Rhys could not believe he had heard right.
“Solio Febalas,” Rhys said with a catch in his voice. “The Hall of Sacrilege. But … that can’t be. The Hall was lost during the Cataclysm.”
“Our Master found it,” said Basalt proudly. “It’s a treasure trove, filled with rare and valuable holy artifacts.”
“They’re worth a king’s ransom. Which is why the dragon is guarding it,” Caele added. “If you try to enter, the dragon will kill you and eat you.”
“This just gets better and better,” said Nightshade glumly.
“Pooh, the dragon won’t eat anyone,” Mina said calmly. “She didn’t eat me and I’ve been down there. The dragon’s name is Midori. She’s a sea dragon and old. Very old.”
“Rhys,” said Nightshade, “I’m sure there are lots of kenders who would really love to be eaten by a sea dragon. I don’t happen to be one of them.”
“There speaks a man of sense! You and the monk should come back upstairs,” Caele urged. “Basalt and I will go with the … er … little girl.”
“What a great idea!” exclaimed Nightshade, starting to head back up the stairs.
Rhys caught hold of him, turned him around.
“We will stay with Mina,” he said, and he continued on down, bringing Nightshade along with him.
There was more whispering behind him.
“The Master won’t like us going down there,” he overheard Basalt say.
“He won’t like it if they rob us blind, either,” Caele retorted.
Basalt clamped his hand down on Caele’s wrist.
“Don’t be a fool,” said the dwarf, adding something in a language Rhys did not understand.
Caele grunted and twitched his sleeve back in place, but not before Rhys had caught the glint of steel.
Rhys turned away. The two were clearly up to no good and he guessed this had something to with the Solio Febalas, the Hall of Sacrilege. If they were telling the truth and Nuitari had found the lost Hall, then what the half-elf had said about it being worth a king’s ransom was true. Ransom enough for a hundred kings! Artifacts, relics, potions blessed by all the gods were said to have been confiscated by the soldiers of the Kingpriest. Truly a treasure trove for anyone, even two followers of Nuitari.
These artifacts had been forged in the Age of Might, when the power of clerics was unsurpassed. Priests of all the gods would pay dearly to acquire holy and powerful relics long thought lost. Most prized of all, most desired, would be artifacts blessed by Takhisis and Paladine. Though the two gods were gone from the pantheon, their ancient artifacts might still retain their power. The wealth of nations would be a small price to pay for such a treasure.
I want to bring a present to Goldmoon …
Rhys halted suddenly. That’s why Mina had come to the tower. She was going to the Hall of Sacrilege.
Nightshade, hearing him stop, twisted his head around.
“The stairs are slick,” said the kender. “You should be careful. Not that it matters if we fall and break our necks, since we’re all going to be eaten by a vicious sea dragon!” he added loudly.
“No, we’re not!” Mina yelled. She came bounding back up the stairs. “The dragon’s gone.”
“Gone!” Caele sucked in a breath.
“It’s ours!” Basalt gasped.
The two wizards shoved past Rhys, jostling each other in their clamorous haste to reach the bottom.
he wizards rounded a turn in the spiral staircase and vanished. Rhys hurried after them, leaving Nightshade scrambling to catch up. Rhys found Basalt and Caele teetering precariously on the final stair, staring in dismay.
To keep thieves away from the valuables inside the Hall of Sacrilege, Nuitari had housed the Solio Febalas inside an enormous globe filled with sea water. The Hall was guarded by sharks, sting-rays, and various other types of lethal marine life, including an ancient sea dragon.
But now all that remained of Nuitari’s ingenious aquatic strongbox were mounds of wet sand glittering with shards of broken glass.
The tower’s upheaval had shattered the globe. The sea water had poured out, carrying the sea monsters with it. Midori, rudely awakened by the shock, had apparently decided enough was enough and gone off to find more stable housing. The destruction stretched as far as the eye could see.
“No! Atta, stop!” Nightshade cried, grabbing the dog by the scruff of her neck as she started to venture out onto the sand. “You’ll cut your paws to ribbons! Where’s the Feeble Soloness?” he asked Mina.
