Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad (19 page)

The hippogriff circled the farm three times, approaching from a different angle on each occasion, and it was just swooping down toward the stock shed door when the mare nickered in fear. This occasioned several bleats and a growl from beneath the nag’s belly. I spun around at once, bringing my finger to my lips.

“Quiet!” I hissed.

“Really, Malik, you are growing too cocky.”

Though the thousand voices of the One were but a whisper, they filled my head as a roaring wind. My bones ached with a stinging chill, and I saw a man’s shape blocking the gleam of the farm beasts’ golden eyes. A gentle throb sounded outside as the hippogriff beat the air with its wings and flew over the shed. I fell to my knees and pressed my head to the stinking floor.

“Mighty One!”

Cyric’s boots scuffed through the filth, and a bony hand grasped my shoulder. “Do not offer reverence you do not feel.” The One plucked me from the floor and returned me to my feet. “It demeans us both, and you remain under Tyr’s protection-for now.”

“But-“

“Malik, there is no cause for worry. I only want to know why you betrayed me.” He brushed off my robe-I was still wearing the witch’s aba, as the dark cloth made excellent camouflage in the night. “Speak freely. Whatever you say, it will not aggravate your punishments.”

I believed him, for I knew nothing could add to what he planned for me already. Yet it was impossible to do as he commanded. “Mighty One, I have not betrayed you. How can I ever betray the god of gods?”

The One clasped me by the throat, and I am certain that only Tyr’s protection kept him from crushing my windpipe. “No lies, you mewling … !” He let the threat trail off, then removed his hand and patted me on the chest. He pulled the Harper’s brooch from my robe and tossed it aside, and I heard the pin land in something moist and soft where it belonged. “I am trying to be patient here, Malik. Perhaps I could pay a visit to your wife?”

This, of course, was too great an honor to ask. “You would do that for me, Mighty One?”

“Of course, Malik.” His thousand voices were as melodious and pleasing to the ear as a choir of eunuchs. “Just tell me what I want to know.”

“But I have, Sacred One,” I replied. “An amil does not betray his caliph, for he has too much invested in him. What hope but you do I have of regaining all I have sacrificed in your service? No other god will reward me for what I have done.”

This, Cyric seemed to understand. A purple light suddenly filled the shed, drawing much snorting and bleating from the mare and her nervous goats, and the One fixed his blazing black eyes on my face and studied me a long time. The dog slunk into a corner and hid beneath a manger and lay there growling softly, but I could tell that the beast was not overly brave, or else it would never have lived to be so gray. “Malik, can you really be telling the truth?” I nodded. “Of course, Mighty One.” The One was not interested in my reassurances. He placed his bony hand in the center of my chest and began to push, and I stumbled back and kept stumbling back until I reached the wall and could go no farther.

“This may hurt,” Cyric said, “but it will not kill you-not while you are under Tyr’s protection.”

My eyes dropped to the bony claw on my chest, and suddenly my heart was pounding like the hooves of a fine stallion. “Wh-what are you going to d-do?”

Cyric continued to push, and my sternum flexed inward. My ribs bowed out around his hand. A terrible crushing pain filled my torso, as though a giant were standing on my chest, and my breath stopped. My heart pounded harder than ever. Every time the organ expanded, I felt it touch my spine and my sternum at once, and I thought the One meant to crush it inside my own body. Then his hand grew as pellucid as a ghost and slid into my chest, so that all I could see was his wrist pressed tight to my sternum. My entire body grew cold and numb, and the pain vanished. His hand closed around my heart. With each beat, I felt the spongy muscles squeeze up between his fingers; each time they contracted, his grasp tightened.

“Stronger than I thought,” he said. “That may not be good. Steadfast hearts are for Tempus and Torm, not me.”

My knees buckled. I fell against the wall and slumped to the floor; there was nothing I could do. The warmth rushed back into my body, and a low boom-booming filled my ears, and I felt a strange void in the middle of my chest. The horse whinnied and the old gray dog ventured a bark, and even before I looked, I knew I would see the One holding my heart in his hand.

The sight was not as gruesome as I imagined. It reminded me of a small throbbing sponge, save that each time it pumped, the stuff that gushed from its pores was blood and not water.

