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....”
3
The 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 King-priest’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.