D&D 03-Oath of Nerull

by T. H. Lain

  Ember didn't care to see the grisly scene any longer, anyway. She left the room and accosted the taverner. "Has anything like this happened before?" she asked.

  Ember noticed that most of the guests were returning to their rooms, happy to let someone else deal with the problem. Only the caped man, Hennet, and his friend the gnome remained interested.

  The taverner gave Ember an appraising look. "Happened before? Of course not. What an idea!" he said, rubbing his nose nervously.

  Ember continued, "Fine. Have you seen my companion out and about this morning? You remember, the dwarf I arrived with last night? It is unsettling to find a murder and a missing person on the same morning—I'm worried about him."

  Hennet moved to stand closer to the taverner, fixing him with a penetrating look, and a few beads of sweat broke out on the man's brow.

  "Why ask me? I haven't seen your dwarf friend or anyone else this morning. I just woke up. Perhaps he went outside for a breath of air." The taverner rubbed his nose again. Ember tried to meet his gaze, but the man stared determinedly at the door to the victim's room. He continued, "Now, excuse me, I must investigate—the Duke's Rangers must be told of this tragedy. Stand aside, let me pass."

  Ember gave ground with poor grace, allowing the taverner into the murder room. The gnome from the end of the hallway moved up to Hennet and handed him some leather leggings and boots. Hennet dressed himself without embarrassment in the hallway. Ember paid no attention; she watched the taverner. All that nose-rubbing and sweating...the man was hiding something.

  The taverner walked without much confidence into the room, gazed on the sight, and gagged. When he turned away, his eyes were glazed. He was whispering to himself, apparently forgetting Ember's presence at the door.

  "I've got to get them out of here. Out! No amount of money is worth more of this."

  With a wheeze and a gasp, he rushed back into the hallway and thundered down the stairs two at a time.

  Ember glanced at Hennet, who was fully dressed, and said, "The taverner—he knows what happened." Without another word, she glided down the stairs after him. The man and the gnome followed her.

  The stairs emptied into the common room on the main floor. It held neither Brek Gorunn nor the taverner. Ember heard a clatter in the kitchen. She darted through the half-doors separating the two rooms. Fire danced in a fireplace, and herbs and meats hung from the ceiling. A scattering of iron pots and pans lay on the floor near a wooden rack on the wall. Otherwise the kitchen was orderly and empty.

  Hennet and the gnome followed her in, both breathing hard.

  "Wait, we want to help!" said Hennet. The gnome looked surprised but said nothing.

  Ember paused, then replied, "Fine. What do you suggest?"

  The gnome lowered a pair of goggles over his eyes and said, "I'm Nebin Raulnor, a wizard of the arcane arts. Last night I saw something odd in the hallway. I thought it was a dream." The gnome ducked his head, as if ashamed.

  Hennet clapped

  The gnome on the shoulder. "Are you saying you went out into the hallway last night and saw something there? Why didn't you wake me?" As he spoke, Hennet studied the kitchen. "Those fallen pots seem strangely untidy, compared to the rest of the

  place."

  Ember rushed to the utensil rack from which the pots had fallen. The wall seemed slightly off kilter, as if its foundation was sinking unevenly—or as if the wall had been moved slightly from its proper place. She put a hand against the iron rack and pushed. With a click, the wall swung way, obviously on a hinge. Beyond was a lightless stairwell leading downward.

  Hennet looked into the darkness and said, "How did you know the wall was false?"

  "Lucky."

  Nebin approached more slowly, looking down the stairs. "You want to go down there?" he asked, looking at Ember, then Hennet.

  In answer, Hennet spoke a few words of magic, and his index finger burst into light, bright as a torch, though it gave no heat.

  "Show off," sniffed Nebin.

  Ember took the lead, followed by Hennet, then the gnome. The stairs were old and worn smooth. Dust was heaped along every margin and corner. Hennet's enchanted light showed a clear path of footprints through the dust.

  He whispered, "More than one person has gone this way."

  The steps led down to a closed door. A seam of light spilled from beneath it, brighter than Hennet's light. Ember heard murmuring voices. She motioned for silence and sidled up to the door, putting her ear to it. Two voices spoke. One was the taverner, sounding scared. The other voice didn't speak, it just grunted, yet it seemed somehow familiar, which disturbed Ember. In the background, she heard a snatch of prayer—Brek Gorunn?

