Leaving Mina, once again, a prisoner.
Small wonder the dragon had looked amused.
The force of the water had swept Mina off her feet and tumbled her about. She lay on her stomach in water that was up to her chin. The water level was sinking fast, however. There must be a drain in the floor. She could hear the water gurgle as it swirled away.
Mina could not see a thing in the pitch darkness. She raised herself up slowly off the floor, fearful of hitting her head against the low ceiling. She felt nothing. She reached up her hand, still felt nothing. She tried straightening to her full height.
She did not hit her head. She stood perfectly still, afraid to move when she could not see. Gradually, her eyes became accustomed to the gloom. The room was not as dark as she’d first thought. There were no lights, but some objects around the room gave off a soft glow, so she was able to make out her surroundings.
Mina looked about her. She looked up, and she looked down. Her breath caught in her throat. Tears burned her eyes, causing the lights to blur together.
She was in an immense chamber. One hundred paces would not have carried her halfway across it. The ceiling on which she was afraid she might hit her head was so far above her that she could barely see it.
And, all around her, were the gods.
Each god had an alcove carved out of the wall, and in each alcove was an altar. Artifacts, sacred to each god, stood on the altar or on the floor before the altar.
Some of the artifacts shone with a radiant light. Some flickered, some glimmered. Some of the artifacts were dark, and some seemed to suck the light from the others.
Mina fell, trembling, to her knees.
The holy power of the gods seemed to crush her.
“Gods forgive me!” she whispered. “What have I done? What have I done?”
12
Nuitari arrived back at his Tower to find it under siege. His sister, Zeboim, goddess of the Deep, was apparently intent upon shaking it to bits.
Although they were siblings, born to Takhisis and her consort, the god of Vengeance, Sargonnas, Nuitari and Zeboim were as different as foaming waves and black moonlight. Zeboim had inherited her mother’s volatile nature and fierce ambition but lacked her mother’s discipline. Nuitari, by contrast, was born with his mother’s cold and calculating cunning, tempered by his passion for magic. Zeboim was close to their father, Sargonnas, and often worked with him to further the cause of his beloved minotaurs, who were among the sea goddess’s chief worshippers. Nuitari despised their father and made no secret of it. He didn’t think much of minotaurs either, one reason there were few minotaur mages.
Nuitari had known his sister was going to be upset over the fact he’d raised up the old Tower of High Sorcery in her sea without first seeking her permission. Knowing her, he knew she was capable of refusing him out of sheer caprice. Also fearing this would put ideas into her head, Nuitari had felt it was wiser to build his Tower first and ask his sister’s pardon later.
He was attempting to do just that, but Zeboim refused to listen.
“I swear to you, Brother,” Zeboim fumed, “not one of your Black Robes will dare set foot on water or face my wrath! If a wizard should try to take a hot bath, I will push him under! Any ship that transports a wizard will capsize. Rafts carrying wizards across rivers will sink. If a wizard puts his toe in a stream, I will swell it to a raging river. A wizard who so much as drinks a glass of water will choke on it—”
She continued like this, ranting and raging and stamping her feet. With every stamp, the ocean floor trembled. Her fury rocked the Tower on its foundations. Nuitari could only guess at the havoc the tremors were wreaking inside. He’d lost contact with his two wizards, and that worried him.
“I am sorry, dear sister, if I have upset you,” he said contritely. “Truly, it was unintentional.”
“Raising up this Tower without my knowledge was unintentional?” Zeboim howled.
“I thought you knew!” Nuitari protested, all innocence. “I thought you knew everything that went on in your ocean! If you didn’t, if this comes as such a surprise to you, is it my fault?”
Seething, Zeboim glared at him. She flopped and floundered but could see no way out of the net that had so neatly trapped her. If she claimed she had known he was building the Tower, then why hadn’t she stopped him if it so offended her? To admit she hadn’t known was to admit she didn’t know what was happening in her own realm.
“I have been preoccupied with other, more important matters,” she said loftily. “But now that I know, you must make reparations.”
“What do you want?” Nuitari asked smoothly. “I will be only too happy to accede to your demands, dear sister. Provided they are reasonable, of course.”
He assumed that she’d found out not only about the Tower but also about the Hall of Sacrilege. He figured she would ask for her holy artifacts to be returned to her in exchange for her permission to keep his Tower.
Nuitari was prepared to hand over one artifact or maybe even two, if she persisted in her threats against his wizards. Her response was completely unexpected.
“I want Mina,” declared Zeboim.
“Mina?” Nuitari repeated, amazed. First Takhisis. Then Chemosh. Now Zeboim. Did every god in the universe want this girl?
“You are holding her prisoner. You will bring her to me. In return, you may keep your Tower,” Zeboim offered magnanimously. “I won’t make you tear it down.”
“How kind of you, sister,” Nuitari said in honeyed, poisonous tones. “What do you want with this human female, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Zeboim looked up at the sunlit surface of the ocean.
“Just how many of your Black Robes do you think are currently sailing the high seas, Brother?” she asked. “I know of six right now.”
She lifted her hands and the seawater began to bubble and boil around her. The sunlight vanished, overrun by storm clouds. Nuitari had visions of his wizards pitching off rolling decks.
“Very well! You will have her!” he said angrily. “Though I don’t know why you want her. She belongs to Chemosh, body and soul.”
Zeboim smiled a knowing smile, and Nuitari guessed immediately that she and Chemosh had made some sort of bargain.
“That’s why the god did not come to claim his trollop,” Nuitari muttered. “He has made a deal with Zeboim. I wonder what for. Not my Tower, I trust.”
He eyed his sister. She eyed him back.
“I’ll go fetch her,” said Nuitari.
“You do that,” said Zeboim. “And don’t be long about it. I grow bored so easily.”
She gave his Tower a little shake for good measure.
-^s^Kr^^^v^v
Upon entering the Blood Sea Tower, Nuitari summoned his wizards.
They did not respond.
He thought this ominous. Caele was usually always on hand, falling over himself to be the first to gush over the return of the Master, and Basalt, solid and reliable, would be waiting to launch into grievances against Caele.
Neither appeared in response to their master’s summons.
Nuitari called again, his tone dire.
No answer.
Nuitari went to the laboratory, thinking they might be there. He found it an ungodly mess—the floor awash in spilled potions and broken glass, a small fire burning in a corner, several escaped imps wandering about freely. Nuitari put out the fire with an irritated breath, trapped the imps and locked them back inside their cages, then continued his search for the missing wizards. He had a feeling he knew where to look.
Arriving at Mina’s chambers, he found the door standing wide open. Nuitari entered.
Two stone coffins and no sign of Mina.
Nuitari pried the stone slabs off the sarcophagi. Caele, gasping for air, clutched at the sides of the coffin and pulled himself up. The half-elf looked half-dead. He tried to stand, but his legs were too wobbly. He sat in the coffin and shivered. Dwarves being accustomed to living in dark places, Basalt had taken his confinement in stride. He was far more worried about facing his irate god, and he kept his head down, his hood lowered, trying desperately to avoid Nuitari’s baleful gaze.