Prince of Lies - James Lowder [71]
Cyric balled his hands into fists and shrieked at the ceiling. "I have two houses, and traitors creep through the halls of both! My denizens will not bring me Kelemvor's soul, even though it's hidden somewhere in the City ofStrife." He gestured wildly toward the nobleman's head. "Zhentil Keep shelters craven sneaks like Chess, though I've tried to make that place my home in Faerun, tried to raise it above the rest of the world with my patronage!"
The denizens and mortals cannot see your vision, my love, the glorious dream of the universe united under your rule, Godsbane said, her dark presence soothing the fury in Cyric's mind. And the pretenders to divinity know you are the only god in the pantheon with a true claim to heavenly power. They fear you, so they cower together like sheep before the thunderstorm.
Jergal wrapped the candles with the holy symbol's chain. If the gods are banding together, lord, why would they point the finger of blame at the Whore?
"She must not be working with them," Cyric answered. "Or perhaps Mystra agreed to take the blame, knowing my hatred for her could grow no hotter." He scowled and shook his head. "I'd be more of a fool than Torm to waste time guessing their motives."
Turn this intrigue to your advantage, instead, Godsbane offered. Perhaps you can draw the conspirators out of the shadows by seeming to place all the guilt for the Chaos Hound on the Whore.
"Shadows is quite the correct word, too," the Prince of Lies murmured. He took the candles from Jergal and crushed them. "These intrigues have Mask's invisible fingerprints all over them -" the waxy fragments fell to the carpet, leaving the silver disk in Cyric's hand "- no matter whose holy symbol he leaves behind."
The Shadowlord was your ally, Jergal noted blandly. He helped you hide Leira's destruction from the rest of the pantheon. After you were denied access to the weave, he sent you those arquebuses to remind you of the Gearsmith's power.
"It's clear now that Mask had his own reasons for appearing to be our ally still," the Prince of Lies said. "He's ambitious, our Lord of Shadows. Being God of Intrigue suits him well."
The spirit of Godsbane slithered pleasantly across Cyric's thoughts. Perhaps his title should be the next you take for your own, she prodded. He may be a talented adept at intrigue, but you are the true master.
"And you are becoming too fond of flattery," Cyric rumbled. He let the comment hang ominously in the air for a moment then turned to Jergal. "I will rail at Mystra for this outrage, but I need a new force to unleash upon the mortal realms, something to draw the rest of the serpents from their nest. The materials I requested from Gond will do. The consignment has been delivered, has it not?"
The materials you requested from the Gearsmith just arrived, Jergal noted. His minions left nine large crates at the gates.
"Perfect. Have the crates brought here immediately." Cyric slid back into his throne. Then, squaring his shoulders, he said, "I will need nine shades to power the Gondish mechanisms. I'll leave it to you to determine which of the False will sacrifice themselves for my cause."
Jergal bowed his acceptance of the task, but didn't back out of the throne room as Cyric had expected. The seneschal hovered tentatively before his dark lord for a moment, wringing his hands nervously.
"Well?" Cyric snapped.
Th – There are myriad things that require your attention, Your Magnificence, Jergal began haltingly. Have you turned your mind to the gathering outsideBoneCastlerecently?
"The groups watching the executions? What of them?"
There is some unrest amongst the denizens. They feel betrayed by the slaying of their kind. The denizens are your faithful, and-
"And should never question my actions. If they wish to end the executions, they should find Kelemvor's soul," the Prince of Lies said.