by T. H. Lain
Ember shook her head. "And I completely missed it. I took the message at face value."
Kairoth touched her shoulder. "You deciphered the message when you needed to."
The elder continued his story. "That night, there was an attack. Fully ten of the fifteen instructors and three of the quorum of five elders turned on the rest. Vobod led them, though he referred to some mysterious, greater power. I escaped because I was already on my guard from Vobod's earlier theatrics. The attacks were constrained to the instructors' wing—no students or novices were involved. They may not know that the order is now in the hands of a malevolent force."
"How can they not know?" asked Hennet.
"Because the students, while they might be curious about the terrible ruckus in the night, would never dishonor an instructor with questions about things that were not their business."
"Who were the elders you spoke with, Ember?" asked Hennet. He worried to think of her having set foot in the place, if what Kairoth said was true.
Ember shuddered. "Vobod himself. You see, I knew he had lied to me."
Brek said, "Could Vobod's uprising have anything to do with what happened in Ember's chapter? There, it was red-masked cultists who serve Nerull."
"Yes, red-masked cultists who seemed strangely proficient in martial crafts," mused Ember.
"Unsettling. Why is the Order of the Enabled Hand consuming itself from the inside?" questioned Kairoth.
"I'll help you find out," promised Ember.
Brek nodded his aid.
"Kairoth, how did you end up below the city?" asked Nebin.
"Ember and I discovered those doors years ago. The designs I remembered on the entrance to the temple matched the symbols carried by Vobod on his ring. I thought it would be profitable to examine them more closely. I didn't expect to be attacked down there. Had I known that evil was awake in that old sanctuary of death, I would have chosen a safer place for Ember and I to rendezvous."
Ember sighed. "What can we do now?"
"Because Vobod is a respected elder, he can deny any claim we make concerning his illegitimacy," said Kairoth. "It will be our word against his."
Hennet steeled himself and said, "Then we must find out the truth. It is up to us to see justice done."
"Us?" asked Ember. "This is not your fight; you have your duel. You've already aided us more than is right. I feel bad enough for that, though without your help Kairoth could well be dead."
Hennet shook his head. "I'd like to think that we have all become friends. As friends, let Nebin and I help. We have a few days before the final rounds of the Duel Arcane."
Nebin gulped. Hennet shot him a raised eyebrow. The gnome nodded slowly, seeming to agree reluctantly. But Hennet knew that if the gnome really didn't want to help, nothing he did could convince Nebin otherwise.
Ember paused, then said with a glad voice, "We accept!"
She rewarded Hennet with another smile, and Hennet felt his eyes glaze over just a little.
Nebin fixed Kairoth, then Ember, with a penetrating look, and said, "All right, what's the next step? Back down into the catacombs, or do we spy out the Order to learn what Vobod's up to?"
Kairoth said, "Ember, Brek Gorunn, and I were just discussing that very question. I am loath to return to the catacombs so quickly. I believe we should enter the Order in secret, this very night. Perhaps we can learn what motivates Vobod and what foul force is aligned with him. Perhaps, as Brek Gorunn suggested, the cult of Nerull is active in all this, but 1 don't know how. I thought those cultists were all purged and gone. We must find out the truth, and the Order is the place to start."
Hennet said, "But, after all, maybe the old temple truly is the source of the evil. Those unquiet corpses were once in service to a death god, perhaps Nerull. And now that I think on it, what did you mean when you mumbled 'the Oath' as we rescued you?"
Kairoth looked uncertain.
"I vaguely recall it," he admitted, "but it eludes me now. It was something the death priest wanted me to repeat, but I wouldn't do it. All I know is that the words themselves were hideous, ghastly syllables."
Feeling as if he had scored a point, Hennet continued, "Then we should consider going back down there first."
Kairoth shook his head. "You may he right. But my instinct tells me that those unquiet dead are only a side effect. They are not the source of our troubles. They are only a symptom, one that must eventually be dealt with, too. If the catacombs in truth become our final destination, we shall only learn that by dealing first with Vobod."
Hennet couldn't argue with Kairoth's logic. Plus, he was tired.
He said, "If we're going tonight, we should rest. Nebin and I expended much of our arcane strength at the duel, and we need sleep. And, pardon me for saying so, you still look a little pale. It's only middle afternoon now. We could be rested and up again before the night is spent."
"Good," Kairoth said. "We will rouse three hours into the middle night. I will lead us into the Order via a secret route. The Order's traitors are not the only ones who know the ways of guile."
