“I am, my lord,” said Mina calmly.
She could hear the dwarf’s sonorous voice chanting.
“You understand what you are to do?” Chemosh asked.
“Yes, my lord.” Mina resumed her pacing, as though nothing was amiss.
“The Hall of Sacrilege is located at the bottom of the Tower. There is a guardian, and the Hall is probably filled with traps, but I will assist you.”
“My lord—” Mina began, then fell silent.
“Speak freely, my love.”
“This is so important to you, my lord. Why do you not come yourself? Is this another test? Do you still doubt my love and my loyalty?”
“No, Mina, I do not,” Chemosh replied. “As you say, recovering these artifacts is vitally important to me. I know of nothing more important. But I cannot enter the Tower. Not anymore. Nuitari has blocked up the rat hole through which I managed to sneak the last time. He has made this Tower his domain. No other god may enter it.”
“Then how will you take control of the Tower, my lord?”
“Many Beloved are here already and more arrive daily. I have placed Krell in command, and he is forming a legion of warriors unlike any ever before seen on Krynn—warriors who can kill yet cannot be killed. You are not to concern yourself with this. Do what I ask of you, then return to me as swiftly as possible. I miss you, Mina.”
The Lord of Death was in Castle Beloved on the shores of the Blood Sea and Mina was in a Tower far below the surface of the waves, yet she felt the touch of his hands, his lips brush against her cheek.
“I miss you, my lord,” said Mina. Hearing the longing in his distant voice, her own heart ached. The door handle rattled. They had only a few more moments together.
“Ah, Mina, when I believed you were lost to me, I could not bear the thought of going on. I began to regret immortality. Remember, steal one artifact, just one from the Solio Febalas. That way I can prove to the other gods I have indeed found the treasure. Then cast upon the door the spell I taught you. After that, Nuitari may rant and rave all he likes, but I will be able to enter his tower.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He was gone.
Mina turned from the god to the two wizards who were by turns clomping and skulking into the room.
The dwarf Basalt, was a hairy black lump. She had never seen his face. He kept his hood pulled down low whenever he was around her, and between that and his scraggly black beard she’d yet to have a good look at him. She could see the half-elf’s face, more was the pity. Caele never wore the filthy cowl that straggled down his back. In truth, the cowl was so coated in grime she doubted the half-elf could peel it off his dirty black robes.
Basalt kept this hood down as usual, but she found Caele staring at her and that made her uneasy.
Before this, the half-elf had never looked at her directly. His gaze sidled about the room until he thought she wasn’t looking at him, and then she felt his eyes on her. The expression in his eyes appalled her. His gaze burned with such malevolence that her hand went instinctively to her hip for a weapon.
He looked at her directly, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a wolfish grin. He kept his hands tucked inside the sleeves of his robes, something else that was odd for him. She glanced back at the dwarf. Basalt seemed ill at ease. He had his hood pulled down lower than usual and he kept peering out from under it, first at her, then at the half-elf then back to her.
They’re going to kill me, Mina realized.
She found herself more annoyed than frightened. This could interfere with her lord’s plans. She would have to strike first, before they could use their magic on her. She had no weapon and no prospects of gaining one—in this prison cell, at least.
“Why are you vermin here?” she asked coldly.
“You’ve been granted an hour’s freedom to stroll the halls, Mistress,” said Basalt gruffly.
He gestured at the open door and then stood to one side, as did the half-elf, to permit her to walk past them.
They were waiting until her back was turned.
She would take on the half-elf first. The dwarf looked less enthusiastic and maybe the sight of his companion writhing on the floor, choking on his own blood, would cause him to have second thoughts.
Mina was almost level with Caele when she saw his hand twitch beneath his sleeve.
He has a knife there. He’s going to use that, not his magic. Of course, he takes pleasure in killing with his hands ...
She tensed, ready to strike, then the Tower shook from bottom to top, knocking her off-balance, so that she lurched into Caele and they both went down onto the floor in a heap.
The compact dwarf was less easy to topple. The shaking of the floor and walls and ceiling sent him staggering, but he maintained his balance.
“What the—” Basalt gasped.
“Nuitari!” A voice yelled, as yet another blow smote the Tower. “Come out of there, do you hear me? Come out and face me!”
“Chemosh!” cried Caele, floundering underneath Mina, who had fallen on top of him.
“No, that’s a woman’s voice!” Basalt said, his face pale and his eyes wide. “Zeboim! She’s found the Tower.” He groaned. “What a time for the Master to be gone!”
“You have to talk to her!” Caele gasped, adding with a snarl and a shove, “Get off me, you clumsy bitch!”
Though Mina was slender, she outweighed the scrawny half-elf, and she was impeding his attempts to try to stand. Her legs tangled with his; her feet tripped him. She jabbed him with an elbow and stuck her knee in his gut.
He was just about to throttle her when another blow smote the Tower and this time even the dwarf went down. They could hear the sound of breaking glass. Wooden beams groaned beneath the strain.
Caele realized somewhat belatedly this would be an ideal time to slay Mina, and he reached up his sleeve for his knife.
It wasn’t there.
He thought at first he’d dropped it, then, looking up, Caele found it.
Mina stood over him, his knife in her hand.
Leaning down, she pressed the point of the blade against his throat.
“If your lips so much as twitch, I’ll slit you from ear to ear,” she said. “The same goes for you, dwarf If you utter a single word of magic, your partner dies.”
Seeing by Basalt’s irresolute expression that perhaps he might be willing to risk such a tragic loss, Mina called out, “My Lord Chemosh, I pray you, look after these two while I go about your business.”
Two stone sarcophagi appeared in the room. On one sarcophagus was a carved figure of Basalt, his eyes closed, his hands folded across his chest. The other sarcophagus bore a similar representation of Caele.
“Get in,” said Mina, speaking to Basalt.
He looked at the sarcophagus and shook his hooded head.
134
Caele twitched just then, and she dug the knifepoint in a little deeper. A sliver of red slid down the half-elf’s neck. He held still after that.
“I said, get in,” said Mina.
Seeing the dwarf was not moving, she raised her voice, “My lord—”
Basalt hurriedly climbed inside the sarcophagus. A slab of stone dropped down over the coffin, sealing the dwarf inside.
“You next,” she said to Caele. She shifted the blade from his throat to his ribs and walked him over to the other sarcophagus. When he hesitated, she sliced open enough flesh to persuade him to obey.
He hastily climbed inside, and a stone slab dropped down on him.
“Are they dead, my lord?” Mina asked.
“No,” Chemosh replied, his voice sounding above the roar of the Sea Goddess’s rage. “Not yet. They have air enough to breathe for a short time, ;f they don’t panic and use up all their air screaming.”
The muffled howls that had been emanating from the half-elf’s coffin ceased abruptly.
“Now, be on your way,” he told her.
“What about Zeboim?”
“She won’t bother you. Strangely enough, she’s here to rescue you.”