Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [13]
Geildarr knew what all Zhentarim knew, but none dared say: the bulk of them were interested in power above all else, and worshiped whichever god could best provide it. After Cyric went mad and unleashed a monster army on Zhentil Keep, Xvim the Baneson seemed like a welcome alternative. But Darkhold always remained loyal to Cyric; therefore, Llorkh had too.
Eyeing one of the etched skulls staring down at him from a pillar, Geildarr reflected on his own relationship with Cyric. Certainly he acknowledged that Cyric had touched him in a rare and special way for a wizard, granting him powers to craft and explore magic that few could manage. He owed that much to the Lord of Murder. But did he have such loyalty that he would never contemplate worshiping Bane, or any other god, if circumstances demanded it?
A young acolyte came out to greet Geildarr. "I need to see Leng," Geildarr said. "Fetch him."
"The Master is attending to his studies," the dark disciple told him. Geildarr knew just what that meant. Another dwarf who was part of a conspiracy against Llorkh had been turned over to the temple, and Leng was experimenting with better ways of creating groundlings-the disgusting dwarf-badger hybrids that the Zhentarim used as elite assassins. They were both tinkerers, Geildarr and Leng, though Geildarr liked to experiment with new and better spells and magical items, and Leng devoted his time to finding ways to corrupt good into a dark and degenerate mirror of itself.
Geildarr recalled that the Dark Sun once contained a secret known to few in Llorkh. Rakaxalorth, one of the Zhentarim's loyal beholders, lived in a chamber beneath the temple, covertly operating the Dark Sun alongside Leng. The two functioned together as the Zhentarim's foremost representatives in Llorkh. When a bugbear army-under phaerimm mind control and led by a beholder-assaulted Llorkh, Rakaxalorth came out of his hideaway, flew over the city walls, and joined the fray. Rakaxalorth annihilated the phaerimm's beholder mind slave, and gave his life to do it.
Somehow, Geildarr doubted that Leng would ever do anything remotely comparable in defense of Llorkh.
"He will set his research aside for a moment," Geildarr said to the acolyte. "The mayor of Llorkh wills it." But he was left waiting a long time before Leng arrived.
Leng wore the traditional purple and silver robes of his god, with ornamental handcuffs on the sleeves to signify Cyric's one-time imprisonment in Shadowdale. With jet black hair, pale flesh, and piercing gray eyes, he looked intimidating-enough to inspire the fear and devotion of those weaker than him.
"Mayor," Leng said. "To what do we owe this honor?" His tone was the same as all Zhentarim priests-coldly cordial with a hint of menace.
"I recently received a message from Fzoul," Geildarr said, his voice echoing from the highest rafters of the cavernous church. "He sends his regrets after the failure of our troops in the Fallen Lands."
"Good of him," Leng said. "Has he further instructions for us?"
Geildarr shook his head. "He says that he and Manshoon will review the Shade question before further actions are taken. But I'm concerned."
"Why?" asked Leng.
"You know the workings of the Zhentarim better than I. Fzoul gave us an impossible task-the kind the Zhentarim give to cold initiates. One along the lines of 'assassinate Lady Alustriel' or 'steal Elminster's second-favorite pipe.' Now he wants to punish us for not fulfilling it."
Leng smirked. "Did you give Ardeth Chale such a task? Is that how she earned your devotion to her?"
"Better still, she accomplished a very difficult task of her own volition. Just the kind of initiative I admire." A touch of defensiveness rang in his voice. He went on. "I doubt if all the Lord's Men and the muster of our humanoid allies could have shaken the Shadovar from the Fallen