She pointed silently and unhappily into the midst of the wreckage.
“Oh, well. I guess we can’t go there,” Nightshade said cheerfully. “Say, I have an idea. Let’s sail to Flotsam. I know an inn that serves beefsteak and crispy potatoes with a side of green peas and—”
“Nightshade,” Rhys admonished.
“I didn’t ask her for it!” the kender said in a defensive whisper. “I just happened to mention beef steak in case she was hungry.”
“It was all so beautiful,” said Mina, and she began to cry.
Basalt stood staring glumly at the mess.
“I don’t care what the Master says,” the dwarf stated. “I’m not cleaning this up.” He heard a snicker from Caele and glowered. “What are you looking so damn pleased about? This is a disaster!”
“Not for us,” Caele said, with a sly grin.
Seeing that the monk was occupied with the sniveling brat, Caele crept back quietly back up the stairs, motioning Basalt to come with him. When they were out of earshot of the others, Caele whispered, “Don’t you realize what this means? The dragon’s gone! The Hall of Sacrilege is no longer guarded! Our fortunes are made!”
“If the Hall’s still there,” Basalt returned. “And if it’s still intact, which I doubt.” He gestured at the debris. “And how do you plan to reach it? The dragon might as well be here. Those glass shards are sharper than her teeth and just as deadly.”
“If the Hall survived the Cataclysm, it certainly survived this. You’ll see. As for reaching it, I have an idea on that.”
“What about Mina and her friends?” Basalt asked.
Caele grinned. Sliding up his sleeve, he revealed a knife attached to his wrist.
Basalt snorted. “Remember what happened the last time you tried to gut her? You ended up a prisoner in your own tomb!”
“She had that bastard Chemosh with her,” Caele said, scowling. “This time, all she’s got is a monk and a kender. You kill those two and I’ll—”
“Leave me out of this!” Basalt snarled. “I’ve had enough of your plots and schemes. They only ever get me into trouble!”
Caele paled in anger. A flick of the wrist and the knife was in his hand. Basalt was prepared, however. He had always assumed some day he would end up killing the half-elf and this day was as good as any. He began to chant a spell. Caele chanted a counter-spell. The two glared blackly at each other.
Mina was staring in bleak amazement at the ruins of the crystal globe. “I wanted to swim in the sea water again. I wanted to talk to the dragon …”
“I’m sorry, Mina,” said Rhys, not knowing what else to say to her.
He had his own worries. If the Solio Febalas was truly in the midst of the debris, he should find it, make certain it was safe, the contents secure. He could hear the two Black Robe wizards plotting and though he could not make out their words, he had no doubt that they were making plans to steal the sacred artifacts.
If he had been alone, Rhys would have gladly risked his own life trying to find a way through the broken glass, but he could not venture forth and leave his friends and his dog behind, not with the Beloved massing outside the tower, being held at bay by the gods alone knew what force. Nor did he trust the two Black Robes.
Rhys’s main concern was Mina. As a god, she could have walked across acres of razor blades without being harmed. But she was a god who did not know she was a god. She shivered from the cold, cried when disappointed, and bled w
hen nails scratched her flesh. He dared not take her with him and he dared not leave her behind, either.
“Mina,” Rhys said, “I think Nightshade is right. We should start our journey home. You cannot cross this sand without hurting yourself. Goldmoon will understand—”
“I’m not leaving!” Mina stated petulantly. She had quit crying and now she was sulking. Her lower lip thrust out. She stood kicking the wet sand with the toe of her shoe. “Not without my present.”
“Mina …”
“It’s not fair!” she cried, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “Why did this have to happen? I came all this way …”
She paused. Reaching down, ignoring Rhys’s warning to be careful, she picked up a small shard of broken glass. “This didn’t have to happen.”
Mina flung the glass shard into the air and it was joined by a million other shards, sparkling like rain drops in the sunshine. The pieces of glass fused together. Sea water, instead of draining out, flowed back inside.
Rhys suddenly found himself inside a crystal globe, submersed in fathoms of blue-green sea water, and he was drowning.
