Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [20]
Nuitari had forbidden his mages from using magic for trivial or frivolous tasks. He maintained that for a mage to use magic to wash his supper dishes was an insult to the gods. Basalt and Caele were expected to do their laundry, catch their food (one reason they had devised the contraption in which they had caught Mina), cook and clean—all without the benefit of spellcasting. Other mages who would eventually come to live in the Tower would have to live under the same restriction. They would be required to perform all such menial tasks with labor that was physical, not magical. Basalt stalked off on his errand, returning with aching calf muscles and in a bad mood.
He came back to find Caele amusing himself by drawing stick figures with his toe in the dragon’s blood.
“Here,” said Basalt, tossing Caele a rag. “Now that you’ve inspected the basin, you can clean it.”
Caele regretted not having taking advantage of the dwarf’s departure to leave. The half-elf had continued to hang about the spellcasting chamber in hopes that Nuitari would return and be impressed to find Caele taking such excellent care of the basin that was one of the god’s favorite magical artifacts. Since there was still a chance Nuitari might come back, Caele began to wipe away the remnants of dragon’s blood.
“So what did the master mean by Chemosh being wiser than he is obsessed?” asked Basalt. The dwarf was down on his hands and knees, scrubbing vigorously at the stained stone with a bristle brush.
“He’s obsessed with this Mina, that much is clear. That’s how we were able to perpetrate this fraud on him.”
“Something that I never understood anyway,” Basalt grumbled.
Caele, mindful that the Master might be in earshot, was effusive in his praise.
“Actually, I consider Nuitari’s ploy quite brilliant,” said the half-elf. “When we first captured Mina, the Master intended to use the threat of her death as a way to keep Chemosh’s mouth shut. Chemosh, you see, had threatened to tell Nuitari’s two cousins that he had secretly built this Tower and was trying to establish his own power base independent of them. He threatened to tell all the gods that the Master has in his possession a cache of holy artifacts belonging to each and every one of them.”
“But the threat of death didn’t work,” Basalt pointed out. “Chemosh abandoned Mina to her fate.”
“This is where the Master’s true brilliance shone,” said Caele. “Nuitari killed her as Chemosh watched, or rather, the Master pretended to kill her.”
Caele waited a moment, hoping Nuitari would enter and thank his faithful follower for the compliments. Nuitari did not come, however, and there was no sign he’d overheard the half-elf’s flattering remarks. Caele was growing bored with cleaning. He threw down the rag.
“There, I’m finished.”
Basalt stood up to inspect the job. “Finished! When did you start? Look at that. There’s blood in the scales around the tail, and in the eyes and teeth, and it’s seeped in all these little crevices between the scales—”
“That’s just the way the way the light hits it,” said Caele carelessly. “But if you don’t like it, do it yourself. I have to go study my spells.”
“This is precisely the reason why I was made Caretaker!” Basalt told Caele’s back as the half-elf was walking out the door. “You are a pig! All elves are pigs.”
Caele turned, enmity flickering in his slanted eyes. His fists clenched.
“I’ve killed men for such insults, dwarf.”
“You killed a woman for it, at least,” Basalt said. “Strangled her and pushed her off a cliff.”
“She got what she deserved and so will you, if you keep talking like that!”
“Like what? You have no love for elves yourself. You say worse than that about them all the time.” Basalt