Prince of Lies - James Lowder [92]
The marut Mystra called was nowhere near as large as the one Gwydion had seen on the Fugue Plain, gathering up the souls of her faithful, but it was still huge. The hulking creature towered twenty-five feet into the air, its stony flesh as black as the walls of Zhentil Keep. Enchanted armor, blessed by Mystra to withstand any physical blow, covered its arms and broad chest. In one hand the marut clutched a length of sturdy chain, in the other an enormous cage.
The onyx-skinned creature appeared right in front of the inquisitor. The sound of their collision rolled over the city, a tortured clash of unbreakable metal and flesh that was stone. Those in the Keep who'd lived through the Time of Troubles trembled at the din; it echoed over their homes and shops much the same way another cacophony had in those dark times: the cataclysmic destruction of Bane's temple.
Both the inquisitor and the marut fell back a few steps, ready to clash again. The marut struck first, slamming the cage down around Cyric's minion. Gwydion grabbed the bars. His strength should have been enough to tear the steel like paper, but it held fast against him. More bars slid from the frame to close off the bottom before the inquisitor could dig down through the bridge. And when he tried to step out of the mortal realms, retreating back through the planes to Cyric's domain, he found the armor's mechanisms baffled.
"Gond was right," Mystra said as she walked around the cage. "The armor is utterly magic resistant."
This cage is not magic? the marut asked. In the goddess's mind, the creature's voice echoed as if it had come from deep within a cave. Surely this is no mundane device to hold such a warrior.
"Mechanical," Mystra replied softly. She continued to circle the prison like a curious child at a zoo. "The cage is mechanical, just like the armor. The Wonderbringer built the bars specially to counter the strengths and prey upon the weaknesses of the armor he built."
Then the cage is like a shield of spell turning?
Mystra smiled. "More like fighting fire with fire. Force and counter-force."
Bah. I still say this is magic somehow.
The marut sullenly hooked the length of chain to the cage's top so it could carry the thing without getting too close to the inquisitor.
"It's only magic if you don't understand how it works," the Lady of Mysteries murmured.
Gwydion mirrored the goddess's movements as she paced, trying to grab her whenever she got close. After one swipe snagged her hair, Mystra paused in her study of the armor and looked more carefully at the helmet, at the soul trapped inside. Though the inquisitor still thrashed against the bars, his eyes – Gwydion's eyes – stared helplessly at the goddess from the golden prison.
"Can you hear me?" Mystra asked.
The part of Gwydion's soul dominated by the armor screamed for the heretic's blood. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to speak or even move in some way that might answer the goddess.
"Don't worry," Mystra said after a time. "I'll get you out of there once we capture your eight brothers. Then we'll see about making Cyric pay for this."
A maelstrom raged inside Gwydion's head. Shouted prayers to Cyric and solemnly sworn oaths blurred together with the whispered heresies he could no longer punish. He threw himself against the bars time and again, but deep inside, at the heart of the storm, Gwydion gave silent thanks the killing had been stopped.
* * * * *
"Lady Mystra," Tyr said, "you stand accused of willfully endangering the Balance, the most serious charge that can be leveled against any deity. How do you plead?"
"I enter no plea," the Goddess of Magic snapped. "The charge is ludicrous."
At his desk to Tyr's right, Oghma sighed. "I'll take that to mean 'not guilty,'" the Binder said without a trace of humor.
The Pavilion of Cynosure was packed with gods and demipowers from all parts of Faerun. Deities rarely seen in the pavilion – Labelas Enoreth, elven God of Longevity; Garl Glittergold, Father of