Holding his breath, Rhys stared about frantically, trying to find a way out. Nightshade was nearby, flailing his arms and kicking his feet, his cheeks puffed out. Atta paddled wildly, her eyes wide with terror. Mina, unaware of their predicament, was swimming away from them.
Rhys had only moments of life left. Atta was already sinking to the bottom. Rhys sliced through the water with his arms, kicked his feet, trying to reach Mina.
He managed to grab hold of her ankle. Mina twisted around. Her face was bright with pleasure. She was enjoying herself. The pleasure faded when she saw her friends were in trouble. She stared at them helplessly, seeming to have no idea what to do. Rhys’s lungs were going to burst. He was seeing dazzling stars and blue and yellow spots and he could no longer bear the pain. He opened his mouth, prepared to suck in death.
He gulped salt water and, though the sensation was not pleasant, he didn’t die. He floundered, shaken to find he was breathing water as easily as he had once breathed air. Nightshade, his mouth gaping, his eyes bulging, was spent. He floated limply in the water.
Mina caught hold of Atta, who had ceased to struggle. Mina petted the dog and kissed her and hugged her and Atta’s eyes flew open. The dog looked around frantically, panic-stricken, until she found Rhys. He swam over to her and was joined by Nightshade, who grabbed hold of his arm and tried to talk. All that came out were bubbles, but though Rhys couldn’t hear him, he understood the kender’s general meaning, which was, “You have to do something! She’s going to get us all killed!”
Rhys considered this was quite likely, but as for preventing it, he had no idea what to do. An ordinary six-year-old who misbehaved could be swatted or sent to bed without her supper. The idea of swatting Mina who, as Nightshade had said, could drop a mountain on their heads, was ludicrous. And, to be honest, Mina hadn’t misbehaved. She hadn’t deliberately tried to drown them. She’d made a simple mistake. Since she could breathe water as easily as air, she had assumed they could, too.
Mina swam underwater as though she’d been born to it, darting around them like a minnow, urging them to hurry. Rhys had learned to swim in the monastery, but he was hampered by his robes and by his staff, which he did not want to leave behind, and by his concern for Nightshade.
The kender had never learned to swim. He had never wanted to learn to swim. Now, given no choice in the matter, he thrashed about wildly, making no progress in any direction. He was about to give swimming up as hopeless when Atta passed him, churning the water with her front paws. Nightshade watched the dog and decided to emulate her. Not having paws, he used his hands and arms to paddle, and soon was able to keep up with the rest.
Mina swam excitedly on ahead, motioning for them to hurry. When they reached her, she was floating in the water, making small swirling motions with her hands, hovering above what appeared to be a child’s sand castle.
Simple in design, the castle was constructed of four walls four feet in height and four feet long, with a tall tower at each corner. There were no windows and only one door, though that door was a marvel.
Three feet tall and not very wide, the door was made of myriad pearls that shimmered with a purple luster. A single rune carved out of a large emerald glowed in the center.
Mina motioned to Rhys, and as he swam awkwardly near her, pushing the staff ahead of him. She gestured at the sand castle and eagerly nodded.
“The Hall of Sacrilege,” she mouthed.
Rhys stared in astonishment.
The infamous Hall of Sacrilege—a child’s sand castle. Rhys shook his head. Mina frowned at him and, reaching out, she grabbed hold of his staff and pulled him through the water. She pointed to the emerald rune embedded in the door. Rhys swam closer and caught a watery breath in awe. Carved into the rune was a figure 8 turned on its side, a symbol with no ending and no beginning, the symbol of eternity.
Rhys propelled himself backward. Mina regarded him, puzzled. She pointed at the door.
“Open it!” she commanded in a flurry of bubbles.
Rhys shook his head. This was the Solio Febalas, repository of some of the most holy artifacts ever created by gods and man, and the door was shut and the door was sealed. He was not meant to enter. No mortal was meant to enter. Perhaps not even the gods themselves were meant to enter this sacred place.
Mina tugged at him, urging him. Rhys shook his head emphatically, and drew back. He wished he could explain to her, but he could not. He turned and started to swim off.
