Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [28]
Stifling a yawn, Caele opened the door. “Master,” he said. “I was just studying my spells—”
“Then you must have them inscribed on the backs of your eyelids,” said Nuitari. “Here, make yourself useful. Take this book back to the library for me.”
He tossed the white-bound spellbook of the White Robed wizard at Caele.
Instinctively, Caele caught it.
Blue and yellow sparks leapt off the white binding. Caele yelped and dropped the spell book to the floor. He thrust his burnt fingers into his mouth.
Nuitari grunted. Turning on his heel, he walked off.
This was all very strange.
hemosh stood on the battlements of his cliff-top castle, gazing moodily out at the Blood Sea and thinking of various ways to avenge himself on Nuitari, rescue Mina, steal the Tower, and obtain the valuable artifacts stashed inside. He conceived and then discarded several plans, and after considerable thought, he was forced to admit that the prospect of achieving all of these goals was likely impossible. Nuitari was clever, curse him. In the eternal khas game waged between the gods, Nuitari had anticipated and thwarted Chemosh’s every move.
Chemosh watched the waves break on the rock-bound coast. Below those waves Mina languished, trapped inside Nuitari’s prison. Chemosh burned with a fierce desire to descend to the ocean floor and march inside and seize her. He avoided the temptation. Chemosh would not give Nuitari the satisfaction of mocking him. He would make Nuitari pay and he would get Mina back. He had yet to figure out how he was going to do this. Nuitari was in complete control of the win.
Almost. There was one piece on the board over which no one had any control. One piece that might give Chemosh the game.
Chemosh was thinking of this plan and that when he noted a wave, larger than the rest, rise up and move rapidly toward shore.
“Krell,” he said to the death knight, who was skulking about in obsequious attendance upon his lord, “Zeboim is coming to pay me a visit.”
Krell leapt a foot in the air. If steel could have lost color, his helm would have gone white.
Chemosh pointed. “Look at that wave.”
Zeboim stood poised gracefully atop the mammoth wave. The water curled underneath her bare feet. Her hair streamed behind her. Sea foam clothed her. She held the wind in her hands and cast it forth as she came. Gusts started to buffet the castle.
“You might try hiding in the wine cellar,” suggested Chemosh, “or the treasure vault, or under the bed, if you can fit. I’ll keep her occupied. You had best hurry …”
Krell needed no urging. He was already running for the stairs, his armor clanking and rattling.
The wave broke over the battlements of Castle Beloved. The torrent of green water, tinged with red, would have drenched the god who stood there, if he had permitted the water to touch him. As it was, the sea swirled about his boots and cascaded down the stairs. He heard a roar and a clatter. Krell had been swept off his feet by the flood.
Zeboim calmly stepped onto the battlements. With a wave of her hand, she banished the sea, sent it back to fling itself in endless fury at the base of the cliff on which he had built his castle.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Chemosh asked blandly.
“You have my son’s soul in your possession!” said Zeboim, her aqua eyes blazing. “Free him—now!”
“I will do so, but I want something in return. Give me Mina,” returned Chemosh coolly.
“Do you think I carry your precious mortal around in my pocket?” Zeboim demanded. “I have no idea where your little trollop has gone. Nor do I care.”
“You should,” Chemosh said. “Your brother is holding Mina against her will. Return Mina to me and I will free your son—if he’ll go.”
“He will leave,” said Zeboim. “He and I had a little talk. He’s ready to move on.” She thought the deal over. “Give me that wretch Krell”—she ground his name between her teeth