Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad (18 page)

When Mystra and Kelemvor turned toward the island, they were astonished to see Oghma the Wise waiting. He stood on the stony beach beneath the citadel walls, wearing a yellow burnoose that soaked up none of the water lapping at its hem. A broad smile opened in his thick beard, and then he raised a hand in greeting.

“I thought I would find you here,” he called. “You have come to ask Tyr to separate your trial from Cyric’s, have you not?”

Mystra and Kelemvor waded toward the beach. “That is no business of yours,” said Lord Death.

“Perhaps not, but you might have asked my advice.”

“We saw no point in asking anything of you,” said Mystra. “You seemed quite happy to see us charged alongside Cyric.”

True,” replied Oghma. “But there is never harm in talking. It is through discussion that one gains wisdom.”

Kelemvor stopped at the beach. “Then talk. We will listen.”

Oghma dipped his head to Lord Death. “I have been told that you sent Jergal and Gwydion to find Rinda’s spirit; thank you. You have no idea how her cries have tormented me.”

That was out of fairness to her, not to win your favor. The Brave and True should not feel deserted by their gods.”

Mystra waded out of the water and stood close to Oghma’s side, then laid her hand on the Binder’s arm. “All the same, if Kelemvor’s service has caused you a change of heart, we would welcome your support at our trial.”

Oghma’s face grew sober, and he did not look at Mystra, but kept his eyes fixed on Kelemvor. “You are all accused together. If I speak in your defense, then I also speak in Cyric’s. Surely you do not want that!” The God of Wisdom furrowed his brow. “Cyric has failed in his duties, and we all agree that is a terrible thing-even if we cannot decide what to do about it.”

Kelemvor stepped past Oghma. “Shall we go, Mystra? He is no different from the others.”

Mystra nodded and turned to follow, for Kelemvor spoke the truth. They had already visited the other gods of the Circle and received the same reply-even from Sune, who was always ready to change her mind. Save for Tyr and Cyric himself, the great deities were so determined to judge against the One that they would not speak in defense of Lady Magic or Lord Death. Kelemvor had begun to wonder if there might be another reason, but he kept his doubts secret. He knew better than to suggest to Mystra that the charges against them might have merit.

They reached the top of the beach and found the abalone gates of Tyr’s citadel hanging open to receive them. Inside stood an honor guard of twelve paladins in gleaming armor, ready to escort Mystra and Kelemvor inside.

The captain stepped forward and bowed. “Lady Magic and Lord Death, please follow us. The Just One is expecting you.”

“Is he?” Mystra glanced at Kelemvor and scowled, for she had not expected the God of Wisdom to oppose them so actively. “It seems the Binder has made some preparations.”

“Not I,” replied Oghma, joining them.

Then who?” demanded Kelemvor.

“Perhaps you should see for yourselves.” Oghma waved Kelemvor and Mystra through the gates ahead of him.

The three gods followed their honor guard up a long walkway and emerged in a huge plaza surrounded by edifices of many-pillared grandeur. The paladins cut straight across this square, clearing a broad swath through the throng of bustling clerks who stopped to stare at the passing gods, then halted before the grandest building of all. The portico stairs were as high as cliffs, and the columns so tall they seemed to support the sky.

Mystra and Kelemvor and Oghma entered the shadow of the first step, and then they were standing inside the great Tribunal Chamber of Tyr the Evenhanded.

The courtroom was shaped like a horseshoe, with high tiers of benches on three sides and the Just One’s alabaster throne on the fourth. Next to this chair, leaning on the back as though he were Tyr’s closest ally, stood a skull-faced wraith in tattered leather armor.

“Cyric!” hissed Mystra.

“The One and All,” replied Cyric.

Though the court was filled with Tyr’s faithful, who packed the benches day and night to bask in the wisdom of his decrees, now the chamber was hushed. It was rare that the gods themselves argued a matter in that chamber, and no ear wished to miss what was said.

“I am sure you will have no objection if I listen to your petition,” said Cyric. “After all, it is sure to affect me.”

“It is for me to decide what affects you, Cyric.” Tyr craned his neck around to scowl at the One and All. “You may be certain that I would have summoned you if it was appropriate.”

“But it is appropriate.” The One went to the edge of the dais and glared down at Mystra. “Mystra and her boy have come to ask for a separate trial.”