  Ember slammed the door open. Beyond was an earthen chamber supported by stone columns, hung round with greenish lamps. The taverner spoke to two men in red masks! The masks were pulled down around their necks so that their faces were visible. Behind them, a red-masked woman bent over the dwarf, Brek. He sat stiffly with his back to a stone column. His beefy hands were lashed behind him and around the pillar.

  "Face me, Nerull-worshipers!" yelled Ember.

  She launched a flying kick at the taverner's back. Her foot connected, sending the heavy-set man sprawling into the shadows.

  All were caught off guard, including Hennet and Nebin, who stood dumbfounded on the stairs. Neither of them had seen or even heard of these red-masked strangers before, obviously, or heard the name of Nerull spoken in anything but a child's rhyme. It was painfully obvious, however, that the people in the room were up to no good, if the trussed-up dwarf was any indication.

  One of the kidnappers regained his composure ahead of the rest. He sprang to attack Ember, using his hands and feet as weapons. Again Ember wondered what deranged order these red-masked devils represented. The man leered at her, his mouth gaping—it was her tongueless former captive! His broken arm and all of his other, lesser injuries were healed, clearly the work of magic. As recognition flashed on Ember's face, her opponent harked out a grating, self-satisfied laugh.

  The other red-masked man, more portly and slower than the first, stood back and began chanting. A sickle hung at his side, stained and rusted from much use and little upkeep. On his finger flashed a ring inscribed with the symbol of the skull and sickle. He was a priest of Nerull!

  The woman near Brek Gorunn straightened and grabbed a light crossbow slung from her side. It was already cocked. She tried to draw ahead on Ember, but couldn't get a clear shot. She shifted her aim to Hennet, who still stood in the doorway.

  Hennet was not unprepared. As the crossbow came up, he released two bolts of his own from his already glowing fingertip. The sorcerous missiles of enchanted force unerringly slammed into the woman. She gasped, but remained upright and fired her crossbow back at the sorcerer. The bolt, retracing the path of Hennet's magical strike, caught the sorcerer in his left arm.

  He grunted in pain and surprise. Nebin stepped up next to his wounded friend. The gnome still wore his goggles over his eyes, and in his hands he grasped a wand. It was carved of alder and tipped with a tiny, shining stone. The gnome sighted along the wand, and a splash of clashing colors sprang from the tip to strike the woman trying to re-cock her crossbow. She yelped and dropped to the floor, senseless.

  Nebin crowed, "I got one!"

  Ember's foe was more cautious than when he last faced her in Volanth. This time he held back, fighting defensively. Three kicks were deflected, and four brutal open-hand blows came to nothing. The man danced to the side, ducked, and backed away, taking little real hurt from her onslaught, but he refrained from exposing himself with attacks of his own. Ember had little time to wonder what he was waiting for.

  The portly man's chanting ceased; the priest of Nerull had finished his invocation. A spark of pale green light appeared in midair. The spark gained volume and shape over the space of a heartbeat, and a horror materialized from the sickening light.

  The beast was shaped something like a newborn human
child, crossed with a giant slug. It was almost man-sized, but it oozed along the floor like a worm, dripping with pale green slime. Its visage was pure horror. The gnome quivered for a moment, then turned and ran.

  Ember felt a wave of fear break over her. Her insides churned as her throat constricted to a knot. She wanted to scream, to faint, but most of all to flee. She shot a desperate look at Hennet. The sorcerer seemed to be wavering on the doorstep. Terror twisted his face into a grotesque mask, yet the look from Ember galvanized him.

  He yelled, "Nebin! Get back here!"

  But the gnome's footfalls were already fading up the stairwell. Ember was glad for any company at all.

  The priest of Nerull called aloud to the slug-thing, "Serve us, as we have served you, oh Abyssal Child, oh Servitor of our lord Nerull." He clutched his sickle and moved toward Ember.

  The horrid child-face of the slug regarded Hennet. Then it spoke in its cracked, pipe-organ voice, declaring, "I'm going to eat you. First your hands, then your feet, then your heart."

