Prince of Lies - James Lowder [75]
Gwydion's words raced through the scattered denizens and shades. Some drew strength from the subversive talk. Others muttered about the shade's foolishness as they glanced uneasily at the bleached white walls ofBoneCastle, looming over them like a headsman's axe. Yet of all the souls gathered there, only Perdix tried to silence Gwydion.
"That kind of talk'll get us all destroyed," the denizen hissed. He clutched his head with clawed hands. "I told you Cyric always deals with-"
A pillar of flame, as thick around as a giant's leg, dropped from the sky and slammed into the ground near Gwydion. The concussion shook the city all the way to the Wall of the Faithless. The heat charred the flesh of anyone close at hand and made the Slith boil turbidly in its banks. Skeletons tumbled from the diamond wall. They flailed about with their pikes as they hit the water, but one by one they disappeared beneath the murky surface.
Gwydion the Quick was on his feet and running before anyone else. He glanced over his shoulder as he fled. What he saw behind him rivaled any nightmare lurking in the Night Serpent's hoard of horrible dreams and foul visions.
In the center of the blasted circle of earth, Cyric stood, arrayed in a cloak of flame, Godsbane held aloft in a warlike pose. Burning eyes glared out of a face scorched crimson by some hellish furnace. Lips pulled back in a sneer to reveal twisted yellow teeth. His hands were gnarled like long-dead yew branches, his arms lean, but corded with muscles like steel cable.
With a single stroke of his rose-hued short sword, the Lord of the Dead sliced a cringing denizen in two. Then, as if possessed by some incredible madness, he began to howl at the souls in his path. Anyone frightened enough or foolish enough to stand in Cyric's way fell before Godsbane. The sword's glow became brighter with each blow, growing as crimson as fresh-spilled blood.
And most terrifying of all, Gwydion saw Cyric's hate-filled eyes staring at him.
Frantic, the shade darted over the rubble. Ruined buildings loomed ahead, dark and twisting alleys winding between them. He never considered how absurd it was, trying to outrun a god. In his panicked mind, the City ofStrifehad become the Promenade in Suzail, Cyric just another challenger in a footrace.
Gwydion dared another glance over his shoulder. He expected to find the Prince of Lies at his heels, but instead, his speed had put Cyric far behind him.
A flash of yellow caught Gwydion's eye just before something wrapped around his legs. The shade fell facedown onto the hard, packed dirt. His forehead struck a rock, sending colorful pain blossoms across his mind, clouding his vision and muffling the shouts and screams from the riverbank. When the bright spots danced from before his eyes, he saw that Perdix was the one who'd tackled him.
"Sorry, slug, but you was warned," the denizen said. "'Sides, if I let you get away, I'd be the one who pays. Cyric always makes someone pay."
"Most assuredly," murmured the Prince of Lies, towering suddenly over the captive soul. He reached down and closed a taloned hand around Gwydion's throat. "I just knew you'd cause me trouble. The ones who die trying to be heroes always do."
Cyric lifted Gwydion to his knees. "But now it's time I put your speed to use for my own ends, quickling," he said. "Still, you should be happy. You're finally going to get your knighthood."
The Prince of Lies wiped the gore from Godsbane onto the shade then sheathed the blade. "I dub you Sir Gwydion -inquisitor for Zhentil Keep and unholy knight of Hades. Now for your armor…"
* * * * *
"Help me!" a woman cried, her voice shrill with terror.
Low and gravelly, a man called out, "Make it stop! Don't let it destroy me!"
Something inhuman, its words humming like the wings of a gigantic wasp, moaned mournfully, "Betrayed! Cyric has betrayed us again!"
Kelemvor sat