Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad by Troy Denning Read Free Book Online

Think well, Kelemvor. Remember who you are, not who you were. Old grudges have no place here.”
    Of all the deities gathered in the pavilion, the God of Death hated the One most fiercely. Long ago, Kelemvor, Cyric, and Mystra, who was called Midnight at the time, lived on Faerun as mortals. With them walked a priest named Adon, now the high priest of Mystra’s church. Then came the Time of Troubles, when two gods stole the Tablets of Fate and Lord Ao grew so angry that he cast the gods from the heavens. Through a strange turn of events, the four mortals discovered the Tablets. Cyric saw at once that he and his companions might demand anything they wished in return for these artifacts, but his cowardly friends did not share his vision. They tried to stop him, and the One was forced to kill Kelemvor. Ao rewarded Cyric by making him the God of Death, and the One arranged for the woman Midnight to become Goddess of Magic. Seething with jealousy, Kelemvor’s dead spirit lurked hidden for many years, until the moment came when he took his vengeance by rising up and leading the spirits of the dead in rebellion against the One. Thus did Kelemvor overthrow Cyric and usurp the Throne of Death, claiming for his own the fickle heart of the harlot Mystra.
    All this Kelemvor remembered when Oghma spoke to him, and his hatred grew hotter than before. “I stand with Tempus,” he said. “Cyric must die.”
    Tempus turned to Mystra. “And you, Lady Magic? How say you?”
    To Mystra’s ear, the Battle Lord sounded too certain of himself. He had thought this through with great care, and the rage he affected was not as spontaneous as he feigned.
    “I say the matter is not for us to decide,” she said. Mystra glanced at Kelemvor and saw the surprise in his face, but she knew he would not attempt to dissuade her. They were not as Chauntea and Lathander; they kept separate their passion and their business as gods. “When it comes to the Balance, Lord Ao-“
    “Has made plain we must follow our own callings,” said Shar. “That preserves the Balance. Stand with Tempus or Chauntea, but you cannot leave matters as they are.”
    Mystra glanced at Oghma, hoping to find some support in his dark-skinned visage. As God of Wisdom, his opinion often swayed the Circle’s decision, and she flattered him often enough that he usually supported her. But not this time. Oghma met her gaze long enough to shake his head, then looked away and said nothing.
    Mystra turned back to Tempus, feeling that he had put into her mouth the words she was about to say. “I have borne witness to Cyric’s treachery too often to make the mistake of aiding him. Given the choices, Tempus, I stand with you. Destroy Cyric.”
    “As I thought.”
    Tempus turned away without asking Oghma’s opinion, for he already knew it. In his arrogance, Oghma would not destroy what he believed he could control.
    “We are getting ahead of ourselves again,” Tyr protested. “We have barely discussed the charge, and still the Battle Lord is leaping ahead to the punishment.”
    “The punishment is all we need discuss!” boomed Kelemvor. “No one disputes Cyric’s condition. The only question is what to do about it.”
    When no one disagreed, Tempus looked past Chauntea and Lathander, seeking out the final vote he required. He stopped at Sune Firehair, who was at that moment admiring her reflection in a shield of polished gold. The Battle Lord’s choice was a surprising one. The Goddess of Love shifted her passions like the wind, but she remained constant in the disdain she displayed for the ugliness of war’s destruction.
    Still, Tempus seemed entirely confident. “And how say you, Beautiful One?”
    Sune acknowledged the compliment with a gleaming smile, then turned back to the golden shield and spoke to her own reflection. “We must do something, I agree that Cyric has eyes for no one but himself.”
    “Yes, but what action do we take?” asked Lathander.
    The Morninglord