Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad (47 page)

“Mystra, think carefully,” urged Tyr. “Once you speak, the verdict cannot be changed. You may come to rue the day you made this decision.”

“I do already,” Mystra replied. “But when the Circle found in my favor, I promised to behave as a god, not as a mortal.”

The Harlot faced the One. “I find for Cyric.”

Mystra had hardly finished speaking before the Circle of Twelve dispersed and I found myself alone with the One. At once, the Pavilion of Cynosure became an abhorrent den of iniquity, strewn with couches and pillows and filled with such a fog of sweet-smelling perfumes and bitter smoke I could hardly breathe. Cyric shrank to a size more nearly my own and sank deep into a settee of plush cushions. I dared to approach and prostrate myself before him. He let out a great sigh and tipped his head back and stared at the naked fiends on the ceiling.

I stayed on the floor for many minutes, until my knees grew numb and my joints began to ache with the cold, and even then I dared not rise. I had to be careful, for Tyr’s protection had ended with the trial, and I was as likely to die as any man-perhaps even more so. Indeed, I thought it a small miracle the slimy mass in my chest had not killed me already and sent me on my way to find my wife in the City of the Dead.

At last, the One deigned to notice me. Without taking his eyes off the ceiling, he asked, “Malik, do you want something?”

“No, Mighty One!” And to my great horror, Mystra’s accursed spell still compelled me to add, “Only one or two things, and they should not be difficult to grant for a great god.”

I vowed vengeance on the Harlot, for I knew then that I would always be compelled to tell the truth.

Cyric tore his gaze from the ceiling and stared down upon me. “One or two things?”

“There is the matter of our hearts,” I replied. “I am sure you would like yours back. And, while it was great honor to lend you my own, I will certainly have need of it later.”

The One reached into his cloak, then pulled out my poor battered heart. Hardly anything remained of it. Most of the fluid had drained out, and now it was as flat as a shoe. “You want this back? It might not work.”

This thought had occurred to me as well, and yet I was loath to keep the One’s heart for fear of what it might do to the rest of my body. “Perhaps it could be fixed, Most High. I am certain you will want your own back.”

“I think not, Malik.” Cyric shook his head, then tossed my heart over his shoulder. “I can always find another, but you had better keep mine. You will need it.”

This filled my stomach with a sick feeling. “I will?”

The One nodded, then patted the couch beside him. I rose and sat on the edge of the cushion.

“I have something very special in mind for you, Malik.” Cyric draped his arm around my shoulders. The orange blood of my heart still dripped from his fingernails. “You are going to be my Seraph of Lies.”

“Seraph of Lies!” I cried. “But I cannot lie!”

The One smiled. “That makes you perfect. I already have a task for you; but we will discuss that in a minute. You wanted two things. What is the second?”

I held up my hand and pinched my thumb and forefinger close together. “A small matter, Mighty One. I was wondering …” My trepidation grew so great that not even Mystra’s magic could keep me from hesitating. “I was wondering what kind of reward-“

“Reward?” Cyric’s hand pinched my shoulder, and it was a marvel that he crushed no bones. “After what you did?”

“What I did?” I leapt to my feet-I could not help myself. “I cured your insanity! I saved you from being found innocent!”

“True-but I commanded you to get the Cyrinishad.” Cyric pulled me back down and pushed me so deep into the cushions I feared I would smother. “You failed me, Malik-for that, I should send you to join your wife in the City of the Dead.”

I began to tremble, as I knew now what I had only feared before-that if I ever saw my wife again, it would not be in the One’s palace.

Cyric continued, “But you also helped me see that I am not the Prime Mover of the Multiverse, and so I forgive your failure.” The One brought his face so close to mine that I did not dare exhale for fear that my breath would offend him. “But that can be changed, Malik. I have a plan-and you will play a part in it.”

“Me, Mighty One?” In truth, I had been hoping for a somewhat smaller reward. “What kind of a part?”

“When the time comes, Malik … When the time comes, I will reveal all.” The One grinned, then spun away from me and rose. “But first, you must do your penance.”

“Penance!” I shouted-but I was also quick to add, “Whatever you command, Most High.”

The One clasped his hands behind his back, then turned and strolled toward the wall of the Pavilion. “I want you to write an account, Malik-a chronicle of the search for the Holy Cyrinishad, so that my worshipers will understand the many trials their god endures on their behalf.”

“Yes!”

I saw at once that I had been blessed, that the vision I had seen on the plain outside Candlekeep would come to pass, that I would stand beneath a stormy sky before a vast host of True Believers and speak to them in the thunderous voice of the One True Prophet and reunite the Church of the Faithful under my own banner!

In my excitement, I leapt up and followed the One toward the wall of the Pavilion. “It shall be a True and Faithful Chronicle of the Trial of Cyric the Mad, and I shall report all the things that happened from the time I found the Cyrinishad until we saved Faerun from a second Time of Troubles!”

The One whirled with black fire in his eyes. “We, Malik?”

And so it was that Cyric the All gave his blessing to this humble account, that he renewed my Faithless heart and returned me to the Way of Belief and burned my eyes with the Flames of Glory and Truth, until I saw all that had occurred in the world and in the heavens since before the Razing of Zhentil Keep, so that I might set down in complete accuracy and perfect truth all the things done by men and by gods during the search for the holy Cyrinishad.

Praise be to Cyric the One, Most Mighty, Highest of the High, the Dark Sun, the Black Sun, the Lord of Three Crowns, and the Prince of Lies! All Blessings and Strength upon his Church and his Servants, who alone shall rule over the Kingdom of Mortals and Dwell Forever in the Palace of Eternity in the time beyond the Year of Carnage!

This is the book of the Seraph Malik el Sami yn Nasser, Favored of the One and the True Prophet of all Believers, in which I give a complete account of my Faithful service to Cyric the All in the boundless lands of Faerun and beyond, and of the Great Reward I received for my Valiant Labors during the Trial of Cyric the Mad. Every part is true, and I swear mat if one word is false, then they all are!

About the Author

Troy Denning, writing as Richard Awlinson, was the author of Waterdeep, the third book in the Avatar Trilogy. Among Denning’s other works are the Prism Pentad series in the DARK SUN(world, The Parched Sea and The Veiled Dragon in the Harpers series, the Twilight Giants trilogy, and Pages of Pain, set in the PLANESCAPETM world.

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