"05 - Crucible- The Trial of Cyric the Mad - Troy Denning 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Avatar Trilogy)

"It would be so much more caring to help him find his way, do you not agree-Most Radiant Star?"
The Morninglord's adulation evoked a snort from Chauntea, which drew in turn an icy glare from Sune. The Goddess of Beauty raised her chin and graced Tempus with her most ravishing smile.
"I fear the Mad One must be destroyed," she purred. "Even when he was sane, Cyric never understood the power of beauty."
Thank you, Beautiful One." Tempus turned to Eyeless Tyr. That makes six votes in favor of destruction-a clear majority, given Cyric's absence."
Tempus had barely spoken before a great trembling seized the Pavilion of Cynosure. The gods saw the chamber around them grow flat and begin to warp, unraveling like a tapestry. The ceiling cracked and shattered, and the columns and the walls melted away. Gasps of surprise arose, but no god cried out in fear or panic. The pavilion did not dissolve often, but every member of the Circle knew what followed when it did Ao was about to make his presence known.
The gods found themselves floating in a vast sea of emptiness, surrounded on all sides by a twinkling infinity of whirling stars. They began to drift away from the thousand aspects of their minds, from the facets of their being that answered the endless prayers of their worshipers, fulfilled their godly duties, and kept vigil over Faerun. At last, only the core of their intellects remained, drifting aimlessly in a void so vast that no mere god could comprehend its enormity,
Powers of the Cynosure, you have taken it upon yourselves to condemn one of your own.
The words came from both inside each god and without, from deep within their breasts and down from the countless stars. Lord Ao did not show himself-at least not in any normal sense-yet they could feel him all around, as if he were the fabric that enveloped them, the air itself.
Despite the rebuke in Ao's tone, Mystra felt almost relieved. Surely, he would prevent the gods from meddling in Cyric's affairs, from either curing the Mad One or replacing him with someone more effective.
You presume to judge what is best for the Balance.
"We thought it necessary, Lord Ao." It was Tempus who spoke, and still he sounded confident. "In his madness, Cyric has turned inward. He has grown so self-absorbed that he does not foster the precepts of his godhood outside his own church."
"Mad?" came the reply.
Like Ao's voice, this one had no certain source. It was shrill and piercing, like an arrow through the throat, and it rang out from everywhere at once. "You call me mad! You, Tempus? You who hide your face behind a steel veil? You are mad, not I!"
"Cyric," Mystra whispered. She shuddered, for she could not imagine how the Prince of Madness had traveled to Ao's realm without being drawn through the Pavilion of Cynosure.
"Yes, Midnight," sneered the One's voice. "I am beyond you now. I am beyond you all-you who dare think yourselves great enough to destroy me-or to 'save' me."
Mystra shot a glance toward Tempus and saw the Battle Lord's shoulders sink. Whatever Cyric was doing, it had surprised the Foehammer as much as it had her. She looked next to Oghma. The Wise God's face paled, and his jaw hung slack.
Mystra looked away. To catch Oghma in such a state of bewilderment was akin to spying Sune in an instant of ugliness. Without realizing she had reached for it, the Goddess of Magic found herself grasping Kelemvor's hand. "Lord Ao?" Mystra asked. "Did you summon Cyric?" "Summon me?" scoffed Cyric. "Fellows do not summon fellows!"
Fellows? boomed Ao. Fellows! You dare compare yourself to me?
"With whom else?" demanded Cyric. "I have raised myself as far above them as you were once above me!"
The 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 place where the gods claimed the souls of their Faithful. But I had closed my heart to Cyric. He would not answer my cries, and I would be left to wait until Kelemvor fetched me to the City of the Dead. I would be marched before the Crystal Throne and judged according to the deeds of my life, and the verdict would be most harsh indeed.
I fell to trembling and begged Cyric to take me back, but he had no use for cowards and would not hear my prayer. The wicked sun burned hotter still, and I had to close my eyes against the damning light.
I dreamed then of the many torments of the City of the Dead. Kelemvor stacked me in the Wall of the Faithless, where my head was stung by a hail of sleet and my feet scorched by the fires of the World Forge. He threw me into the Pool of Fools, where my eyes melted and my flesh dissolved in the Boiling Acid of Bliss. He laid me into the Road of Betrayers, where my skull was crushed and my bones broken beneath the Iron Wheels of Duty. All this I dreamed and more, until I had suffered the thousand torments of Kelemvor's city and knew all the tortures that awaited me there.
Then I awakened to yet another.