Margaret Weis - Amber and Iron

Basalt was half mad. Caele was wholly mad. Nuitari knew that long before he’d brought them to his Tower beneath the Blood Sea. He didn’t care, not so long as they were good at their jobs, and both were extremely good, for they’d had years to perfect their gifts.

Due to their long life spans, the half-elf and the dwarf were among the few spellcasters remaining on Krynn who had served the God of the Dark Moon prior to his mother’s theft of the world. Both had excellent memories and had retained their knowledge of their spellcraft over the intervening years.

These two were among the first to look into the heavens and see the black moon, and they were among the first to fall down on their knees and offer their services to their god. Nuitari transported them to this Tower on one condition—that they not kill each other. Both the dwarf and the half-elf were exceptionally powerful wizards. A battle between would not only end in the loss to him of two valuable servants, it would probably do serious damage to his newly reconstructed Tower.

Caele—half Kagonesti, half-Ergothian—was prone to violent rages. He’d committed murder before and had no compunctions about doing it again. Having renounced both the human and the elven side of himself, he had left civilization, roaming the wilderness like a savage beast until the return of his magic had made life worth living again. As for Basalt, his use of dark magic had gained him numerous enemies, who, when the gods of magic vanished, were elated to find their foe was suddenly powerless. Basalt had been forced to hide deep underground, where he’d lived in despair for years, mourning the loss of his art. Nuitari had given the dwarf back his life.

Nuitari waited patiently to see the outcome. Such flare-ups were frequent between the two. Their dislike and distrust of each other paled in comparison to their fear of him, however, and thus far, nothing had ever come of their altercations. This confrontation was more tense than usual, for both were nervous and on edge after the encounter with Chemosh. Sparks and spells might have flown, but Nuitari gave a loud cough.

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....”

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.