“In the name of the One!” I was in no condition to think of what I was saying. “I am only a poor mortal! Put that back!”

“When I am ready.”

Cyric did not even look at me, but stuck my heart into his mouth and bit a chunk from the side. I let out a great shriek, which should certainly have roused even the lazy farmer who did not rise before dawn to check his animals, then watched as the One spat out the piece he had bitten off.

“Aaarrgh! It’s fresh!”

“But of course,” I replied. “You took it from my chest.”

That is not what I mean.” Cyric grabbed my collar and pulled me to my feet. My blood was smeared over his skeleton’s mouth, and I could not bear to look at his face. “You are letting me the truth.”

“I wouldn’t dare lie-not to you!”

“Of course you would.” Cyric propped me against the wall-I think he feared I would fall again-then he backed away, shaking his head. When he spoke, it was only in a single cackling voice. “It makes no sense. It makes no sense.”

He looked toward the ceiling and answered himself in a demon’s rumble. “Don’t be a fool. You can see what’s happening!”

Cyric spun on his heel and spoke next to the floor, this time in a soft woman’s tone. “Malik has always been your most devoted worshiper.” These are the exact words of the One and All, and I have not altered a syllable. “He is true to you. You have tasted that for yourself.”

“But everybody has betrayed us!” Cyric’s voice was now deep and angry. “Even Oghma said that!”

Yet another voice came to the One’s lips. “He said it seemed that way!” He directed this to the dog in the corner, which only whimpered and crawled farther beneath the manger. “And he said we had to figure out why!”

With that, the One plunged his free hand into his own chest, and he withdrew a slimy mass of curd as brown as roasted coffee beans. It did not beat so much as slurp between his fingers, and nothing on Faerun smelled stronger. The goats fell to their knees and rubbed their muzzles in the filthy dirt. Horrible choking sounds came from the nag’s throat, and the dog crawled out from beneath the manger to do what I would have done myself, had I not been too frightened.

Cyric raised the putrid mass to his mouth and took a bite, and this he swallowed. “Rotten!” he announced, again speaking in a thousand voices, all of which seemed quite content “Rotten to the core.”

Having regained control of himself, the One pleased the horse and the dog by returning to my side of the shed. He raised his slimy heart toward my face. “Care for some?”

Of course, I was too stunned to reply. The number of mortals who have ever been invited to take a meal with their god can be counted on a man’s hands, but what man has ever been offered such an honor as this? For a long time, I could only stare at the slurping mass and think of the many benefits a bite of the One’s heart would surely bestow: unflagging strength, or a life free of disease-perhaps even immortality itself!

The organ was so close now that I could see it was threaded with long white strands, and that these were writhing about on their own. These were the spirits of all the gods Cyric had slain in making himself the One, but I did not know this at the time, and I confess they turned my stomach. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, and I tried not to think of the stench as I lowered my head to partake of my god’s manna.

But when have I ever been a strong man? As soon as my lips touched the quivering mass, my head began to spin. My vision blackened, and a deafening silence filled my ears and shut out the boom-booming of my own heart in his other hand.

When I opened my eyes, I sat slumped against the wall, with the One cross-legged before me. He was still holding both hearts, moving his hands up and down as though weighing the difference.

He looked at the slurping mass cupped in his left palm. “I thought not.” Cyric shook his head, then raised his gaze. “Malik, what is Oghma warning me about? Is something wrong with me?”

Having been asked similar questions by many powerful friends back in Calimshan, I knew an honest answer was not expected. I dared to lay a comforting hand on the One’s arm, taking care not to disturb the heart.

“Nothing,” I said. I meant to stop there, but the truth welled up and spilled from my horrified lips before I knew what I was saying. “Nothing that can’t be fixed, Mighty One. Your heart is rotten because you have betrayed your worshipers and your duties-that is what Oghma is trying to tell you.”

Cyric’s hand closed around my heart. I knew he meant to crush it, which would certainly be my death when Tyr’s protection was lifted, yet I could not stop talking.

“You shut yourself in the Shattered Keep-“

“Castle of the Supreme Throne!”

“-and delude yourself into believing you play other gods like puppets. When they refuse to do as you command, you claim they are only jealous of your power, but even we mortals know they are laughing behind your-“

“Laughing!”

