Amber and Iron Page 6

  Caele—half Kagonesti, half-Ergothian—was prone to violent rages. He’d committed murder before and had no compunctions about doing it again. Having renounced both the human and the elven side of himself, he had left civilization, roaming the wilderness like a savage beast until the return of his magic had made life worth living again. As for Basalt, his use of dark magic had gained him numerous enemies, who, when the gods of magic vanished, were elated to find their foe was suddenly powerless. Basalt had been forced to hide deep underground, where he’d lived in despair for years, mourning the loss of his art. Nuitari had given the dwarf back his life.

  Nuitari waited patiently to see the outcome. Such flare-ups were frequent between the two. Their dislike and distrust of each other paled in comparison to their fear of him, however, and thus far, nothing had ever come of their altercations. This confrontation was more tense than usual, for both were nervous and on edge after the encounter with Chemosh. Sparks and spells might have flown, but Nuitari gave a loud cough.

  Basalt’s head jerked around. Caele’s eyes flickered in fear. The magical tension whistled out of the room like the air out of an inflated pig bladder.

  Basalt thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robes lest he be tempted to use them. Caele swallowed several times, his jaw working, as though he were literally having to masticate his anger before choking it down.

  “You want to know why I went to all this trouble to create this illusion of Mina?” Nuitari asked, entering the room.

  “Only if you want to tell us, Master,” said Basalt humbly.

  “I am intrigued by this Mina,” said Nuitari. “I find it hard to believe the death of a mere mortal would have such a shattering effect upon a god, yet Chemosh was nearly destroyed by his grief! What kind of power does this Mina hold over him? I wonder, too, about Mina’s relationship with Takhisis. There are rumors the Dark Queen was jealous of this girl. My mother! Jealous of a mortal! Impossible. That’s why I ordered you to continue using the illusion spell—to stop Chemosh from coming to Mina’s rescue so that we could study her.”

  “Did you learn anything about her, Master?” Caele asked. “I believe you must have found my reports particularly enlightening—”

  “I read them,” said Nuitari. He had found the reports of Mina’s behavior in captivity to be extremely enlightening, especially in one regard, but he wasn’t about to tell either of them that. “Now that I have satisfied your curiosity, return to your duties.”

  Caele grabbed up a rag and began polishing the basin. Basalt rinsed out his rag in water that now had a pinkish tinge to it and got back down on his hands and knees.

  When Nuitari’s footfalls could no longer be heard echoing through the corridors of the halls of magic, Caele flung his rag into the water bucket.

  “You finish. I have my spells to study. If the Lord of Death is on his way to tear down our Tower, I am going to need them.”

  “Go along then,” Basalt said grimly. “You’re of no use to me anyway. But wash your feet before you leave this chamber. I don’t want to see bloody footprints marking up my clean halls!”

  Caele, who never wore shoes, thrust his bare feet into the water bucket. Basalt eyed the dried blood spattered on the half-elf’s already filthy robes but said nothing, knowing it would be useless. Basalt considered himself fortunate Caele deigned to wear robes at all. He’d spent years running around the forest naked as a wolf and just as savage.

  Caele started out the door, then stopped, turning around. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. When you were alone with Mina, did she talk to you about becoming a disciple of Chemosh?”

  “Yes,” said Basalt. “I thumbed my nose at her, of course. What about you?”

  “I laughed in her face,” said Caele.

  The two eyed each other suspiciously.

  “I’ll be taking my leave now,” Caele stated.

  “Good riddance,” Basalt said, but only to his beard.

  Shaking his head, he went back to scrubbing and muttering.

  “That Caele is a pig. I don’t care who hears me say it. That long nose of his is always stuck in the air. Thinks he’s Reorx’s balls, he does. Lazy bastard, too. And a liar. Leaves me to do the work and he takes the glory.”

