Margaret Weis - Amber and Ashes

He had meant for Mina to lead them.

Chemosh closed his eyes in agony and, when he opened them again, she stood before him.

“My lord,” she said.

“You came to me,” he said.

“Of course, my lord,” she said. “I pledged you my faith, my love.”

He reached out to her.

The amber eyes were ashes. Her lips dust. Her voice was the ghost of a voice. Her touch ghostly chill.

Chemosh rolled over on the bed, away from her.

No mortal, not even a dead one, should see a god weep.

Far distant from the Abyss, in the former Tower of High Sorcery at Istar—which had been renamed the Tower of the Blood Sea—Nuitari, god of dark magic, was closeted in one of the tower rooms with two of his wizards.

The three stood staring with rapt intensity into a large silver bowl of unique shape and design. Made to resemble the coiled body of a dragon, the base of the bowl was the dragon’s body winding around and around upon itself, ending in a tail. The dragon’s head, mouth agape, formed the bowl. Four dragon legs were the base, supporting the body. When the gaping mouth was filled with dragon’s blood (blood that had to be taken from a willing dragon) the bowl had the ability to reveal to those who looked into it what was transpiring, not in, the world—that was of little interest to Nuitari—but in heaven.

The theft of the world by one of their own had caused profound changes in all the gods, some for the better, others for much the worse. The three cousins, gods of magic, had always been allies, if they had not always been friends. Their love and dedication to the magic formed a bond between them that was strong enough to accept differences of philosophy in regard to how the magic should be used and promulgated. They had always come together to make decisions in regard to the magic. They had worked together to raise up the Towers of High Sorcery. They had grieved together to see the Towers fall.

Nuitari still felt a bond with his cousins. He had joined with them to bring back godly magic to the world and he was a staunch—even ruthless—supporter of their desire to put an end to the practice of sorcery. But the relationship between the cousins had changed. Takhisis’s treachery had left Nuitari suspicious of everyone, including his cousins.

Nuitari had never trusted Takhisis’s ambition. He had many times worked against his own mother, particularly when her interests and his own clashed. Even he had not been prepared for her betrayal. Her theft of Krynn had caught him flat-footed, made him look the fool. She had left him to search the universe for his lost world as a child searches the house for a lost marble.

His anger at his mother for her betrayal and at himself for being blind to her perfidy was a smoldering fire in him. Never again would he put faith in anyone. From now on, Nuitari would look out for Nuitari. He would raise up a fortress for himself and his followers, one that he alone would control. From the safety of that fortress he would keep close watch on his fellow gods and do what he could to thwart their plans and ambitions.

The ruins of the Tower of Istar had long rested beneath the Blood Sea. Most of the gods had fondly supposed the Tower completely destroyed. The gods of magic knew better. Following the Cataclysm, they had acted swiftly to make certain that the holy artifacts and relics in the Tower were protected. In order to keep these safe and secret, they buried the ruins of the Tower beneath a mountain of sand and coral. Sometime, in the far, far distant future, when the tale of Istar was nothing more than a fable used to frighten children into eating their vegetables, the gods of magic would restore the Tower, recover the lost artifacts, and give them back to the gods who had forged and blessed them.

Takhisis shattered those plans. When the gods finally recovered the world, they became absorbed in the pressing need to reestablish magic and quash sorcery. Solinari and Lunitari were dedicated to this cause and oblivious to all others. Nuitari was there to lend his aid when called upon. When he wasn’t needed, he was beneath the Blood Sea, working for himself. He raised up the ruins of the Tower of Istar and rebuilt them to his own design. He recovered the stolen artifacts and relics. He brought these to a secret vault hidden beneath the Tower that he termed the Chamber of Relics. He sealed this chamber with powerful magical locks and posted a guardian—a sea dragon, a fierce, cunning creature known as Midori.

Thus far, none of the gods knew about his Tower. They were so busy building new temples and recruiting new followers that none thought of peering down beneath the ocean. He trusted their ignorance would continue for some time, long enough for him to firmly entrench himself and his followers. The only two who were a serious threat to him were his twin sister Zeboim and the god of sea life, Habakkuk.

Fortunately, Zeboim had gone off on one of her tangents—something to do with a death knight she’d cursed. As for Habakkuk, he was embroiled in a bitter battle with a Dragon Overlord who’d taken up residence in the seas on the opposite side of globe, a distraction brought about by Nuitari’s partner, the sea dragon Midori.

Nuitari had not thought he had anything to worry about from any other god and he’d been surprised and extremely displeased to find Chemosh coolly walking the halls of his Tower. The God’s Eye revealed Chemosh’s growing ambition.

The God’s Eye revealed Mina.

Like all the gods, Nuitari was an admirer. He toyed with the idea of seeking her out, making her one of his own followers. The fact that she was his mother’s creation put an end to that notion. Nuitari wanted nothing to do with anything his mother had touched, and so he had left her to Chemosh.

A good thing, too. Chemosh’s weakness for this particular mortal had been his undoing. Even though Nuitari had not expected Chemosh to actually let Mina die, the god of the Unseen Moon had been quick to see how this could work to his advantage.

Peering into the Dragon-sight bowl, Nuitari saw the Lord of Death prostrate on his bed, beaten down, defeated, alone, with only the ghost of Mina to offer help, support.

The ghost of Mina. Nuitari’s thick, full lips smacked.

“A remarkable illusion,” he said to his wizards. “You have fooled even a god. Admittedly, a god who was ready to be fooled, but still—good work.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“My lord, thank you.”

The two Black Robes bowed respectfully.

“Can you sustain this illusion for as long as I require it?” Nuitari asked.

“So long as we have the live model from which to work, my lord, yes, we can sustain it.”

The wizards and the god turned to look into the prison cell which they had conjured up on the spot. The cell’s walls were clear crystal and inside they could see Mina—wet and bedraggled and very much alive—pacing, back and forth.

“She can hear me?” Nuitari asked.

“Yes, my lord. She can hear and see us. We can see her, though we cannot hear her.”

“No one can hear her? Not her voice? Not her prayers?” “No one, my lord.”

“That is well. Mina,” called out Nuitari, “I don’t believe I have had a chance to welcome you to my home. I trust your stay will be a long and pleasant one. Pleasant for us, though not, I fear, for you. By the way, you have not thanked me for saving your life.”

Mina ceased her restless pacing. Striding over to the wall, she glared at him defiantly, her amber eyes flaring. She called out to him—he could see her mouth moving.

“I am not a reader of lips, but I don’t believe she is expressing her gratitude, my lord,” observed one of the Black Robes.

“No, I don’t believe she is.” Nuitari smiled broadly and bowed mockingly.