With a thought, Tyr increased the size of his throne, until he had risen high enough to peer over Cyric’s head. “I would like to hear from Lady Magic and Lord Death why they are here.”

Mystra nodded. “We have come to ask for a separate trial. We cannot defend ourselves as matters stand, since we agree with the charges against Cyric.”

“And since no one will speak in your defense, as that would also mean speaking in mine,” added Cyric. “I warned you about this. They are all so jealous of me!”

“Jealous?” snorted Kelemvor. “I think not.”

Mystra raised her fingers to silence Lord Death, then ignored Cyric and spoke directly to the Just One. “Tyr, you have put us into an indefensible position. It is not fair to make us choose between defending ourselves and judging against Cyric.”

“Lady Magic, I am not the God of Fairness. I am the God of Justice, and that is a very different thing.” This drew a respectful murmur from the benches, which Tyr silenced with a single eyeless glance. “And if you find it impossible to defend yourself from the charges levied against you, then perhaps you should ask if it is because they have some merit.”

At this, the benches burst into an applause, and Tyr did nothing to silence his admirers.

Cyric raised his skeleton’s hands and looked around the gallery as though he had won a great triumph, and it is a testament to his mercy and patience that he took no offense at how quickly the ovation trailed off.

Oghma made use of the silence to step forward and speak. “Well said, Tyr. A little introspection might benefit both Kelemvor and Mystra.” He glanced first at Lord Death, who bit his lips and looked away, then at Lady Magic, who only scowled and narrowed her eyes. The Binder returned his attention to the Eyeless One. “And there lies the crucial difference between them and Cyric, it seems to me.”

Cyric leaned down from the dais and jabbed a weathered fingerbone at Oghma’s face. “I warn you, Old Man-“

Tyr rose and caught Cyric by the shoulder, then jerked him back from the edge. “And I warn you, Mad One: my tolerance has its limits. This is my Tribunal Chamber, and you will not threaten any soul within its walls!”

Cyric’s jaw clacked open. He whirled on the Just One, and the chamber grew still and tense. The two gods glared at each other for a time, until the One seemed to remember where he was and glanced around the court at Tyr’s astounded worshipers. The fury drained from Cyric’s blazing black eyes, and he closed his jaw and nodded as though granting a request.

“You may speak for yourself, of course. We must not forget, this is your palace.”

“No, we must never forget that,” replied Tyr. Oghma cleared his throat, then spoke, “As I was saying, the charges against Mystra and Kelemvor cannot stand as they are.”

“They cannot?” Mystra’s voice cracked with astonishment. “But you said-“

“That I would not speak in your defense. However, I cannot allow you to stand trial on the wrong charge.” Oghma turned to Tyr, and there was a glint in the Wise God’s eye. “We have charged Cyric with innocence by reason of insanity-but Kelemvor and Mystra are neither innocent nor insane. We have asked them to prove a negative, which is both ridiculous and unjust.”

Tyr nodded thoughtfully.

Before he could say anything, Cyric blurted out, “But Tempus has made his charge! They are as incompetent as I am!”

“That is for the Circle to decide,” said Tyr. “But Oghma is right. The charge is amended to incompetence through humanity.”

Mystra and Kelemvor turned to thank Oghma, but their appreciation was lost in the One’s angry wail. “Noooo!”

The chamber fell silent. All eyes turned toward Cyric, who was tearing handfuls of tattered leather from his armor and flinging them upon the floor. The instant they touched the stone, the scraps turned into steaming piles of fetor, filling the hall with such a poisonous stench that all of Tyr’s Faithful rose and scrambled for the exits. The Just One showed no sign of anger. “Cyric, what is the basis for your objection?”

The One looked up from his hallowed labor. “Basis?”

The reason,” Oghma prompted.

Cyric removed his hands from his shredded armor and looked about the polluted chamber. Approving of what he saw, he clacked his skeleton’s teeth together and turned to face Tyr.

“My reason is simple.” The One spoke in a calm and pleasant voice, as though he had done nothing untoward in Tyr’s courtroom. “Mystra has already tried to disrupt my trial once. If you separate our cases, what is to stop her from trying again?”

“I cannot deny what you say,” Tyr said.

