Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [12]
Llorkh seemed largely unburdened of the decadence his people associated with city living. Whether made of wood or stone, the buildings were spartan and simple, and even the tall one in the center, which he rightly figured was their destination, had little grace in its design. The streets were uncrowded, many of the houses showing decay as if they had been long unoccupied. The people who were visible were largely soldiers-humans or orcs-and downtrodden human workers, their clothes dirty and ragged. This was not a city, he decided, so much as a stronghold, geared for war and defense above anything else.
He respected that.
Bound for the Lord's Keep, they skirted a large square where homes and shops were better maintained. A variety of stock animals brayed in pens here, and many of the caravans that he had sometimes witnessed crossing the Dawn Gap sat under guard.
Soon they came to the Lord's Keep, its guards casting puzzled looks but nevertheless letting Ardeth and Gan through without question. Just before the door, Ardeth pivoted back on the hobgoblin.
"You mean this weapon as a gift for Lord Geildarr?" asked Ardeth.
"This is so," Gan replied.
"And what do you ask in return?"
"Only a place in his army," Gan said, and he looked over the axe he bore. "This is a mighty weapon and it deserves a leader worthy of it. May I not speak to him?" asked Gan.
"He is not here right now," said Ardeth. "But he accepts your gift with great thanks. It is a worthy blade."
"Worthy of a great leader," said Gan, and with great humility, he lay the axe in the dust before the Lord's Keep.
* * * * *
The Dark Sun, together with the Lord's Keep and the barracks, was one of the largest buildings in all of Llorkh: an absurdly oversized cathedral to the Prince of Lies. Its great wooden doors stood several stories high; its nave supported by many thick black pillars of ebon. Geildarr had never seen it more than two-thirds full, not with all the faithful of Llorkh, Loudwater, and Orlbar attendant on important holy days.
When Geildarr strode inside, he felt dwarfed by the immensity of the purple walls, from which the jawless skull-Cyric's symbol-stared at him on every side. A much smaller temple to Bane once stood on this spot, presided over by Mythkar Leng back before the Time of Troubles. But when Cyric took Bane's place after Bane died spectacularly in the city of Tantras, Leng displayed his newfound fealty by ripping down the old temple and building one twice as large on the same spot, mere months afterward.
It amazed Geildarr that Leng could switch allegiances so easily. The transition was easy for Geildarr, of course, for it meant little more than changing the name in his prayers and quaking in fear of a different power. But priests were supposed to have such an intensely personal relationship with their deities. Geildarr had heard about some Banites and Bhaalites who purposely injured themselves after their gods died.
And now Bane was back, bursting from the shell of his son, the puppet, and with Bane's resurgence spreading throughout the Black Network, Cyricist Zhentarim were becoming a rare breed. The Zhentarim, once a secular organization that comprised followers of many deities, seemed increasingly like an arm of the Church of Bane, and the worship of Cyric seemed to be more popular in places like Amn and Thay, where Zhentarim influence was minimal.
Geildarr decided that Leng swapped deities so easily because the god he worshiped was nothing more than a name for the darkness in his soul. What Moritz said made sense: Leng could easily switch to Bane and take the temple