Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [22]
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.…”
he 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