Read Online Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad by Troy Denning - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Troy Denning
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visits. Today, they faced a many-domed alcazar of snow-white stone, with a long garden pool to reflect its splendor. No wall enclosed the grounds, nor did any gate control access; the House of Knowledge was open to all who troubled to visit.
Mystra and Kelemvor squandered no time upon the beauty of the alcazar, for they had much to do before Cyric’s trial. They floated down the alameda, past throngs of scholars engrossed in debate. Myriad bards pressed forward to sing ballads praising magic and death, and countless fiends and seraphim stopped to bow, their arms laden with charts and manuscripts. The two gods ignored them all. They reached the palace and passed through its arched entrance into a vast foyer, where the vaulted ceiling was inscribed with the names of the innumerable learned who had died and been taken into the House of Knowledge by their loyal god.
“Truly, the stars have favored my house today!” Oghma’s voice was a song. He stood in the doorway to the next room, dressed in snug trousers, billowing tunic, and loose turban. “To have two visitors of such distinction!”
“Fortune did not bring us here, as you well know,” said Mystra. She pushed brazenly past Oghma into the vast library beyond. “We have come to discuss the trial.”
Oghma frowned. “We should do that at the trial.”
The God of Wisdom turned and followed Mystra through the door, and Kelemvor came behind. The library was a cavern of pillars and shelves, vast beyond limit and filled with volumes recounting every detail learned by Oghma’s Faithful during their lives. Mystra twined her way through the maze in perfect ease, having visited the House of Knowledge often enough to know her way whatever the palace’s form.
“It is not for us alone to decide Cyric’s fate,” said Oghma, still following Lady Magic. That is for the whole Circle.”
Mystra reached Oghma’s throne, an alabaster seat surrounded by tables and benches of white marble, and turned to her host. “What I have come to say, I cannot say before the Circle.”
Then, my dear, perhaps you should not say it.” Oghma stepped past Mystra and sat in his throne.
“And perhaps you should hear her out,” said Kelemvor. “Unless your mind is not as open as you pretend.”
Oghma cocked an eyebrow. “Touche, Kelemvor.” He waved his guests to the benches beside his throne, then turned back to Mystra. “Very well. My listening will not corrupt the trial any further. I am certain the rest of the Circle has already been busy negotiating the outcome.”
“Kelemvor and I have made a few inquiries, yes,” admitted Mystra. “But Cyric has made no … arrangements of his own.”
“Perhaps he trusts the process.”
“You know better than that,” said Kelemvor. “Cyric is planning something.”
“He has the Cyrinishad,” added Mystra.
“If you are certain of this, then you are a wiser god than I,” Oghma replied. “I have not lifted my ban. How can you know that Cyric has the book when I have denied knowledge of the Cyrinishad’s whereabouts to all deities? And how can Cyric possess it, when he cannot perceive its location? He could walk into a room and pick it up and not know he held it in his hand. What you suggest is impossible.”
Kelemvor scowled. “Whatever you say, Cyric has the book. That is the only reason he would be this calm.” “I see,” said Oghma. “Not only do you know where the Cyrinishad is, you know how the mind of a mad god works!”
“I know Cyric,” Kelemvor growled. “I know him better than you ever could.”
“You know Cyric the mortal,” Oghma replied. “And we are speaking of Cyric the god.”
“Oghma, I did not come here to argue circles with you,” said Mystra. “I know better than that. So let us suppose that Cyric has the Cyrinishad, and that he intends to present it at the trial-as evidence.”
Oghma furrowed his brow, then his eyes grew wide. “We would be obliged to hear it!”
The three were silent, for
Mystra and Kelemvor squandered no time upon the beauty of the alcazar, for they had much to do before Cyric’s trial. They floated down the alameda, past throngs of scholars engrossed in debate. Myriad bards pressed forward to sing ballads praising magic and death, and countless fiends and seraphim stopped to bow, their arms laden with charts and manuscripts. The two gods ignored them all. They reached the palace and passed through its arched entrance into a vast foyer, where the vaulted ceiling was inscribed with the names of the innumerable learned who had died and been taken into the House of Knowledge by their loyal god.
“Truly, the stars have favored my house today!” Oghma’s voice was a song. He stood in the doorway to the next room, dressed in snug trousers, billowing tunic, and loose turban. “To have two visitors of such distinction!”
“Fortune did not bring us here, as you well know,” said Mystra. She pushed brazenly past Oghma into the vast library beyond. “We have come to discuss the trial.”
Oghma frowned. “We should do that at the trial.”
The God of Wisdom turned and followed Mystra through the door, and Kelemvor came behind. The library was a cavern of pillars and shelves, vast beyond limit and filled with volumes recounting every detail learned by Oghma’s Faithful during their lives. Mystra twined her way through the maze in perfect ease, having visited the House of Knowledge often enough to know her way whatever the palace’s form.
“It is not for us alone to decide Cyric’s fate,” said Oghma, still following Lady Magic. That is for the whole Circle.”
Mystra reached Oghma’s throne, an alabaster seat surrounded by tables and benches of white marble, and turned to her host. “What I have come to say, I cannot say before the Circle.”
Then, my dear, perhaps you should not say it.” Oghma stepped past Mystra and sat in his throne.
“And perhaps you should hear her out,” said Kelemvor. “Unless your mind is not as open as you pretend.”
Oghma cocked an eyebrow. “Touche, Kelemvor.” He waved his guests to the benches beside his throne, then turned back to Mystra. “Very well. My listening will not corrupt the trial any further. I am certain the rest of the Circle has already been busy negotiating the outcome.”
“Kelemvor and I have made a few inquiries, yes,” admitted Mystra. “But Cyric has made no … arrangements of his own.”
“Perhaps he trusts the process.”
“You know better than that,” said Kelemvor. “Cyric is planning something.”
“He has the Cyrinishad,” added Mystra.
“If you are certain of this, then you are a wiser god than I,” Oghma replied. “I have not lifted my ban. How can you know that Cyric has the book when I have denied knowledge of the Cyrinishad’s whereabouts to all deities? And how can Cyric possess it, when he cannot perceive its location? He could walk into a room and pick it up and not know he held it in his hand. What you suggest is impossible.”
Kelemvor scowled. “Whatever you say, Cyric has the book. That is the only reason he would be this calm.” “I see,” said Oghma. “Not only do you know where the Cyrinishad is, you know how the mind of a mad god works!”
“I know Cyric,” Kelemvor growled. “I know him better than you ever could.”
“You know Cyric the mortal,” Oghma replied. “And we are speaking of Cyric the god.”
“Oghma, I did not come here to argue circles with you,” said Mystra. “I know better than that. So let us suppose that Cyric has the Cyrinishad, and that he intends to present it at the trial-as evidence.”
Oghma furrowed his brow, then his eyes grew wide. “We would be obliged to hear it!”
The three were silent, for
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