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

stars dimmed, as though a cloud of mist had filled the infinite void.
    Mystra slipped her hand from Kelemvor’s grasp, and at last she began to feel the proper fear of the One and All. If Cyric could dim Ao’s sparkling light, what could he not do?
    The mist cleared, and the stars began to shine as brightly as before. I see.
    It was then that Mystra understood even Lord Ao had his limits. Until that moment, Ao had not known how dangerous Cyric could be-and neither had she. Tempus was right; there was nothing to do except destroy Cyric-before he destroyed them.
    And that is why they wish to kill you, Cyric? Because you are more powerful than they? Mystra dared to interrupt. “Yes, Lord Ao.” She felt Kelemvor grab her arm and squeeze, urging her to be careful. Mystra would not remain silent. She had to make Lord Ao see that they could handle the situation for themselves, or he might replace Cyric with someone more capable-or worse still, simply cure the One’s madness.
    “We must kill Cyric,” Mystra said. “We must destroy him, for he has made himself better than us!”
    A sphere of wavering light appeared before Mystra’s eyes, and in it she fancied she could see Cyric’s gaunt face.
    “You see how they envy me?” asked the sphere. “Is it any wonder I refuse to grace them with my presence?”
    No wonder at all, replied Ao. You have made yourself so much mare powerful than they.
    “You sense it, too?” Cyric’s head became solid. The face was white-fleshed and almost skeletal, with sunken eyes that shone from their sockets like two black suns. “You can feel how much I have grown?”
    Indeed. And I can see that you are capable of dealing with your inferiors.
    “Of course, but-“
    Yet, there is one matter that disturbs me. I trust you will forgive me for interfering. Ao paused, as if for emphasis. Tyr!
    “My liege?” The Just One’s voice held the barest quiver.
    If you are conducting a trial, you must observe the formalities. You, of all gods, should understand this.
    Though Tyr had twice tried to steer the proceedings along a proper course, he simply lowered his chin. “Yes, my liege.”
    Good. When you begin the trial, one Faerunian day hence, you will all observe the rules. Now, what charge have you raised against Cyric?
    Tyr lifted his head and studied Cyric’s dark eyes. The charge shall be Innocence, I think.”
    “Innocence?” So loud and shrill was Cyric’s shriek that several gods cringed. “But I am the Lord of Murder! The Prince of Lies! The Sower of Strife! The Master of Deception!”
    “The charge is Innocence,” Tyr declared. “Innocence by reason of Insanity.”
     

Four
     
    By the One, there is no pain greater than that of a man dying Faithless! How long I lay in the wicked sun on that blood-soaked hill, I cannot say. Where the bull’s horn had pierced me, there was an ache as hot as white iron. A fever had dried my mouth until my swollen tongue blocked my throat, and though I could scarcely breathe, from my lips came these terrible words:
    “Cyric, you are a tapeworm in the gut of the heavens!”
    I meant them to the depths of my agonized soul. For years I had stood vigil, watching for the sacred Cyrinishad, doing all any mortal could to return it to my worthy god. Now the Cyrinishad was lost through no fault except Cyric’s, who had filled his Church to bursting with chaos and discord. I cursed the One again! Now my vision would never be. I would never stand before that vast host of Believers to read from the sacred book, never return home to repay the prince and reclaim my fortune and my wife. My Dark Lord had failed me, and I felt as foolish as the sheep that follows its master to the slaughter.
    I swore my lips would never again sing his praises.
    A terrible fear seized me then, and my eyes turned to fountains, pouring forth their tears. I was a Faithless man at the brink of death. Soon my spirit would let go my flesh and sink beneath the stones and go down to that