Prince of Lies - James Lowder [82]
"So what about the illusions?" Fzoul prompted.
I will maintain them for as long as I'm able, but do not count on meeting here again, Fzoul Chembryl. It requires a great deal of power for me to shield you and Vrakk from Cyric's eyes, the voice replied smoothly. Fooling a god, especially a greater power like the Prince of Lies, is no easy matter – even for me.
Rinda looked up from scraping the ink stain from the parchment. "And who exactly are you?"
Come, Rinda. I've said before, it will be better for us all if you don't know.
"Better for you," the scribe muttered. "I can't see how it helps me one little bit."
I abhor this trickery, the voice said, suddenly full of righteous fury. Illusions and deception are loathsome to me. But there's no other way to counter Cyric's book, to let the world know the true tale of his life.
"Anything for a good story, eh?" Hodur added. "I wish the unpleasant little sot had been more exciting as a mortal. Ain't it possible to spice up the story a bit – let him win just a couple of fights against the thieves' guild or the critters he chased after in Thar?"
Cyric's life was like most others, for much of his mortal span, the voice said coldly. But surely he has proven since the Time of Troubles that his early failures were deceptive.
"Deceptive," Hodur scoffed. "I just call it dull."
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, the dwarf gestured to the elven graverobber then lumbered to the door. "We're off," Hodur blurted. "Down to the Serpent for some cheerier company. We'll be back, though." He grinned antagonistically at Fzoul. "Some of us aren't important enough for the gods to watch from highsun to highsun."
No one is beyond Cyric's attention, Hodur, especially in this city. You would do well to remember that.
Hodur rolled his eyes. "It's just like I said before – back when Rin used to talk to me. I just ain't impressed with you human gods. You want to see an evil bugger in action some time, take a look at Abbathor, the dwarven God of Greed."
"Or Everan Ilesere, our God of Mischief," the body snatcher added, a weird pride in his voice. "What a rotten item he is."
Hodur nodded enthusiastically, swung the door wide, and took a step into the street. "They know what they want, and they just come right out and take it. None of this sneaking around stuff or toying with mortals." He chuckled into his beard. "All this creeping about makes me think Cyric's just afraid of getting caught with his hand in the collection box. He's just a cowardly-"
The dwarf walked right into a wall of gold plate mail. The giant who stood before him was at least ten feet tall, not counting the horns jutting from his helmet.
"What the hell are you supposed to be?"
The inquisitor clamped palms the size of skillets down on either side of Hodur's head and lifted him from the ground. The barbed hooks in the strange knight's gauntlets dug deep into the dwarf's face. Two dozen rivulets of blood began to stream down Hodur's cheeks, staining his beard dark.
The dwarf managed a scream, though whether it was a cry of anger or terror was never quite clear to Rinda. He brought both his heavy boots into the knight's stomach in a savage kick. The blow didn't so much as scuff the breastplate. With thick, fumbling fingers, he reached toward the inquisitor's eyes, ready to gouge them out, but the razored edges around the eyeholes sliced away the tips of all his digits. Hodur's vision had begun to fog with pain, but he could still see the thousands of tiny skulls engraved into the armor laughing at him with malefic glee.
"Die, heretic," Gwydion said, managing the words as best he could around the bit in his mouth. He pressed his palms together. The dwarf's head buckled like a melon under a giant's heel.
His reaction numbed by gin and fear, Ivlisar only then reached out for his friend, hoping to pull him back into the scribe's house. It was far too late. Hodur's gory, lifeless body slipped from the inquisitor's gauntlets and dropped