Prince of Lies - James Lowder [52]
"You know him?" Adon gasped. "Where are we?"
"I know all these unfortunates," Mystra said. "They are as much my children as the mages and scholars who flock to the temple in Tegea. Magic brought them all here." The goddess turned to her patriarch. "This is an asylum, Adon. It's run by the Golden Quill Society in Waterdeep. The bards have taken pity on these men and women, sorcerers warped irrevocably by magic gone awry. They put them here and care for them as best they can."
"Gods, better to kill them than this," Adon said. He had to shout to be heard over the keening.
Mystra shook her head. "Cyric's realm awaits most of them, those who hadn't devoted themselves to a god before magic warped their minds." To the unasked question in Adon's eyes, the goddess added, "I take all those I can, but Ao proclaimed at the beginning of time the gods may reward only their faithful with paradise."
"Magic did this?" the patriarch mumbled, staring at a poor, cowering wretch with neither mouth nor eyes.
"Necromancies and thaumaturgies should never be cast lightly," Mystra replied, "for the power of the weave can destroy as well as create. And even my hands cannot heal their minds, though I have spent hours upon hours here trying to comfort them."
Anger began to show in Adon's eyes. "If you wish to prove the gods can be heartless, you've wasted the lesson," he shouted. "Sune abandoned me when I was scarred, remember? I have no illusions about the world,Midnight. Either tell me how to help these men or take me away from here."
The Lady of Mysteries turned away and walked toward a grizzled old man hunched beneath a thickly barred window. A few of the lunatics quieted as she passed, as if her presence offered them a glimpse of sanity. As soon as the goddess moved away, though, they resumed their howling.
"Come here, Adon. I want you to meet Talos," Mystra called.
Still tense with anger, the patriarch stalked to Mystra's side. "Have you lost enough of your humanity to make light of these wretches?"
"Hardly," Mystra said, her blue-white eyes snapping fire. "Look again, Adon. I know you're bright enough to understand this."
The madman was naked, his hair long and unkempt. With blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, he watched the patriarch closely. All the while, he plucked the beard from his chin one whisker at time. He dropped the hair onto the floor around him, which was already crowded with the unraveled threads of his blanket and the cloth shreds that had once been his clothes.
"Go ahead, Adon," Mystra said softly. "Try to stop him."
The patriarch reached out and stilled the man's hands. The lunatic trembled, watching Adon with watery eyes.
After a moment, when he thought the inmate had calmed, Adon released him. The bony fingers flew to the offending beard and tore at it again, neither faster nor slower than before.
Mystra laid a gentle hand on Adon's shoulder. "What does he see when he looks at you?"
"Someone stopping him from plucking his beard out. Maybe not even a person. Maybe I'm just some huge paralyzing shadow or a set of chains…"
"So now you've met Talos," Mystra said flatly. "Or one very much like him. This poor man destroys whatever clothes or bedding they give him. No one can figure out why. His mind is set on it, and if they keep him chained too long, he stops eating, stops sleeping. They let him out like this now and then to tear something up. And like the gods, he's only aware of anyone around him insomuch as they help or hinder his mad view of the world."
"But surely the gods-"
Mystra shook her head. "Their minds are more expansive, but just as limited in perception."
"Then how can they communicate?" Adon asked. "If they're madmen, they shouldn't be able to agree on anything."
"Something in their consciousness must translate what the other gods say," Mystra replied. "They're all looking at the same reality, but seeing it in myriad ways. Talos can see nothing but a