  The sorcerer recoiled in disgust. As the abyssal child squirmed toward him, Hennet made a great leap over the thing's back. The creature snapped at him but missed. Ember breathed easier when she saw the sorcerer dart up to Brek Gorunn's side.

  If I don't do something to even the odds, thought Ember, these two will finish me.

  As the priest's scythe arced toward her, she moved as if to step backward. Lured on by the ruse, the priest stepped forward only to meet the full impact of Ember's circle kick to the crown of his head. She felt the blow travel up her arch into the muscles of her leg. It was a good strike, and the priest fell like a stone.

  The abyssal child wormed toward Hennet, who sawed frantically at Brek Gorunn's bindings with a dagger.

  "Come on, man!" yelped the dwarf, with his eye on the monster.

  Not a second too soon, the line parted. Hennet fell back and the dwarf leaped up and to the side, toward the corner where his captors had tossed his warhammer.

  Whirling and striking at the same time, the dwarf swung his hammer desperately and bounced it across the creature's rounded back. Even that glancing blow brought a scream from the monstrous thing, followed by a gobbet of acid. The liquid struck Brek's mail armor, where it sizzled and fumed into a thin line of curling smoke.

  Hennet murmured another spell to release two more magical holts of enchantment. They whined through the air and scorched into the creature, which was barely beyond the sorcerer's reach.

  It quivered, expanded, and spewed a noxious cloud that fouled the air in the small room as it collapsed. A second later, it faded away as if it had never been.

  Brek Gorunn rushed up behind Ember's opponent. Caught off guard, the red-masked man tried to run, but the dwarf's deadly hammer sent him crashing to the stone floor.

  Ember, Brek Gorunn, Hennet the sorcerer, and the gnome Nebin sat together in the common room of the tavern. They talked quietly of the morning's events.

  Two Nerullan cultists were dead and would cause no more trouble. It was clear, however, that after years of banishment, the cult of Nerull was becoming active once again. The taverner may have been merely a dupe, paid for the use of his root cellar and his silence. The murdered woman's companions promised to take him back to Volanth, the closest institution of law. The red-masked cultists were a different matter.

  Ember said, "It is a strange coincidence to find the cult here at this inn, unless its influence is wider than I thought. Brek Gorunn and I are on our way to New Koratia to warn my order about the cult's strange hatred of the Enabled Hand."

  '"Strange hatred?'" asked Hennet.

  "Her chapter in Volanth was wiped out," supplied Brek Gorunn. "We're pretty sure that was done by Nerullan cultists, too."

  Nebin gulped, and Hennet said, "I'm so sorry! I...."

  "Thank you," replied Ember, expressionless.

  "Guess what, Hennet and I are on our way to New Koratia, too," said the gnome. "We're competing in the Duel Arcane. Why don't we go together? They say companions on the road make long journeys shorter. Besides, Hennet has heard all my stories too many times—I need a fresh audience." The gnome laughed.

  "What a good idea, Nebin!" enthused Hennet, sitting forward. He stole a quick glance at the monk. "Well, that is, if you'll have us?"

  Brek grunted. "A fine idea. Security on the road and all that. Ember?"

  "It could be dangerous. If you're willing to join forces, you're more than welcome," said Ember. "You had no cause to help us, but you did anyway. If I could reward you, I would. Accept my thanks instead."

  "Anyone would have done the same," said Hennet.

  "No one else did."

  The travelers gathered their gear and met in the courtyard. The two spellcasters were traveling by horse-drawn wagon. Ember and Brek Gorunn had walked from Volanth, and were happy to continue their journey by wagon instead of on foot.

  As Hennet led the horses from the inn's stable, he said, "This is Rain, the other Dust. I bought them two weeks ago, and they have served us well."

  He hitched the horses, and motioned the others to board. The wagon was a simple coach, with two bench seats and some room for baggage beneath the seats. It was in serviceable condition, though it wasn't covered; passengers would be alternately baked by the sun and drenched by the rain, if it came to that. Still, Ember quickly decided that it was a wonderful contrivance for long journeys. Before long the group was trotting down the road at a steady pace, Hennet driving in the front seat with the reigns clutched in both hands.

