Caele had been sick with fear the day the dragon had spent a horrible half-hour rambling on about the sand castle and how clever Nuitari had been in building it to house the holy artifacts and how it was too bad he—Caele—would never live to see it. Caele remembered almost nothing from that conversation, but he did manage to dredge up the words “sand castle” from his memory and, with that image in his mind, his magic carried him to this location.
He materialized in the doorway and immediately froze, not daring to move until he’d assessed the situation. The monk was on his knees, blubbering. The dog crouched at his side. The kender and the brat were off looting an altar. No sign of Basalt.
Caele had been planning to kill the monk immediately, but the deadly spell he was going to cast slipped from his mind as his stunned gaze went from one altar to another. He had never imagined in his greediest dreams the unfathomable wealth. And it was just lying here, unguarded, simply begging to be taken off and sold to the highest bidder. Caele was so moved he could have blubbered like the monk.
He snapped back to business. First he had to get rid of the competition. Caele knew any number of spells which would kill people in a variety of unpleasant ways. He was reaching for the magical lodestone that would cause the monk to disintegrate into oozing globs of flesh when he caught sight of movement near one of the altars.
Caele stared hard in that direction. He wasn’t certain which god the altar belonged to, nor did he care. One of the objects glittering on the altar was a chalice encrusted with jewels. Caele had already marked it as being particularly valuable, and he realized someone else had noted its value as well. A shadowy form crept near it—a shadowy, hairy form reaching out his hand.
“Basalt!” Caele snarled.
The dog sprang to her feet with a bark.
11
Nightshade stood with his hands jammed into his pockets, concentrating hard on keeping them there. He’d never before seen so many interesting and curious and wonderful objects all collected together in one place. Everything he looked at seemed to cry out to him that it wanted to be touched, picked up, poked at, prodded, sniffed, unlocked, unlatched, unhooked, unstoppered, unrolled, or at the very least stuffed into a pouch for further study.
Several times Nightshade’s hands made an effort to leap out of his pockets and do all of the above mentioned. He managed by a great effort of will to keep his hands under control, but he had the feeling his will was growing weaker and his hands were growing stronger.
He wished Mina would hurry.
Unaware of the struggle going on in the kender’s pockets, Mina wandered back and forth between the two altars, both of them in deepest shadow, looking at the objects stacked up around them. Her lips were pursed, her brow wrinkled. She was apparently trying to make up her mind, for sometimes she would reach out to an object, then draw back her hand and move on to something else.
Nightshade was in agony. One hand had already crept out of a pocket and he’d used the other hand to grab the first and wrestle it back. He was just about to yell at Mina to make up her mind, when Atta’s bark—sounding unnaturally loud in the utter silence of the Hall—caused the kender to nearly leap out from under his topknot.
“Mina!” Nightshade cried. “It’s one of those bad wizards! He’s here!”
“I know,” said Mina with a shrug. “They’re both here. There’s another one sneaking around over there by the altar of Sargonnas.” She gave a sly grin. “The dwarf thinks he’s clever. He doesn’t know we can see him.”
At first Nightshade didn’t see anything, then, sure enough, a dwarf came into view, skulking about one of the altars. He was eyeing a jeweled chalice that had a foot piece formed in shape of a minotaur’s head standing on its horns.
Atta was barking at the other wizard, lurking about in the doorway. Rhys was on his knees, his entire being given to his god. Caele had his hand in one of his pouches, and Nightshade knew enough about wizards to consider it unlikely he was reaching for a peppermint.
“Mina, I think he’s going to try to kill Rhys!” Nightshade said urgently.
“Yes, probably,” Mina agreed. She was still mulling over her choices.
“We have to do something!” Nightshade said angrily. “Stop him!”
Mina sighed. “I can’t decide which one Mother would like. I don’t want to make a mistake. What do you think?”
Nightshade didn’t think. Caele was pointing something at Rhys and chanting.
Nightshade started to shout a warning, but the shout changed to a gargle of astonishment. A rope made from hemp and twined with holly leaves that had been coiled up on the altar of Chislev, darted like a striking snake and wrapped itself around Caele’s arms, pinning them to his side. The words of the half-elf’s spell ended in a shriek. He fell to the floor, rolling about, trying to free himself from the binding rope.
At that moment, Basalt grabbed hold of the chalice, and—to Nightshade’s astonishment—used it to strike himself in the head. Basalt howled in pain and tried to rid himself of the chalice, only to end up hitting himself again. He kept bashing himself with the chalice, unable to stop. Blood poured down his face. He staggered about groggily, moaning in pain, then toppled over, unconscious. Only then did he quit hitting himself.
Nightshade gulped. His hands, still in his pockets, were now quite comfortable there, expressing no desire to touch anything.
“I think we should leave this place,” said Nightshade in a tight, small voice.
“I will take this,” said Mina, making up her mind at last.
“Don’t touch anything!” Nightshade warned, but Mina paid no attention to him.
She picked up a small crystal carved in the shape of a pyramid from the altar of Paladine and stood admiring it. Nothing happened.
Holding the small crystal, Mina went to the altar of Takhisis and, after a moment’s indecision, chose a nondescript-looking necklace made of shiny beads.
“I think Mother will like these,” she announced.
“What are they?” Nightshade asked. “What do they do? Do you even know?”
“Of course I know!” Mina said, offended. “I’m not a dummy. I know everything about everything.”
Nightshade forgot for a moment that she was a god and she probably did know everything about everything. He made a rude noise, expressive of disbelief, and challenged, “What is that necklace then?”
“It is called ‘Sedition’,” said Mina, smug in her knowledge. “Takhisis made it. The person who wears it has the power to turn good people evil.”
Nightshade almost said, “You mean like you?” but he thought better of it. Even though Mina had nearly drowned him, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“What about the little pyramid?” he asked.
“This was sacred to Paladine.” Mina held it up to see the crystal sparkle in the blue light from the altar of Mishakal. “The jewel shines the light of truth on people. That’s why the Kingpriest had to hide it away. He was afraid people would see him for what he really was.”
Nightshade had a an idea. “Pooh, I don’t believe you. You’re making that up.”
“It’s the truth!” Mina retorted angrily.
“Then show me,” said Nightshade. He held out his hand for the crystal.
Mina hesitated. “You promise you’ll give it back?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die if I don’t,” Nightshade vowed.
Since he’d sworn this terrible oath, sacred to childhood the world over, Mina agreed. She placed the pyramid-shaped crystal into the kender’s hand.
“What do I do?” he asked, regarding it curiously and now a bit warily. He was wondering, suddenly, if the artifact might take offense at being used by a mystic.