  The dwarf scrubbed vigorously. “Can’t let blood soak into the grout. Leaves a permanent stain. The Master would have my beard. I wonder,” Basalt added, sitting back on his haunches and staring after the half-elf, “if Caele really laughed at Mina, or if he took her up on her offer to become one of Chemosh’s chosen. Perhaps I should make mention of this to the Master.…”

  Caele shut himself up in his room and took out a spell book. He did not open it, however, but sat staring at it.

  “I wonder if Basalt fell for Mina’s lies. I wouldn’t put it past him. Dwarves are so gullible. I must remember to inform Nuitari that Basalt might be a traitor.…”

  he Tower remained standing, undisturbed. Chemosh did not come to tear it down stone by magical stone in order to rescue his beloved mistress.

  “Give him time,” said Nuitari.

  The god had posted himself outside the room in which he kept Mina imprisoned, waiting for the Lord of Death.

  More time passed. Mina remained in isolation in her cell, cut off from contact with gods or men, and still her lover did not come to free her.

  “I underestimated you, my lord,” Nuitari murmured to his unseen foe. “For that, I apologize.”

  Chemosh would be ecstatic to know the woman he loved was still alive. He would be furious at the deception played upon him. The Lord of Death was not one, apparently, to let either joy or rage rob him of his senses. Chemosh wanted Mina, but he also wanted the powerful holy artifacts Nuitari was keeping under lock and key inside the Tower. The Lord of Death was undoubtedly seeking a way to obtain both.

  “What are you doing?” Nuitari asked his fellow god. “Have you run tattling to the other gods? Are you telling them how big, bad Nuitari restored the Tower of High Sorcery of Istar? How he recovered and claimed as his own a treasure trove of holy artifacts? Did you tell them that?”

  Nuitari smiled. “No, I think you did not. Why? Because then all the gods would know the secret of the artifacts and once they all know, they will all want their toys returned. Where would that leave Chemosh? Back in the cold, dark Abyss.”

  At the end of the Age of Might, the Kingpriest of Istar had decreed that all the holy artifacts of those gods who were not good and righteous gods (as judged by the Kingpriest) were to be confiscated by the Kingpriest’s armies of holy warriors. In addition to those that were confiscated, the Kingpriest offered rich rewards for all artifacts deemed to be used for evil purposes. Between the holy warriors, “good” citizens, thieves, and looters, the temples of almost every god on Ansalon was stripped of religious artifacts.

  First, people took artifacts that came from the temples of the overtly evil gods—Chemosh and Takhisis, Sargonnas, and Morgion. The temples of the neutral gods were the next to fall victim to the artifact hunters, the claim being made that “any god who is not for us is against us.”

  Finally, as religious fervor (and greed) spread, holy warriors raided the temples of the Gods of Light, including those of the goddess of healing, Mishakal, for although she was Paladine’s consort, Mishakal committed the sin of opening her doors of healing to all mortals, even those who were not deemed worthy of a god’s blessing. Her clerics had actually been known to lay healing hands on thieves and prostitutes, kender and dwarves, and even wizards. When the clerics of Majere, god of justice, heard that Mishakal’s priests were being beaten and her artifacts stolen, they sought to protest. Their monasteries were then raided. Their artifacts went next.

  Soon, the holy artifacts of every god in the pantheon, with the exception of Paladine, were locked up in what had once been the Tower of High Sorcery of Istar but which was now known as Solio Febalas, the Hall of Sacrilege. It was whispered that Paladine’s priests were starting to grow nervous, and that more than a few had
been seen locking up the god’s holy relics in their storerooms. But even they were not safe.

  When the Cataclysm struck Istar, the Hall of Sacrilege was destroyed in the fire of the gods’ wrath. The gods were confident the artifacts had been consumed in the conflagration. They wanted mortals to live on their own for a while.

  No one had been more surprised to discover the artifacts intact than Nuitari. His single idea had been to claim the Tower for his own. Finding the artifacts had been a bonus. He knew he could not keep a secret as powerful as this forever. It would be only a matter of time before the other gods discovered the truth and came to him, demanding the artifacts back. The artifacts were in a safe place, guarded both by powerful magical spells and by Midori, an ancient and bad-tempered sea dragon. Such safeguards would keep out mortals; they would not stop a god.