  The road was in remarkable repair, allowing the travelers to laugh off the worst of the bumps. Often, the road ran straight and wide through low, level grasslands. Other times it wound through deep groves of conifer trees. Farms and small communities were closely spaced along the road. Once, as they rolled easily over a commanding rise, Ember could see ahead to the gently rising and falling grassland dotted with clumps of trees, all gently melting away into a green, grassy haze in the distance. The road ran straight on until it too disappeared in the faraway blur.

  "Am I crazed?" wondered Brek Gorunn.

  Hennet had passed him the reigns earlier at his request. He knew far less about driving horses than the sorcerer, but wanted to give it a try.

  "Relax!" laughed Hennet, who stood behind him. "The horses can sense your tension. Really, you don't need to pull on the reigns so much. The horses know what to do. Only use the reigns in an emergency."

  The dwarf sucked in a big breath and slowly let it out. Sure enough, once he relaxed and loosened his grip on the reigns, the going seemed easier. The horses plodded along, oblivious to his crisis of doubt. He allowed himself a small grin under his beard.

  "Perhaps I am getting the hang of this."

  Hennet watched the dwarf linger for a short time. As each minute passed, Brek's confidence swelled.

  He said, "Go on, sit down, I've got it licked."

  Hennet nodded and turned to find his seat among the other passengers. Ember sat on a wagon bench, facing sideways, one hand propping up her head. Nebin's nose was in his book of spells and his mouth was muttering. Glancing back occasionally, Brek could see that the sorcerer wanted to speak with Ember, but seemed uncertain.

  Hennet finally sat down next to Ember. The sorcerer touched Ember's shoulder and asked if she was comfortable. The dwarf couldn't help overhearing when the two began talking—they were all sitting in the same wagon.

  Ember sighed. She looked out past the slowly scrolling landscape for a second before saying, "Sometimes I lose myself in the moment. I find myself enjoying the scenery, or absorbed in an exercise of my order. I look up and see a cloud that reminds me of something and for a moment I forget the reason for my trip. But when that happens, something else inside me says, 'you can't be happy.' Then I remember what happened to my chapter in Volanth. It comes back to me.

  "They were all my friends."

  She lapsed into silence, and Hennet was silent for a few seconds, as well. Brek glanced back and
saw that the sorcerer was fumbling with his cloak.

  Finally, Hennet said, "I'm sure I don't know what you're going through. But, I know that with enough time, things improve. It's getting through until then—that's the trick."

  "Easy to say, hard to bear," said Ember.

  Hennet remained quiet this time. Brek Gorunn mused on what he knew of his companions. The dwarf had known Ember for only the short time he'd worked with the Volanth chapter. She was the stalwart sort, for a human. She had suffered a grievous blow, but showed every sign of pulling through.

  He wondered about the sorcerer. The dwarf expected that Hennet meant well. That was the human way, to "talk things out." Not like dwarves. They drew their strength from personal detachment and from turning inward when things went sour.

  The travelers made good time. The weather remained fine, clear, and cool. With the aid of the wagon, several days of relatively pleasant travel passed. At night they camped along the roadside, drawing up sometimes near other weary travelers. For the most part, they passed only farmers on the road, moving locally between the small villages to sell their produce. They also passed a caravan traveling the opposite direction, a group of sellswords down on their luck, and a company of Peloran brothers, marching across the country, nearly blind from too many adoring glances into the fiery sun.

  In this way, the group finally came to the city of New Koratia.

  New Koratia was built at the intersection of the Duke's Road and mighty River Delnir. Four centuries earlier, the Baron Dammeral, eager for his own lands, broke away from the Kingdom of Soes and founded Koratia as the seat of his government. Dammeral, his government, and even the Kingdom of Soes were long gone, but the duchy of Koratia remained. The city was an important trade hub, ideally situated on those two great thoroughfares. Fortunes were made in lost in New Koratia, but the city continued to grow.

  Hennet drove the wagon up to the open city gates. Burly guards paid them little attention as their rough coach rolled under the stone arch and into town. A wide avenue opened up before them. On it, they merged into the throng of others entering the city, moving down the crowded, sun-warmed avenue.