Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [135]
Chemosh had never before walked the halls of one of the Towers of High Sorcery. The provinces of the gods of magic, the Towers are home to wizards and their laboratories, their spellbooks and artifacts, all of which are jealously guarded, off-limits to all outsiders. That includes gods.
Especially gods.
Prior to the rise of Istar, Chemosh had never felt any inclination to enter one of the Towers. Let the wizards keep their little secrets. So long as they didn’t interfere with his clerics, his clerics did not interfere with wizards. Then came the Kingpriest and suddenly the world—and heaven—changed.
When the Kingpriest tossed the wizards of Istar out on their ears and then filled up the Tower with holy artifacts, stolen from the ruins of demolished temples, the gods were incensed. Several of the more militant, including Chemosh, proposed storming the Tower of Istar and removing their artifacts by force. The proposal was debated in heaven and eventually discarded; the idea being that this would take away the free will of the creatures they had created. Mankind must deal with mankind. The gods would not intervene, not unless it became clear to them that the foundation of the universe itself was threatened. Chemosh wanted his artifacts returned to him, but he wanted the destruction of the Kingpriest and Istar more, and so he went along with the others. He agreed to wait and see.
Mankind dropped the ball. They went along with the Kingpriest, supported him. The universe gave a dangerous lurch. The gods had to act.
They rained down destruction on the world. Clerics vanished. The Age of Despair began. The gods kept apart, remained aloof, waiting for the people to return to them. Chemosh might have secured his artifacts then, but he was hip-deep in a dark and secret conspiracy meant to return Queen Takhisis to the world. He dared not do anything that might draw attention to their plot. When the War of the Lance started and the other gods were preoccupied, Chemosh entered the Blood Sea to search for the Tower. It was gone, buried deep beneath the shifting sands of the ocean floor.
Now the Tower had been rebuilt and he had no doubt that his artifacts and those of the other gods must be somewhere inside. They had not been destroyed. He could sense his own power emanating from those he had blessed and in some instances forged. His essence was quite faint, not strong enough to help him locate his holy relicts, but it was there—a whiff of death amidst the roses.
Chemosh irritably rubbed a smudge of dust off the sleeve of his coat. He was thinking over what to do, whether it would be worth his while to institute a search.
A quiet voice, soft with threat and malice, broke the silence. “What are you doing in my Tower, Lord of Death?”
A gibbous head, pale as corpse light, hung disembodied in the darkness. Lidless eyes were darker than the dark; thick full lips pushed in and out.
“Nuitari,” said Chemosh. “I guessed I might find you hanging about here somewhere. I haven’t seen much of you lately. Now I know why. You’ve been busy.”
Nuitari glided silently forward. His pallid hands slipped from out the folds of the sleeves of his velvet black robes. The long, delicate fingers were in constant motion, rippling, grasping like the tentacles of a jelly fish.
“I asked a question—what are you doing here, Lord of Death?” Nuitari repeated.
“I was out for a stroll—”
“At the bottom of the Blood Sea?”
“—and I happened to pass by. I couldn’t help but notice the improvements you’ve made to the neighborhood.” Chemosh glanced languidly about. “Nice place you’ve got here. Mind if I take a look around?”
“Yes, I mind,” said Nuitari. The lidless eyes never blinked. “I think you had better