  Nuitari didn’t have to worry about that.

  The gods would stop the gods.

  Each god would want his or her own artifacts, of course. Each god would also want to insure that although he got his, no other gods would get theirs.

  For example, Mishakal would not want Sargonnas, currently the most powerful God of Darkness, to regain his artifacts. She would seek out allies in her efforts to impede him—unlikely allies, such as Chemosh, who would side with Mishakal in this, for the Lord of Death was locked in a power struggle with Sargonnas and would not want the Horned God growing stronger that he already was. Then there was Gilean, God of the Scales, who might well oppose both the gods of Light and of Darkness, for fear that the return of these artifacts to any of the gods would upset an already teetering balance.

  The sacred fur would really fly when the gods found out Nuitari was in possession of artifacts of Takhisis, the dead Queen of Darkness, and those of the self-exiled god, Paladine. Although their creators were gone, the artifacts remained, as did their holy power, which could be immensely useful to any god or mortal who laid hands on them. The squabbling over these alone might well last for centuries.

  Meanwhile, Nuitari’s plan was to go about heaven making secret deals, quietly handing over an artifact here and another one there, playing the gods one off the other, all the while strengthening his own position.

  Though Nuitari had hated Takhisis and had done his best to oppose her in everything she had ever done, he was like his mother in one regard—he had her dark ambition.

  Opposing that ambition were Nuitari’s two cousins, Lunitari and Solinari. The gods of White and Red Magic would not give a bent copper for the holy artifacts. The Kingpriest, not trusting wizards or their magic, had not kept any artifacts belonging to wizards. Those magical objects that were found (and there were few, for the wizards had hidden most away) were immediately destroyed. Nuitari’s cousins would be furious when they heard he had gone off and built his own Tower. They would be furious—and they would be dismayed, grief-stricken. Since the beginning of time, the gods of the three moons had stood together in unity to guard what was most precious to them—the magic.

  The three cousins had no secrets from each other. Until now.

  Nuitari felt badly about breaking faith with his cousins, just not badly enough. Ever since his mother, Takhisis, had betrayed him by snatching away the world—his world!—he had determined that from then on he would trust no one. Besides, he had devised the means to appease his cousins. Nothing would be the same between them again, of course. But then, nothing would ever be the same for any of gods. The world—and heaven—had changed forever.

  Nuitari wondered what Chemosh was up to, and this brought the god’s thoughts back to Mina. Nuitari came here often. Not to question Mina. His Black Robes had been doing that, and they had found out precious little. Nuitari had been content to merely watch her. Now, on impulse (and thinking, too, that Chemosh might yet surprise him), Nuitari decided to interrogate Mina himself.

  He had moved her from the crystal cell in which he’d first imprisoned her. The sight of her prowling about had proven to be too distracting for his wizards. He had wrapped her in a magical cocoon of isolation, so she could not communicate with anyone anywhere, and shifted her to a suite of rooms intended as living quarters for the Black Robe archmages who were destined to populate the Tower beneath the Blood Sea.

  Mina was lodged in chambers meant for a high-ranking wizard. These consisted of two rooms, a sitting room and study, lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves—and a private bedroom.

  She paced her quarters like a caged minotaur, walking the length of the sitting room, going from there into the bedroom, and then retracing her steps into the sitting room. His wizards reported that she sometimes walked like this for hours, walked and walked until she was exhausted. She did nothing else except pace, despite the fact that Nuitari had provided her with books on a variety of subjects, ranging from religious doctrine to poetry, philosophy to mathematics. She never so much as opened a single book, his wizards reported—at least, not that they had observed.

