“She planned to give it to the Lord of Bones,” said Nuitari. “A love token.”

He wore black robes; his face was that of a round moon. His eyes kept his secrets.

“And what of all the valuable artifacts inside it?” Solinari asked in a low voice. “What of the Solio Febalas?”

Clad in white robes, Solinari was watchful and careful, walked and spoke quietly, his eyes gray as smoke from the smoldering fire of his being.

“How should I know what has happened to it?” Nuitari demanded testily. “I was summoned to attend. My absence would have been noted. But once this meeting has ended-”

Chemosh did not hear the rest. So that was why Mina had given him the tower! He cared nothing for some old monument to magic. He desired what lay beneath the tower-the Solio Febalas.

Long ago, before the Cataclysm, the Kingpriest of Istar had raided the holy temples and shrines dedicated to the gods of Krynn, removing holy artifacts he deemed were dangerous. At first, he took only those from the Gods of Darkness, but then, as his paranoia grew, he ordered his troops into the temples of the neutral gods, as well. Finally, having determined he would challenge the gods for godhood himself, he sent his soldiers to raid all the temples of the Gods of Light.

The stolen artifacts were taken to the old Tower of High Sorcery in Istar, now under his control. He placed the artifacts in what he termed the “Hall of Sacrilege”.

Angered at the challenge from the Kingpriest, the gods cast a fiery mountain onto the world, breaking it asunder. Istar sank to the bottom of the sea. If any remembered the Hall of Sacrilege, the survivors assumed it had been destroyed.

As the centuries passed, mortals forgot about the Hall of Sacrilege. Chemosh did not forget, however. He had always fumed over the loss of his artifacts. He could feel power emanating from the relics and he knew they had not been lost. He wanted them back. He was tempted to go in search of them during the Fourth Age, but he was involved at the time in a secret plot with Queen Takhisis, a plot to overthrow the Gods of the Light, and he dared not do anything that might draw attention to himself.

He’d never had a chance to seek them. First he was caught up in the War of the Lance, and then Chaos had gone on a rampage, and later Takhisis had stolen the world. The artifacts of the gods remained lost until Nuitari had decided to secretly rebuild the ruined Tower of High Sorcery that lay at the bottom of the ocean. He had found the Solio Febalas, much to Chemosh’s jealous ire.

Chemosh had asked Mina to enter the Hall of Sacrilege and bring out his artifacts. But she had failed him and caused the first rupture between them.

Do not be angry with me, my dearest lord… The Solio Febalas is holy. Sanctified. The power and majesty of the gods-all the gods-are in the chamber. I could not touch anything. I did not dare! I could do nothing but fall to my knees in worship…

He had been furious with her. He had accused her of stealing the artifacts for herself. Now he knew better. The power of the gods had acted like a mirror, reflecting back to her the divine power she felt burn inside her. How confused she must have been, confused and terrified, and overwhelmed. She had lifted the tower from bottom of the Blood Sea to give to him. A gift.

Thus, by rights, the tower was his. And just now, no one was standing guard. Everyone was yammering about what to do with Mina. Chemosh left the raging argument and sped across the Blood Sea to the rock-bound island on which stood the newly-raised tower.

The Hall of Sacrilege had been located at the very bottom of the tower. Was it still there, or had it been left behind on the sea floor?

Chemosh dove to the bottom of the ocean. An enormous chasm marked where the tower had once stood. The ocean floor had been hauled up with the tower and formed the island on which it now stood. The water was so dark that even immortal eyes could not plumb its depths. Chemosh felt no sense of his own power emanating from the chasm.

The artifacts were still inside the tower. He was certain of it.

The Tower of High Sorcery that had once been beneath the Blood Sea, but which now overlooked it, resembled the original tower. Nuitari had reconstructed it with loving care. The walls were made of smooth, wetly glistening crystal. Water drained from a dome of black marble and ran down the slick walls as the waves hurled themselves in a sullen, petulant manner against the shores of the new-made island. Atop the dome a circlet made of burnished red-gold twined with silver shone in the light of the twin moons it represented. The center of the circlet was jet black in honor of Nuitari. No sunlight could be seen through the hole.

Chemosh eyed the tower narrowly. Two of Nuitari’s Black Robes lived inside. Chemosh wondered what had happened to them. If they were still alive, they must have had a wild and terrifying ride. He circled the tower until he came to the door-the formal entryway.

When the tower had been in Istar and after that, at the bottom of the sea, the wizards and Nuitari alone possessed the secret to gaining access. Only those who were invited could enter and this included gods. But now the tower had been wrenched from Nuitari’s grasp, stolen from him while his back was turned. Perhaps his magic had been broken.

Chemosh did not bother with the door. He could glide through the crystal walls as though they were water. He started to walk through the walls of shining black but, surprisingly, he found his way blocked.

Frustrated, Chemosh tried pushing open the massive front doors. They did not budge. Chemosh lost his temper and kicked the door with his foot and smote it with his hand. The god could have battered down a castle’s walls with the flick of his finger, but he had no effect on the tower. The door shuddered at the blows, but remained intact.

“It’s no use. You won’t get in. She has the key.”

Chemosh turned to see Nuitari come walking around the side of the building.

“Who has the key?” Chemosh demanded. “Your sister? Zeboim?”

“Mina, you dolt,” Nuitari told him. “And she’s sending her Beloved to guard it.”

The god of Dark Magic pointed across the sea to the city of Flotsam. Chemosh saw with his immortal vision hordes of people jumping from the docks, plunging into the sea, and either sinking or swimming through the waves which glowed eerily with a faint amber light. These were the Beloved. They looked and acted, walked and talked, ate and drank, like ordinary people with one small difference.

They were dead.

Being dead, they felt no fear, they never tired, they needed no sleep, they had boundless energy. Strike them down and they rose back up.

Cut off their heads and they picked them up and put them back on. Chemosh had been quite fond of them until he had found out they were really Mina’s creation, not his. Now he loathed the very sight of them.

“Mina’s army,” Nuitari stated in bitter tones. “Coming to occupy her fortress. And you thought she was going to give it you!”

“They won’t get in,” said Chemosh.

Nuitari chuckled. “As our friend Reorx is so fond of saying, ‘Wanna bet?’” He gestured. “Once she comes to open the doors and let her Beloved inside, my poor Black Robes will be under siege in their own laboratory. The tower will be crawling with her fiends.”

As Chemosh watched, several of the undead creatures dragged themselves up out of the water and headed toward the massive double doors.

“Aren’t you the fool!” said Nuitari with a thick-lipped, sneering smile. “You had Mina in your bed and you kicked her out. She would have done anything for you.”

Chemosh made no response. Nuitari was right, curse him. Mina loved him, adored him, and he’d cast her off, spurned her because he’d been jealous of her.

Not jealous of another lover. Jealous of her-her power.