Prince of Lies - James Lowder [50]
Mystra neither turned nor spoke, and the comment fell away unanswered. The current Goddess of Magic stared out at the blizzard and watched the plants and animals die. She gritted her teeth as the magical chaos threatened to warp even her sorcery, but the wave passed, leaving her shield intact.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Adon chattered on to fill the silence. "Still, the land has healed quite a bit since then. Used to be bubbling tar pits as far as the eye could see – well, mortal eyes anyway." He laughed boldly. "Does Helm realize how much spite went into naming this place the Helmlands? I suppose he only thought he was doing his job, killing Mystra and all."
"Helm sees the world as nothing but some vague prize to be protected from an even more vague adversary," Mystra said.
"That would have to be Mask, I suppose. Who would the God of Guardians hate more than the Patron of Thieves?"
Slowly Mystra turned blue-white glowing eyes on her patriarch. A decade ago, when he first met the mortal mage namedMidnight, Adon had been a dashing young priest of Sune Firehair. Barely twenty and untutored in the harsher lessons of life, he joinedMidnight, Cyric, and Kelemvor Lyonsbane on an adventure that quickly became a quest to find the gods-wrought Tablets of Fate. His faith in himself and the unpredictable Goddess of Beauty shattered when he was scarred by a lunatic. The man who became the high priest of the new Goddess of Magic was much more worldly, much more wise than the vain young dandy who first left Arabel scant months before.
The Lady of Mysteries could see that worldliness in everything about her old friend. His brown hair was shot with harsh streaks of silver. Tiny wrinkles surrounded his green eyes. His cleft chin had kept its strength, his features their sharpness. Only Adon's scar had faded. Once an angry red streak running from eye to jaw, the trail of the old wound was now a puckered line, pale against his tanned face. It was as if the priest's acceptance of the wound had healed it just a little.
"Cyric will be sending more assassins," Mystra noted. "You must take care."
Adon nodded, his hand straying to the mace that hung from his belt. The worn patch on his leggings told any observant man the priest rarely traveled without the weapon. "They've tried before, Lady. Besides, the ring you crafted has done an admirable job in warning me of their presence."
"Cyric's planning to strike against the church," Mystra said darkly. "Your death would be a prize to him second only to finding…" The words trailed into silence.
"He'll be sorry if he ever finds Kel," the priest said. Brushing a lock of raven-black hair from Mystra's brow, he looked into her inhuman eyes. "Somehow Kel has kept himself hidden all these years. For all we know, he's safe somewhere, plotting revenge against Cyric."
"The sentiment's appreciated, Adon, but I'm no love-struck child to be consoled by such hopeful fancies," Mystra chided, though she smiled just the same. "I can only hope one of the other gods is hiding Kel's soul, waiting to barter with me for some favor."
Adon shrugged. "Kel tricked Bane into removing the Lyonsbane curse from him when he was alive. If he's clever enough for that, he may have his revenge yet." He caught the sadness crossing Mystra's delicate features, like storm clouds over a sun-bathed rose garden, and unsubtly changed the subject. "The church in Tegea is doing fine," Adon offered. "The village is thriving, and we've gone a long way in reversing the duke's curse. Corene-"
"I know how my church fares, Adon. You are doing an admirable job, and your protйgй has become an outstanding cleric in her own right." Mystra paused and looked out at the blizzard. "She's quite beautiful, and she cares a great deal for you."
"Midnight," Adon said, the name full of his devotion and respect. "You didn't bring me all the way out here just to talk about Corene."
The goddess smiled sadly. "No. I brought you here for a