Prince of Lies - James Lowder [47]
"More like a nightmare," Hodur offered. "But this is all as real as the rats in this place and deadly serious to boot. We need your help, Rin. There's a lot of us in the Keep's underground that hate Cyric more than anything, but we need you to help us discredit the book."
Fzoul stepped forward. "Indeed. We have many allies: priests of Bane and Myrkul and Leira, who all want Cyric overthrown; mages and illuminators and men with enough common sense to see the Prince of Lies will be unhappy until the world is a smoking ruin – you'll have the skills of all these people at your disposal."
"No forget my warriors," Vrakk grunted.
"The orcs in the Zhentilar are none too pleased with the army's new restrictions on their kind," Fzoul clarified. "It seems Cyric questions their loyalty. Only humans go to his realm when they die, so he feels orcs like Vrakk here have no reason to fight for him. The priesthood pressured the Zhentilar into limiting the orcs' promotions and assigning them tasks of only minor importance."
Vrakk ground a beetle beneath his heel then scraped the remains onto the edge of a chair. "We make them priests sorry they no like us."
"Some of the merchants will fight, too," Ivlisar chimed in. "We have a great deal to lose. We in the medical arts-"
"Body snatchers, you mean," Hodur scoffed.
The elf stuck his chin out haughtily. "I prefer resurrection men, actually." Turning back to Rinda, he continued. "We in the medical arts got lots of contacts, what with knowing the mages and herbalists and gravediggers and all. No one but the priests are getting rich off Cyric ruling the Keep like it was his manor house. Just imagine how much worse it'll be when he's got no competition at all!"
"And what about you?" Rinda asked, eyeing Hodur suspiciously. "Who do you represent?"
"N – No one," the dwarf stammered. "I just promised to smooth over an introduction for them all, after they heard the church picked you as the next holy scribe."
"Of course Hodur had to report your predicament to me anyway," Fzoul noted. "As a member of the Zhentarim, it was his obligation…"
Rinda stared in disbelief. "You traitor," she hissed. "How long have you been a spy? How long?"
"For years before he met you," Fzoul said. "We sent him here to pose as a drunkard, to get inside your operation. You were getting so good at smuggling people out of the city, we were worried someone really important might slip by unnoticed. Of course, I tell you this only because I want us all to be honest, now that we're fighting a common foe."
"Rin, I never-"
"Don't pretend to be sorry," the scribe snapped. "Even if you meant it, Hodur, I wouldn't believe you. Gods, I always told you to be careful what you said around here, but I never thought you were the one spying for the Zhentarim."
"Be a realist about this," Fzoul said. "We are offering you a way to prevent an apocalypse." He smiled knowingly. "You could kill yourself, of course, but since you've never been particularly faithful to any of the gods, you'll just end up in Cyric's realm. There's no other way out, I'm afraid. It's us or him."
Rinda stood and walked to the closed front door. "This is all moot anyway," she said bitterly, pointing in the general direction of the lookout across the street. The watchdogs Mirrormane set outside here will have heard the fight and our argument. This will all go right back to the patriarch, and that means the end of this conspiracy."
"Hardly," Fzoul said with unbearable smugness. "The spy in the building across the way, the one on the roof, and the others planted around the neighborhood will only see and hear and smell what we want them to. The same with Cyric. Oh, don't look so surprised. Do you really think he'd let such an important person wander around in the slums without watching over you himself? We had to take care of that prying eye before we spoke to you."
"But you can't blind a god. That would take-" She swallowed and glanced nervously around the room.
Yes, Rinda, a soothing voice