04 Prince of Lies by Forgotten Realms

Author:Forgotten Realms [Realms, Forgotten]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T11:55:44.369000+00:00

Thrym bellowed out a prayer to Zzutam, thanking him for a particularly cold winter and a continuing supply of errant sell-swords looking for gold and glory. The frost giants of Thrym's clan had fed well over the years, much better than many of their kind in other parts of Thar. Rumors that the near-mythical Ring of Winter could be found inside their cave, as well as old bardic tales that placed the priceless crown of King Beldoran somewhere close at hand, had led hundreds of treasure hunters to the giants' doorstep and, eventually, the cookfires beyond. Thrym and his kin knew nothing of these fortuitous - and utterly groundless - stories; they ascribed the bounty to their monstrous patron, and offered prayers to him once a day, twice when it snowed enough to cover the toes of Thrym's boots. "We thank you lots, O mighty ice god," the chieftain cried. He crushed a handful of bones between his palms and let the fragments fall upon the crystalline altar dominating the back of the cave. "We grind our enemies to dust in your name." The bone chips burst into flame as they touched the cold stone. Crimson gouts of fire rose above the altar, swirling and dancing like will-o'-the-wisps then melted into a single blaze. The soft-edged flames became the figure of a man clutching a rose-hued short sword. "Pagans," Cyric hissed, disgust written all over his gaunt features. "How long's it been since I was here - fifteen years? Twenty? And you still haven't given up this foolishness..." Thrym snatched the intruder from the sacred altar, but fell backward, howling in pain, as the death god turned to flame in his grasp. The chieftain plunged his charred hand into a pile of snow and stared at Cyric. The Prince of Lies stood atop the crystalline block once more, one hand planted on his hip. "Who's the leader of this - " Idly Cyric gestured at a dark-haired giant. The brute was reaching with exaggerated care for his axe, but his hand closed not on wood, but a huge, writhing snake. The serpent slithered up the giant's arm, c rushing his iron-corded muscles to paste. As the two thrashed about on the ground, Cyric sheathed Godsbane. "As I was saying, who's the leader of this sorry band?" "Me. Chief Thrym." The giant wrapped his wounded hand in the hem of his grimy cloak and got ponderously to his feet. At a gesture from him, the dozen or so giants standing in shocked silence around the altar scrambled to help their beleaguered comrade. It took all of them to pry the snake loose and dash its brains on the cavern wall. "Better get off Zzutam's table," Thrym warned, turning ice-blue eyes on Cyric. "He not like wizards, 'specially ones who breaked up our prayers." "And how many wizards have successfully 'breaked up your prayers' in the past?" the Prince of Lies asked. "Has Zzutam had to deal with lots of people tramping

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