She swam after him and grabbed hold of him again. Childlike, she was determined to have her way. Rhys had the feeling that if they’d been on dry land, she would have stamped her foot.
Rhys would have continued to refuse, but at that moment, the decision was taken away from him.
Even deep below the sea, he could hear the one single word dreaded throughout Krynn by anyone traveling with a kender.
“Oops!”
“Hey!” Caele cried, alarmed. “Where did they go?”
The two Black Robes, intent on killing each other, had been muttering arcane words and fumbling about in their pouches for spell components when they realized they were alone. Kender, kid, dog, and monk had disappeared.
“Damn their eyeballs!” Caele swore, seething. “They’ve found a way inside!”
The half-elf dashed down the stairs, skidding to a halt when he reached the bottom. The shards of broken glass were still there, sticking up out of the sand.
“If you hadn’t been so eager to slit my throat, we’d be in there helping ourselves to the riches.” Basalt shook his fist at the half-elf.
“You’re right, of course, Basalt,” said Caele with sudden meekness. “You’re always right. Give the Master my regards.”
The half-elf raised his hand in a flourish and vanished.
“Huh?” Basalt blinked. “What—”
The dwarf suddenly understood. He sucked in a huge breath and let it out in a roar. “He’s gone after them!”
Basalt did a quick mental run-through of his spell catalog and began a feverish rummage through his pouches of spell components to see what he had on hand. He’d come prepared to do battle, not for traveling to an unknown destination across a sea bottom covered with broken glass. He wondered what magic Caele had used, decided most likely the half-elf had cast a spell known as Dimension Door, a favorite of Caele’s, for it required only spoken words, no spell components. Caele disliked casting spells that used components, mainly because he was too lazy to gather them.
Basalt was familiar with the Dimension Door spell himself, but it had one drawback. In order to cast the spell, the wizard had to know where he was going, for he had to visualize the location. Basalt had no idea where the Hall of Sacrilege was or what it looked like. He had never been inside the water-filled globe that protected it.
Caele, on the other hand, had been inside the globe. He had been sent—u
nder duress—to the dragon, Midori, to collect a small amount of her blood which Nuitari had used in the Dragon-sight bowl, allowing him to spy on his enemies. Caele had never mentioned seeing the Hall, but the half-elf was a sneaking, cunning, lying bastard, and Basalt guessed that Caele had done some snooping about while he was down there and simply not mentioned it.
Picturing Caele in the Hall, scooping up treasures right and left, Basalt gnashed his teeth in anger. He glared irately at the broken glass blocking his way and thought wistfully about how wonderful it would be if he could just float over it, and that brought a spell to mind.
Basalt didn’t have the requisite pure components on hand, but he could make do. The spell required gauze; he tore the bandage from his forehead and, using his knife, cut off a piece. He generally carried a bit of candle with him, for flame or wax always came in handy. The candle was beeswax, one he’d made himself and he was quite proud of it, for it was magical.
Holding the gauze in one hand and the candle in the other, he spoke the command word and the candle burst into flame. He held the gauze in the flame until it caught fire, let it burn a moment, then blew it out. A thin wisp of smoke trailed up from the blackened fabric. Basalt spoke a magical word and waited a tense moment to see if the spell would work.
He felt a strange and unpleasant sensation, as though flesh and bone, skin and muscle were being magically rendered into a liquid state and then he oozed away, leaving behind a gaseous, insubstantial form. Basalt had not used this spell in some time and it occurred to him—belatedly—that he wasn’t sure how one managed to get one’s body back again. He would worry about that later, however. Right now he had to catch up with Caele.
Drifting along with the air currents, the gaseous form of Basalt—looking like a hairy cloud of black smoke—wafted over the broken glass and entered what was left of the crystal globe.
ightshade had been understandably miffed at Mina for dunking him in sea water and then nearly drowning him, but, after a while, he forgave her. He liked the novelty of being able to breath under water and swim like a fish—or rather, like Atta. He was paddling along through the sea, enjoying the view, wondering if he had gills on his neck and if they were pulsing in and out, and feeling his neck to see if he did, and being disappointed to discover that he didn’t, when he came to the sand castle.
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