  Nuitari had provided other forms of entertainment. A khas board stood on a pedestal in a corner. The pieces were covered with dust. She’d never touched it. She ate little, just enough to keep up her strength for pacing. He was glad he had not gone to the expense of putting down a rug. She would have worn a hole in it.

  The God of Dark Magic could have melted through the walls, had he chosen, and taken her by surprise. He decided he would not start off their relationship in such an antagonistic manner and so, removing the powerful wizard lock from the door, he knocked and politely requested permission to enter.

  Mina did not pause in her restless pacing. If she glanced at the door, that is as much as she did. Amused, Nuitari opened the door and walked into the room.

  Mina did not look up. “Get out and leave me alone. I have answered all your foolish questions I am going to answer, or better yet, tell that Master of yours that I want to see him.”

  “Your wish is my command, Mina,” said Nuitari. “The Master is here.”

  Mina halted her pacing. She did not cringe or appear the least discomfited. She faced him boldly, defiantly. “Let me go!” she demanded, then she added unexpectedly, her voice low and impassioned, “Or kill me!”

  “Kill you?” Nuitari allowed his heavy lidded eyes, which always looked as if they were half-closed, to open. “Has my usage of you been that ill, that you should wish for death?”

  “I cannot stand to be confined!” Mina cried, and her gaze roved about the room, as though she would bore through solid rock with her eyes.

  She regained mastery of herself in the next moment. Biting her lip and looking as though she regretted her outburst, she added, “You have no right to keep me here.”

  “No right at all,” Nuitari agreed. “But then, I am a god and I do what I want with mortals, your rights be damned. Though even I don’t go about murdering the innocent, as does Chemosh. I have been hearing reports of his Beloved—as he terms them.”

  “My lord does not murder them. He gives them the gift of life unending,” Mina retorted, “lasting youth and beauty. He takes away the fear of death.”

  “I’ll give him credit. He does do that,” Nuitari said dryly. “As I understand it, once you’re dead, the fear of dying is considerably reduced. At least, that is how you explained it to Basalt and Caele when you tried to seduce them.”

  Mina kept her gaze level with his, which Nuitari found disconcerting. So few mortals could face him or any god. He wondered, with a flash of irritation, if this chit had been so bold with his mother.

  “I told them of Chemosh,” Mina said, unapologetic. “That is true.”

  “Neither Basalt nor Caele took you up on your offer, though, did they?”

  “No,” Mina admitted. “Their respect and reverence for you is great.”

  “Let us say they like the power I give them. Most wizards like the power and would be very loath to lose it, even in exchange for ‘life unending’ which, from what I have observed, is more like death warmed over. I doubt if you’ll convert many wizards to the wors
hip of your lord.”

  “I doubt it myself,” said Mina, and she smiled.

  Her smile transformed her face, made the amber eyes glow, and Nuitari was drawn to their warm allure. He actually felt himself start to slide into them, felt her warmth congeal around him …

  He brought himself up with a start and regarded her narrowly. What power did this mortal possess that she could seduce a god with her smile? He’d seen far more attractive mortal females. One of his Black Robes, a wizardess named Ladonna, had been known for her beauty and was far superior in looks to this Mina. Yet there was something about her that, even now, stirred him profoundly.

  “Please understand, my lord. I had to try to convert them. It was the only way I could escape.”

  “Why do you want to leave us, Mina?” Nuitari said, feigning hurt feelings. “Have we mistreated you in any way? Beyond confining you, of course, and that is for your own safety. Basalt and Caele are both, I confess, a little insane. Caele, especially, is not to be trusted, not to mention the fact there are dangerous scrolls and artifacts lying about that could do you harm. I have tried to make your stay as pleasant as possible. You have all these books to read—”

  Mina glanced at the shelves and made a dismissive gesture. “I have already read them.”

  “All of them?” Nuitari regarded her with amusement. “You will forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

  “Choose one,” Mina challenged.

  Nuitari did so, taking a book off the shelf.

  “What is the title?” she asked.

  “Draconians: A Study. Can Good Come of Evil?”