The Just One fell into silent thought, and as he considered Cyric’s argument, his eyeless gaze fell on a pile of offal. The One, seeing where Tyr was looking, made a scooping motion with his bony hand, and the heap vanished at once. The Eyeless One’s gaze wandered to the next pile, which Cyric promptly removed with the same scooping motion, and they continued in this fashion until the whole chamber was as bland and as barren as before.

Tyr smiled, then looked to Mystra. “The trials will take place at the same time.” This drew a victorious chuckle from the One. “But the charges will be split; Cyric’s verdict will stand separately from the verdict rendered for you and Kelemvor.”

“What?” shrieked the One.

Tyr ignored him and continued to address Mystra. “I warn you, give me no reason to regret this. I shall be on guard against tampering of any kind. If I find it-“

“You will find no tampering,” Mystra replied. Then, to make certain Tyr had not mistaken her pledge for a boast, she added, “I have learned my lesson.”

Cyric ripped a handful of leather from his armor, but Tyr was quick to catch the One’s arm.

“Your actions will not influence my judgments,” Tyr said, “but I might present them as evidence at your trial.”

“Traitor!” the One screamed. He opened his hand, and the scrap vanished. “Everyone has betrayed me!”

“So it seems.” Oghma spoke softly, and Cyric had to stop yelling in order to hear the Binder’s words. “You would do well to find out why-unless you want to lose your trial.”

Fifteen

I left the cave with the midnight tide and made good my escape, creeping along the coast until Candlekeep’s lights disappeared behind the horizon and the circling hippogriffs vanished from the sky. Then I climbed the headwall and crawled miles through the tall salt grass to a small farm with a pungent little barn. Thinking this stock shed a good place to rest and collect my wits, I opened the door and sneaked inside.

I was greeted by the shining eyes of five goats and a mangy dog, all peering out from beneath the belly of a swaybacked mare. I hissed a harsh warning for the beasts to keep silent, then turned to keep watch through a knothole-and nearly cried out myself.

Outside, silhouetted against a pink ribbon on the predawn horizon, a lone hippogriff was wheeling past the farmer’s hut. The beast carried two riders, the man who held the reins and the cloth-swaddled figure of the Harper witch. Whether they had tracked me here or had only broadened their search, I could not say-but they were a terrible sight to see. Soon it would be morning, and if I fled, they would spy me running across the open plain. Yet I could not pass the entire day in the stock shed. There were certain to be scouts among the companies that had ridden to Candlekeep’s defense, and the sun-light would make it easy for them track me here.

The hippogriff circled the farm and swooped less than a word’s length above the roofs, but it did not land. My foes were searching blind, hoping their mount would scare me out of hiding or else catch my scent-a thing that seemed impossible, given the stench of manure in the shed. I dared to breathe again but kept my eye to the knothole and thanked Tymora I was done with Rinda’s journal.

I had finished it in the sea cave, by the light of a small fire struck from a pack rat’s nest, which is always so dry and old it makes excellent tinder. The book was mostly an account of Rinda’s wanderings with Gwydion and their many battles with Cyric’s Faithful. In places, Rinda’s words could have been my own, for she was as cut off from Oghma as I had been from the One during my vigil outside Candlekeep. Nor was Gwydion much comfort, as the same things that made him an excellent guard also made him a poor companion. He had little use for sleep or food, nor for any of the other things that men need, and this was a great sadness to Rinda, who was a robust woman with wants of her own. She often thought of her home in Zhentil Keep and of the lovers and friends she had known there and would never see again-but in this we were as different as night and day, for I was confident I would one day return to see my friend the prince and my loving wife and give them all they deserved.

The journal made no further mention of the True Life of Cyric, except to say she had heard that Fzoul Chembryl had fled for a time to a place called Teshwave, then returned to the ruins of Zhentil Keep to worship a new god named Iyachtu Xvim. It was a great relief to know my quarry was so important that people tracked his movements, as I had less than ten days to complete my journey and find him.

I was on a holy mission now, a quest to save my god-and if the One did not yet appreciate my efforts, I felt sure he would reward me all the more after he read the True Life and returned to his senses. The alternative was too terrible to imagine-though of course I could hardly keep it from my mind. If Cyric was insane when his trial continued, nothing would save him-or me. Compared to my punishment for disobeying the One, the torments of Kelemvor’s city would seem heavenly delights.