Prince of Lies - James Lowder [46]
"Yeah, just sit," the orc rumbled. "We tell you what to do."
The pig-snouted soldier locked a hand onto Rinda's shoulder, intent on pushing her down into a chair. At first she seemed to comply, to bend with the pressure from his grip. Then, suddenly, she twisted and flung the tunics at Vrakk. The orc swatted them away from his face, but as he did, Rinda planted a kick in his stomach. With a porcine grunt, Vrakk buckled over.
Rinda turned to give the same to Ivlisar. The elf dropped his bowl, allowing the beetles to scuttle away. "Please, dear lady," he said. "This is a terrible mistake."
Fortunately for him, the scribe only managed one step toward him before she was tackled from behind. As she rolled onto her side, kicking furiously to free her legs, Rinda looked down at her attacker. She expected to see Fzoul or even Vrakk holding her down. But it was neither of them.
Hodur clamped her ankles tight within the circle of his brawny arms. Rinda could feel the dwarf's drink-palsied muscles trembling, even through her boots. "Please, Rin," Hodur said. "We don't want Cyric to do to you what he done to all them others."
"Like your father," Fzoul added coolly. "I saw him die, you know. It was quite unpleasant." He knit his gloved fingers together. "And Cyric will kill you, too, if you fail."
Rinda stopped struggling. "Maybe I won't fail."
"Then you have much more to fear than death," Fzoul said. Even through his veneer of civility, Rinda could hear the unaccustomed ring of truth in his voice. From the look of distaste on Fzoul's face, he found being honest unpleasant.
Hodur looked up at her, his dark eyes full of watery sincerity, like a wounded hound's. "Listen to him, Rin."
"Seems I don't have much choice," she said. When Hodur loosened his grip, she pulled her legs free and pushed the dwarf away.
"He lucky," Vrakk wheezed, gesturing with his snout to Hodur. "That why he capture she-cat like you." Bracing his stomach he tottered to a chair. As he slumped into it, the orc added, "Stupid dglinkarz like him not good in fighting."
"Orcish is a right charming language for curses," Ivlisar noted cheerily. He gave up scanning the room for his scattered breakfast and turned the bowl upside-down on the crowded table. "All right, Lord Fzoul," he drawled, settling onto the floor in front of the door. "Let's get this over with. Like dear Rinda, I've been up all night, and I need my sleep. Bodies don't dig 'emselves up, you know."
Fzoul offered Rinda a hand up, but she ignored it. Instead, she sat cross-legged in the center of the room. "He's right," she said. "Let's get this over with."
"We know Cyric wants you to create a book of his life," Fzoul began without preamble. "What you cannot realize, and what the Prince of Lies will not tell you, is the purpose of that book." He paused dramatically. "If written correctly and imbued with the right prayers, the right hymns, and the right illuminations, it could coerce anyone who reads it into worshiping Cyric."
"So?" Rinda asked, stifling a yawn. "What makes that different from any church's holy text? The priests want you to believe what it says is true, otherwise, it's a waste of parchment."
"But with this book, you'll have no choice but to believe it," Hodur said. At Rinda's disbelieving look, he nodded solemnly. "Anyone who reads it or has it read to them will believe Cyric is the only god worth worshiping."
"Then the other gods…"
"Will fade away," Fzoul said. He dusted his palms together, as if dismissing the rest of the heavenly pantheon. "Giving Cyric complete control of Faerun and every soul in it, living or dead."
"And I'm supposed to stop him?" Rinda asked. "He's a god – a god!"
Ivlisar enthusiastically applauded her observation. "It's nice to chat with someone else who sees backstabbing a deity as just a bit ludicrous."
"You're