Shocked by this calamity and fearing that the wizards might next destroy the Tower of Istar, the Kingpriest offered to negotiate a peaceful settlement. The wizards would agree to abandon the Towers of Istar and Palanthas. In return, they would be granted safe haven in the Tower of Wayreth. The Conclave argued long and bitterly, but eventually they realized that they had no choice. The Kingpriest was immensely powerful and seemed to have the blessing of the gods on his side. They agreed to his terms.
A month after the Lost Battles, the Highmage emerged from the Tower of Istar, the last wizard to leave. She sealed its gates and ceded it to the Kingpriest.
The Kingpriest was not certain what to do with the Tower and for months it remained locked and empty. Then, following the advice of his counselor, Quarath of Silvanesti, he turned the Tower into a trophy room, displaying artifacts seized from those accused of heresy and the worship evil gods.
Over the next two decades, hundreds of idols, icons, artifacts, and holy relics were brought to the Tower which was renamed Solio Febalas—the Hall of Sacrilege. Many of my own artifacts were taken there, for, of course, my followers were among the first to be persecuted. Being in communication with the spirits of the dead, I heard from them about the Kingpriest’s ambitious plans to ascend to godhood himself. He would do this by upsetting the balance, destroying the power of the gods of darkness and neutrality. Then he would usurp the power of the gods of light.
I tried to warn the other gods that they were next. The day would come when their own holy relicts would be inside the Hall of Sacrilege. They shrugged and laughed it off.
They did not laugh long, however. Soon the mild and inoffensive clerics of Chislev were being hauled from their forests and imprisoned or killed. The icons of Majere showed up in the Kingpriest’s trophy case. Gilean joined me in warning that the balance of the world was being tilted and some of the gods of light added their voices to ours. The Kingpriest targeted them for persecution next, and by the end, even the healer Mishakal’s symbol was found hanging in shame in the Hall of Sacrilege.
The Kingpriest announced to the world that he was wiser than the gods. He was more powerful than the gods. He proclaimed himself to be a god and demanded that he should be worshipped as a god. It was then that we true gods cast the fiery mountain on Istar.
The earth trembled at our wrath. Quakes leveled the city and split the Tower of High Sorcery of Istar in half. Fire gutted it, destroying the Hall of Sacrilege. The Tower fell into ruins which were carried down to the bottom of the Blood Sea along with the rest of that doomed city.
“There lies the Tower to this day,” Chemosh concluded, “and inside those ruins lie many of the world’s most powerful holy relics and artifacts.”
“Wishful thinking, I am afraid, my lord,” said Mina. “They could not have survived such terrible destruction.”
“I don’t know about the other gods”—Chemosh smiled cunningly—“but I made sure that my own artifacts were safe. And I have no doubt that the others did the same.”
“You sound very certain, my lord.”
“I am certain. I have proof. Soon after Istar’s destruction, I went searching for the Tower, only to find that the Gods of Magic had hidden it from sight. Zeboim is Nuitari’s twin sister and cousin to the other gods of Magic. They went to her and convinced her to use the powerful turbulence of the maelstrom to bury the Tower far beneath the ocean floor, so that no eyes—mortal or immortal—should ever discover it.
” ‘Now,’ I asked myself, ‘why should the gods of Magic go to all this trouble to hide a ton of charred and blasted rubble? Unless there is something inside the rubble that They do not want any of us to find … “
“Your holy artifacts,” said Mina.
“Precisely.”
“And now that the Maelstrom has subsided, you can go in search of them.”
“Not only can I go in search of them, I can search without fear of interruption. If I had so much as dipped a toe into the surf, Zeboim would have known it. She would have raced from the far corners of the heavens to stop me. As it is, she is nowhere to be found this fine day. I may do what I like in her ocean—piss in it, if I want—and she does not dare protest.”
Chemosh clasped Mina’s hand, entwined her fingers with his. “Together, Mina, you and I will seek out the fabled and long-lost ruins of the Hall of Sacrilege. Think of it, my lover Hundreds of holy artifacts down there, some dating back to the Age of Dreams, imbued with godly power that is unimagined in this ‘Age of Mortals.’ And unattainable. There are artifacts belonging to Takhisis down there. Though she is gone, her power lives within them still.
“Artifacts of Morgion, Hiddukel, Sargonnas. Artifacts belonging to Paladine and Mishakal. I plan to distribute these powerful relics among the Beloved, who are traveling across Ansalon, on their way here to receive them. When that is accomplished, my followers will be the most formidable and powerful in all the world. I will then be in a position to challenge the other gods for rulership of the heavens and the world.”
“I would go with you to ends of that world, my lord, and I would gladly see the wonders that live in the ocean depths, but as I forget you are a god, you forget that I am not,” Mina said, smiling. “I can swim, but not very well. As for holding my breath—”
Chemosh laughed. “You do not need to swim, Mina. Or hold your breath. You will walk with me upon the ocean floor as you walk upon the floor of our bedchamber. You will breathe the water as you breathe the air. The weight of the water will sit as lightly on your shoulders as a fur mantle.”
“Then you will transform me into a god, my lord,” said Mina, teasing.
Chemosh’s laughter ceased. The expression in his eyes was deep and fathomless, darker than the sea-depths.
“I cannot do that, Mina,” he said. “At least, not yet.”
Mina felt a sudden jolt of fear, a bone-jellying terror such as she had experienced standing on the treacherous broken stairs of Storm’s Keep, staring down far below at the jagged, razor-edged rocks and the foaming, hungry water. Her throat closed; her heart shivered. She wanted, suddenly, to turn and flee, to run away. She had never felt terror like this, not when the fierce dragon Malys was diving down on her from the blood-raining skies, not when Queen Takhisis, mortal mad, was striding toward her, intent on tearing out her life.
Mina took a step backward, but Chemosh had hold of her. “What is it, Mina? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to be a god, my lord!” she cried, struggling, trying to free herself from his grasp.
“You wanted power, Mina, power over life and death—”
“But not like that! You forget, my lord,” she said in hollow tones, “that I have touched the mind of a god. I have seen into that mind, seen the immensity, the emptiness, the loneliness! I cannot bear it—”
The words froze on her lips. She looked at Chemosh in terror. She, who had betrayed his innermost secrets.
“I was lonely, Mina,” he said softly. “I was empty. And then, I found you.”
His arms enfolded her. He pressed her to him, body to body, mortal flesh to god’s flesh made mortal. He put his mouth on her mouth, his lips eager and warm. He drew her down into the sand, his kisses spreading like treacle over her fear, hiding her terror beneath his sweetness that was thick in her mouth. She was consumed in his love until only the memory of her fear remained and his caresses soon burned that away.
The tide rose, as they lay among the sand dunes. The waves lapped over their feet, then their ankles. The sea water stole up and around them, smooth and soft as silken sheets. The waves covered Mina’s shoulders. Her red hair stuck to her wet flesh. She tasted salt in her mouth and she coughed.