Read Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad for Free Online Page B

interests of the Balance.” Her voice was but a whisper, like a terrible thought that had lain long-buried until a moment of weakness. “It is not Talos’s rage that threatens the Balance, but the Mad One’s neglect. Cyric has fallen victim to the lies in his own book, and now he can think of nothing but himself.”
    Tyr sat back and made no reply. The discussion had swung to deliberating the charges, and he was content to let it proceed.
    Tempus said, “Cyric fosters his creed only among his own Faithful and neglects his duty to spread his tenets to the rest of Faerun.” He faced Mystra’s side of the table. “Strife and murder, lies and intrigue, deception and betrayal-all these are becoming things of the past. Even his own worshipers spend all their energy slaying and plotting against each other.”
    “And while the Church of Cyric devours itself, our Faithful suffer,” added Shar. “If wives never lie to their husbands, nor husbands betray their wives, if men never covet their kin’s treasure, nor clansmen murder one another in the night, how then can I nurture the hidden jealousies and secret hatreds that inspire men to greatness? How can I feed the dark bitterness of their souls, that ever keeps them striving for more glory, more gold, more power?”
    “All you say is true,” said Chauntea. The Great Mother spoke in a voice both warm and reassuring. “Yet I cannot support your solution. Would it not be better to help him, to guide him out of this maze in which he has wandered?”
    “Absolutely not!”
    It surprised Mystra to hear her own voice echoing off the pavilion’s pillars, for she had not meant to shout-or even to speak. As much as she despised Cyric, the mere fact that Tern-pus, Shar, and Talos demanded his downfall made her reluctant to join the call. They formed a triad of war, darkness, and destruction, and whatever they were planning, she did not think it likely to benefit the people of Faerun.
    “Would you care to elaborate?” asked Oghma. He stood beside Mystra, on the side opposite Kelemvor, and he spoke in a voice as smooth and melodious as the strings of the bards who sang his praises. “Perhaps you want Cyric to stay the way he is?”
    “Perhaps I do. He is more dangerous sane than mad.”
    “Dangerous to the Balance, or to the people of Faerun?” asked Lathander. As always, the Morninglord stood beside the Great Mother Chauntea, eager to lend his support to her every word. “We all know how much better life has become for mortals since Cyric began to neglect his duties. Whether he is replaced or cured, their lot can only grow harder.”
    “A hard life can also be a good life,” observed Chauntea. “Yet, Lady Mystra is like a mother who loves her children too well. She cannot bear to see them hurt, and so would prefer to keep matters as they are.”
    That was exactly what Mystra would have preferred, but she knew better than to say so.
    “Well?” prompted Oghma.
    “We all know what would have happened if we had let Cyric keep the Cyrinishad,” Mystra replied. She turned a stern glare on Talos, who was casually splintering a chair with his fingernails. “Which only makes me wonder why Talos and Shar were trying to help him recover it.”
    “Yes,” said Oghma. “I’d like to hear your explanation.”
    The Destroyer shrugged. “It was something to do.”
    “As for me,” hissed Shar, “I was only trying to help. Surely, you can all see that our best hope of saving the Mad One is to lure him back with his precious book.”
    “I suspect you were less interested in saving Cyric than in bribing him to support your war against the Moonmaiden,” said Oghma. “That is a dangerous game to play, Nightbringer-a very dangerous game.”
    “Which is all the more reason to destroy him,” said Tempus. He stomped across the pavillion to stand before Kelemvor, who had not yet spoken. “How say you, Death Lord?”
    Before Kelemvor could reply, Oghma leaned in front of Mystra.