The force of Cyric’s bellow slammed me against the wall, and I knew that even Tyr’s protection would not save me from the One’s anger. I bowed my head.

“Forgive me, Mighty One.” My voice was as soft and shrill as that of a frightened child. “I don’t know what came over

me.

“Mystra’s truth spell,” he hissed. Then, one after the other, his thousand voices began to chuckle, and all at once they broke into a cyclone of wild laughter. “She saved me!”

“Saved you?”

The One dropped our hearts onto the filthy floor and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Mystra’s magic was meant for a god, and you’re just a mortal!” This was the first I had heard about her truth magic, but my runaway mouth made his meaning clear enough. “Even here on Faerun, you can’t lie!”

I groaned. This was not good news for a merchant.

“You had to tell me the truth!” Cyric guffawed. “And now the truth will save me!”

I looked away, for this was almost my plan.

After a time, the One brought his mirth under control and picked up my heart. As he brushed off the dirt, he asked, “So, what shall I do now?”

“You’re asking me, Mighty One?”

Cyric nodded. “Yes-and give me an honest answer.”

He burst into another bout of mirth, which gave me time to think, and when he stopped laughing, I had a good answer.

“My father once said, The camel fears her driver not because the driver wishes her to, but because she knows him.”

The One looked at me, but there was no flesh over his skull’s face and I could not see his confusion. Finally, he asked, “Malik, what in the Nine Hells are you talking about?”

“The camel does not fear the driver’s switch; a whipping is nothing to a creature with such a thick hide. Rather, she fears the driver because she has watched him eat camel.”

The One continued to stare at me, until I thought it necessary to explain. “You see, Mighty One, you are the driver-“

“I know, Malik. I am a god-or have you forgotten? You mean I must to do something to remind my inferiors of how dangerous I can be.” “Yes.”

“And I know just the thing.” A red gleam appeared in Cyric’s eyes. “Adon!”

“Mystra’s patriarch?” I knew Adon’s name from the journal, for he had done much to aid Rinda and Gwydion soon after the destruction of Zhentil Keep, and he had even arranged for them to rest a month or so in a tiny village named Tegea. “But surely, Mystra has placed many safeguards over-“

“You let me worry about that. You just go back…” Here the One hesitated. Oghma’s enchantment was still doing its work, and already he could not remember where the Cyrinishad was hidden. “Go back to where you killed Rinda and get the Cyrinishad.”

“As you-” I was going to say “command,” but I had forgotten about Mystra’s spell; my tongue twisted itself and told the truth instead: “-must know, I have no intention of returning to Candlekeep. I’m going to Zhentil Keep.”

“What? Zhentil Keep!” The One’s roar set the dog to scratching at the shed walls. “What for?”

I said nothing, for I knew that if I spoke, it would be nothing but the truth.

“Well?”

Still I did not reply.

Cyric studied me a long time. I grew uncomfortable and looked away and watched my heart throbbing in his hand, and I wondered if I would ever get it back. The One followed my gaze and also stared at my heart, and after a moment he clacked his fleshless jaw.

“I see. You cannot tell me.” He looked back to my eyes, which I carefully kept fixed on my heart. Then what am I to do, Malik-trust you?”

“Whatever I am doing, it is only for your own good,” I said, and Mystra’s spell caused me to add, “and because it is the only way to save myself.”

Cyric raised my heart to his mouth. I grimaced and looked away, for I thought he would take another bite, but he only touched his long tongue to it and sneered with disgust

“I suppose I must trust you. Your heart is true.” He said this last word as a profanity. “That explains your failure in Candle keep. Perhaps Rinda did not even have the Cyrinishad! What is it you merchants say? ‘A thief steals the locked chest first?”

I nodded, for this was indeed a favorite saying of my father’s. It means a wise man does not hide his gold in an expected place.

“That is it! She was carrying a decoy!” Cyric jumped up and almost stepped into the slurping mass of his own heart, which he had left lying in the dirt. “And she hid the Cyrinishad in Zhentil Keep-is that correct?”

I clenched my jaw and was greatly relieved to note that I felt no compulsion to answer. The Harlot’s magic forced me to be honest and complete when I spoke, but it did not compel me to speak against my own wishes. At least she had left me this much.