Prince of Lies - James Lowder [84]
A huge carnivorous ape followed, along with a tiger, a motley collection of wolves, and a man-sized lizard dredged up from some subterranean lair. Its eyes were sightless, pale white and squinting against the morning. Next came a pair of lions and a gigantic wild boar, neither of which had been captured anywhere near Zhentil Keep.
A trio of spear-toting soldiers prodded a minotaur along. Children taunted the great bull-headed guardian of lost tombs and labyrinths, waving bits of red cloth to catch its attention. The minotaur nearly got away from its handlers when a drunken man got too close. He'd been trying to tantalize the starving beast with a chunk of stale bread, but the minotaur would have taken the man's arm right up to the elbow, if it had been given half a chance.
"You've nothing to fear," the barker shouted, noting the disquiet in the faces of the people nearest the minotaur. "So long as you're faithful to Cyric, no harm will come your way."
On a cart drawn by an elephant, a merman shivered in a huge tank of water. The scales on his fish's tail were dark with some disease, the muscles on his human torso flabby from long captivity. He stared out at the crowd with pleading eyes – a pointless gesture in the Keep, where slave auctions were as common as drunken brawls.
The prize attraction came next: a very young white dragon. The wyrm was festooned with chains and surrounded by a dozen brawny warriors. It couldn't have been more than ten feet long from its blunted snout to the tip of its tail, with wings that had been clipped to prevent the beast from flying away. As it moved along, the dragon pulled and tugged against the chains, dragging first one, then another of its captors closer to its steel-muzzled jaws. Each time the wyrm balked, a Zhentilar carrying a torch scalded its tail until the beast shrieked in protest and lurched forward a few more steps.
Vrakk stared in amazement as the dragon approached; the Zhentilar had branded its flank with Cyric's holy symbol and the gauntlet-and-gem crest of Zhentil Keep. Though white dragons were, on the whole, less intelligent than other wyrms, they were prone to exacting violent retribution for wrongs against their kin. The other dragons in this hatchling's flight would devote themselves to wiping out the caravans traveling to and from the Keep, should they ever learn of the brands.
If the priests ain't afraid of the wyrms," Vrakk heard one rather dimwitted merchant proclaim, "then the church has got to be as powerful as they say."
The tense silence that answered the man might as well have been a roaring shout of disagreement. Few in the Keep were foolish enough to openly question any claim made about the church's authority or its might, not when an inquisitor could appear at any moment to quell any spoken dissent. Thus silence had become the favored way to show dissatisfaction with Cyric or his minions. But if Xeno Mirrormane and his fanatics had their choice, even this mute revolt would soon be punishable by death.
Still, the Zhentish recognized the patriarch's power; when his carriage rolled into the marketplace, a dull cheer went up. Even the merchants, who resented the parade for taking up valuable trading time, showed their grudging support. A few particularly unctuous hawkers offered free food and wine to the contingent of Zhentilar surrounding the high priest's opulent carriage. As the merchants expected, the stern-faced soldiers silently refused the gifts, but the hawkers knew the appearance of support for Xeno and his troop might later buy valuable favors.
"An announcement by His Holiness!" a herald