Prince of Lies - James Lowder [68]
The fat man bustled to the spot he'd marked with the elder sign and planted his slippered feet carefully over the rune. Chess was so concerned with keeping his toes inside the circle of protection that he didn't see Kezef slide through the trapdoor, insubstantial as a ghost.
The Hound crouched low at the unexpected obstacle before him, growling like a dozen winter-starved wolves. His body became corporeal again, all decaying and maggoty.
"Don't think you can fool me, Mask, hiding in bloated flesh armor like that." Kezef began to slink toward Chess, his tail curled down between his bony legs. "I could smell you a hundred miles from here. Tell me, how long do you think you can keep fooling Cyric with this little game of yours? I spotted you right away, and I'm no god…"
Snuff the first candle, the God of Intrigue said calmly to Chess. Use your fingers.
The lord of Zhentil Keep didn't move, merely stared at the massive hound creeping toward him. The thing's flesh was oozing, like pus from an old sore, and its paws burned prints into the ground. Black, pointed teeth filled the hound's mouth. Its eyes glinted with unearthly malevolence.
The candle, Mask commanded, his voice full of godly wrath. You must extinguish it now, Chess.
The fear-wrought paralysis broken, the nobleman reached down to the first of the yellow tallow sticks. Kezef lunged forward, but Mask countered by moving Chess's stubby fingers and greasy lips in the gestures and incantation for a powerful spell. The distance between the monstrous hound and the cowering human warped, elongated. No matter how fast Kezef ran, he seemed to get no closer to his prey.
Chess closed his eyes and pinched the flame on the first candle. The wick had been woven from the hair of prisoners wrongfully held by lawful and good kings, and it didn't give up its spark easily. The stubborn flame burned Chess's thumb and forefinger black before it died.
One down, Mask purred. No fear, Chess. This will be much easier than you-
An ear-splitting howl drowned out the rest of Mask's confident words and sent a violent quake of terror down the nobleman's spine. A wave of confusion swept over both god and man. Chess stumbled back, out of the protective circle, and clamped his hands over his ears.
Kezef was on him before he had a chance to scream. The Chaos Hound rammed him, driving him away from the candles and the protective rune. Through it all, the shriek continued, sending any thoughts of defense or escape tumbling into a maelstrom of sound.
"Come out, Mask," Kezef rumbled. "Face me yourself, coward."
The Hound's breath became a puff of corrosive mist in the bitter winter air. The acid sprayed across the nobleman's face and chest, scouring flesh from his bones. It was Chess's scream that now rang out overBlackstaffToweras he twitched and writhed beneath the awful weight of Kezef's front paws.
"I've already chosssen a much more sssuitable location," one of the wyvern skulls hissed jovially. "You know, Kezef, you really ssshould do sssomething about that breath of yoursss…"
The Chaos Hound darted away from Lord Chess to the skull positioned directly across the tower. Kezef's swift passing caused the candles to gutter, but their wicks held the flames greedily. With one hiss of his corrosive breath, the Hound melted the skull.
"Your hunger must be dulling your senses," Mask said. The Patron of Thieves stood at the roof's center, holding the second candle in his gloved hand. He raised his mask slightly and blew it out. "Now, Chess. The third must be snuffed with your blood. You won't need the dagger. Just lean over it."
The lord of Zhentil Keep had crawled to the center of the roof and grasped the final candle. Fingers trailing ragged tatters of flesh, the nobleman reached for the dirk Mask had given him. All the while he looked out at the guttering flame from a face that was no longer a face.
Lord Chess was dead before he