Prince of Lies by James Lowder

of work.” The yellow-skinned denizen flapped his wings proudly. “Makes it easy to tell the jailers from the inmates, too.
    “Anyone stupid enough not to believe in the gods is stuffed into the Wall of the Faithless,” he continued, “so we know where that lot can be found.” Perdix folded his wings again and sighed. “That just leave slugs like you - the False, the people who didn’t make the list for any god’s eternal reward.”
    The alley emptied into a small plaza surrounded by more buildings. A shade wearing drab gray rags moved away from the denizens as they approached neither hurrying nor tarrying. Perdix gestured at the faceless soul. The False who came here before Cyric took over are easy to spot - they’re the ones that look like this sorry slug. The old Lord of the Dead used to think it was the worst thing possible to forget your Me and your identity once you came here.” The denizen laughed. “The new lord of the dead is a lot more creative than that. Anyone who arrived after Cyric claimed the throne retained his own appearance and has marks on his wrists from the shackles.”
    Gwydion nodded. “So Kelemvor will look like a shade, but he won’t have any scars on his wrist.”
    “And he’ll be roaming about, which is getting more and more rare,” Perdix added. “Cyric’s started locking the False into unique tortures created to punish whatever bad things they did in their life - like that slug there.”
    Gwydion followed Perdix’s gaze to a spot in the center of the plaza. There, a soul stood chained to a statue of a river spirit. The scantily clad stone nymph held a jug from which poured a steady stream of water. Iron bands kept the soul’s head and legs rigid against the stone, and his arms ended in blackened, scarred stumps too short to reach the sparkling liquid. The water rained down before the red-haired shade, fell to the parched ground, and evaporated.
    Torture helps you slugs remember why you’re here. The pain reminds you of every misstep you took that led you away from the truth of the world,” Perdix noted as he hopped up to the shade bound to the fountain. “Like old Kaverin here. He thought he could outlive Cyric and outsmart him, too.”
    The red-haired shade opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were wisps of blue flame. Kaverin’s lifeless eyes grew wide as Perdix hopped beneath the water. The little denizen threw back his head and gulped mouthful after mouthful of the cool, clear liquid. Af soon joined his partner, and the two tormented the prisoner by soaking themselves.
    “No drinks for you today,” Perdix taunted.
    Kaverin thrashed against his bonds frantically. His screams were gouts of fire.
    “Yeah. None for you today,” Af repeated, then gestured to Gwydion. “But you can take a drink if you want.”
    When the denizens stepped aside, Gwydion walked slowly toward fountain. A small silver cup lay at the statue’s base, well out of Kaverin’s reach. The sell-sword glanced at the denizens, but they merely watched without comment as he took the cup and filled it. He hesitated for a moment then brought the water to Kaverin’s parched lips.
    The red-haired shade flailed madly, knocking Gwydion onto his back. Over the laughter of the denizens, the sell-sword heard Kaverin curse vilely. “You bastard,” he hissed, thin rivulets running down his chin. He spit the rest of the water at Gwydion. “They start all over again now - five years wasted! I didn’t want the water. I didn’t want your help. You’ll pay-“
    The flames rekindled in Kaverin’s mouth, burning away the rest of his threat. Perdix lifted the cup and battered the imprisoned shade with it, then tossed it down and hopped to Gwydion’s side. “He’ll never forget that you made his torture worse,” the denizen said flatly. “Of course, you won’t forget it either.”
    Impatiently Af gestured for Perdix to follow. “Enough of the civics lesson,” he grumbled. “We’ve got to get