Jergal offered.
"Ah, but who is to say what I consider true worship?" Cyric asked. Today I've decided that the hunt for Kelemvor is a holy quest, so from this moment on, all who fail in that quest are traitors." He studied his seneschal for a moment. "Perhaps this devotion you have to law is blinding you to your duties."
Jergal looked into his master's eyes. It is part of my nature, Your Magnificence. When I was created to oversee the castle, I was given that trait so I could be trusted to uphold my obligation. I am faithful to the Lord of the Dead even before myself.
"Once you were loyal to Myrkul," Cyric noted.
Yes.
"And now you're loyal to me?"
You are the rightful lord ofBoneCastle, Jergal replied evenly. And as long as you are, I will do anything you ask – except betray you.
"Then I wish you to break the pact with the denizens," Cyric said, searching for some sign of displeasure in Jergal's dull yellow eyes. "Have one thousand of them publicly tortured, then give them to the Night Serpent or bathe them in water from the River Slith. Either way, they'll be destroyed." He drummed his fingers anxiously on the arms of the throne then murmured, "That isn't enough."
Destroy one for each hour that passes without Kelemvor being found, Godsbane suggested darkly.
Cyric giggled like a madman. "Better still, destroy one of the spineless curs for each minute that goes by without the holy quest being fulfilled." He curled his bony fingers around the sword's pommel. "That will set them on his trail like hounds, eh?"
Like Kezef himself, Jergal offered.
Cyric paused then a sick smile crept across his lips. "Kezef," he murmured. "Of course."
The Circle of Greater Powers has forbidden traffic with Kezef, Godsbane warned, trepidation in her voice.
"Since when have you cared what the Circle proclaims?" Cyric snapped. "Have they not broken their own laws by denying me magic?"
Godsbane did not reply, but Jergal said, "Of course, my lord. You are above their laws. You have every right to unleash the Chaos Hound."
"My cup," said Cyric, the smile still creasing his seared lips. "Then arrange for my passage to Pandemonium."
The seneschal held out his hands, and an ornate silver chalice appeared, encrusted with hundreds of tiny rubies, each in the shape of a sundered heart. The ever-full cup contained the tears of disillusioned dreamers and brokenhearted lovers. The drink was bitter, but to Cyric it tasted like a priceless wine, aged to perfection.
"To oblivion," the Prince of Lies offered solemnly, "and to Kezef." He lifted the cup to his lips and drank deeply.
* * * * *
Dawn in Zhentil Keep. Rinda made her way through squalid alleys, her hands cramped from taking notes for hours on end, her vision blurred from lack of sleep. She welcomed the chill morning with its bite of sleet in the air. It kept her from completely losing track of her surroundings.
This street was wider than most, which meant a clear path through the offal and garbage dumped from the buildings' upper floors. Ragged refugees slept in every open doorway, the detritus of Zhentish society. Most of them came here to die, in places the dawn never seemed to touch with its healing light and soothing warmth.
Rinda glanced up only to find the rising sun hidden behind the huge spires of Cyric's temple. They loomed, black and twisted, like blind giants standing watch over the city. No, the scribe reminded herself, not blind. TheChurchofCyrichas a thousand ways of seeing into the hearts and minds of the Zhentish.
"Help me, missy. In the