Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [18]
The death knight drew his sword from its scabbard and handed it to the god.
Gripping the sword, Chemosh stared for another long moment at the ghost of Mina. Then, sword in hand, he raised it and leapt at the illusion.
The image of Mina vanished.
Chemosh stepped back, thinking out loud. “A remarkable illusion. It fooled even me. But it could not fool you, my dear brother, my excellent friend, Lord Krell!”
“I am glad to have pleased you, my lord.” Krell was confused—thankful, but confused. “I don’t quite follow you, though—”
“An illusion, Krell! Mina’s ghost was an illusion! That is why you could not see her. Mina is not in your realm—the realm of death. Mina is alive, Krell. Alive—and a prisoner.”
Chemosh grew grim. “Nuitari lied to me. He did not slay her, as he pretended. He has imprisoned her in his Tower beneath the Blood Sea. Why, though? What is his motive? Does he want her for himself? Did he assume I would forget her, once I thought she was dead? Ah, I see his game. He has probably told her I abandoned her. She would not believe him, though. Mina loves me. She will be true to me. I must go to her.…”
He paused.
“What if he has succeeded in seducing her? She is mortal, after all,” the god continued, his voice hardening, “This Mina once swore to love and follow Queen Takhisis, only to turn from her to me. Perhaps Mina has turned from me to Nuitari. Perhaps they both plot against me. I might be walking into a trap.…”
He whipped around. “Krell!”
“My lord!” The death knight was trying desperately to keep up with the peregrinations of the god’s thoughts.
“You say that Zeboim recovered the khas piece containing the soul of her son?” Chemosh asked.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Krell said hurriedly. “There was a kender and a giant bug—”
“Quit whining! You actually did something right for a change. I am going to send you on an errand.”
Krell didn’t like the god’s sly smile.
“What errand would that be, my lord?” the death knight asked warily. “Where am I going?”
“To Zeboim—”
Krell clunked down onto his knees. “You might as well finish me now, Lord Chemosh, and get it over with.”
“Now, now, Krell,” said Chemosh soothingly. He was suddenly in an excellent humor. “The Sea Goddess will be glad to see you. You are going to bring her welcome news—provided she allows you to live long enough to tell it.…”
he dwarf and half-elf had been gazing into the dragonmetal basin, both of them sniggering at the sight of Chemosh’s lamentations over his “dead” mistress and mocking the Lord of Death, making sport of him as they’d done for many days now, when things began to go terribly wrong.
“He’s onto us!” said the dwarf, alarmed.
“No, he’s not,” said the half-elf, sneering.
“I tell you he’s figured it out!” cried the dwarf. “Look there! He’s got a sword! End the spell, Caele! Quickly!”
“We’re in no danger, Basalt, you coward,” said Caele, his lip curling. “What do you think? He’s going to leap through time and space and cut off our ears?”
“How do you know he can’t?” Basalt roared. “He’s a god! Just end it!”
Caele took one look at the god’s face—livid with rage, his eyes blazing like the eternal fires of the Abyss—and decided his fellow archmage might be right. The half-elf placed both hands on the heavy dragonmetal basin, dug in his feet, and pushed the basin off the pedestal, dumping the contents onto the floor. Blood sloshed over Caele’s bare feet and splattered the black robes of the dwarf.
The god and his sword vanished.
Basalt mopped his face with a black sleeve. “That was close!”
“I still don’t think he could have done anything to us,” Caele muttered.
“We didn’t dare risk it.”
Caele thought back on the enormous sword the god had been wielding and was forced to agree. He and Basalt stood in silence staring gloomily at the empty dragonmetal basin and the pool of blood. Both of them were thinking of another god who was going to be angry, a god much closer to home.
“It wasn’t our fault,” Caele muttered, biting his nails. “We have to make that clear.”
“It was only