If the red masks or traitor monks somehow detected the intruders, Hennet argued, they could mount a stronger defense by concentrating in a single room, not by spreading into several rooms. As usual, Nebin disagreed and put forward his own theories. When Hennet and Ember left the room to see about getting more cots, Nebin approached the dwarf cleric. Brek Gorunn still sat at the room's one small table, sorting through a small collection of interesting items that included several closed leather cases of the kind traditionally used to protect spell scrolls. The dwarf was cataloging each item in the pile.
"Anything interesting?" asked the gnome.
"Yes," Brek replied. "These are the items we salvaged from the catacomb. As far as I can tell, they bear no taint of evil. We might find them useful. Some bear the imprint of spells arcane. Have a look. They'll do me little good—my power flows from Moradin."
The gnome was delighted. He shuffled through the documents. Many were nonmagical, or at least imprinted with a power he couldn't identify, and covered in an alphabet he couldn't decipher.
"I have no idea what these are."
He handed them back to Brek Gorunn, who rolled and stuffed the parchments into his satchel.
The gnome turned to the other documents. His fingers twitched in anticipation as he picked up the remaining two scrolls. One of his chief pleasures in life was the discovery of new spells that he could pen into his spellbook. He was a collector, and his collection was magic itself. He spread the scrolls wide open, gazing intently at the dancing glyphs. The inscriptions slowly ceased their movement, resolving into an arcane alphabet that was intimately familiar. The first was a spell that would allow one to fall from a great height without taking harm. That, Nebin thought, could be useful, in the right situation. He stuck that scroll in his belt, intending to inscribe it into his spellbook later.
The second spell would cause a creature to grow larger. Though it seemed disappointingly dull, he hated to waste any magical formula. Nebin read through the spell of enlargement again. It was fairly complex, and the more he studied it, the more he realized how much power was subtly woven into the spell. If he called on that power, he could be a giant! Nebin chuckled, imagining casting it on Hennet while he was sleeping, then watching his friend grow so large that he crushed his cot.
That gave Nebin an idea. He tucked the second scroll into his belt, also. Even if there wasn't enough time to scribe the complex spell into his book, he could cast it directly from the scroll. That would destroy the scroll, unfortunately, but it could well be worth it.
Brek, who still sat at the table, said, "You look happy. Has merciful Moradin blessed you?"
Nebin laughed. "Yes, I believe he has, Brek Gorunn. If Moradin wasn't called the Dwarffather, I might consider taking up your religion."
From across the room, Kairoth said, "Moradin is a worthy god, and we in the Enabled Hand have a long-standing relationship with the clerics o
f his order. You could do worse, Master Nebin."
"I suppose you're right," said the gnome, realizing he had a larger audience than just Brek. "So...Elder Kairoth, did you look through these other documents? They are not magical, but I can't read the writing on them. Perhaps they contain additional clues about what's befallen your Order."
"No, pass them over, I'll take a look."
Brek Gorunn, sighing, removed the lot from his satchel and walked them over to the elder. Despite his position, Kairoth's color already seemed better than when Nebin and Hennet returned from the duel.
Kairoth studied the manuscripts. He put aside several, saying, "I recognize the alphabet. It is Infernal, and creatures of Hell itself are said to use these characters in their terrible language."
"By Moradin's Hoary Axe!" exclaimed the dwarf.
Nebin's hair rose on the back of his neck. What were they involved in?
Kairoth looked up and said, "But the alphabet is also used by earthly creatures of ill will, seeking to emulate their masters. I suspect these were penned by a mortal cleric and not a demon. At least, I hope so. I can't read this script, it is too foul a study to take up, but this one is written in Common."
The page he held up was really only a fragment of parchment, its edges lost to time, its script nearly faded to illegibility.
Kairoth read from the parchment,"'...and so every soul to fall like chaff to the blade of the Reaper of Flesh. He that sits in eternal darkness waits at the end of every life, calling back to himself that which he has allowed, for a brief time, to frolic in the light. But the light is fleeting, and darkness eternal...' "
The dwarf glowered and said, "This 'Reaper of Flesh' claims too much. Moradin holds sway over the dwarves and their eternal destiny. This is lying propaganda."
Kairoth shrugged and said, "The text goes on in the same vein. This is a religious tract. Unless I misremember, the Reaper is one of Nerull's appellations. Another clue, but we already guessed Nerull might be involved. We need to find out who is attempting to revive Nerull worship, and why. Most importantly, we need to find out why the Order is involved at all."
"To gain a secret foothold?" ventured Nebin.
Kairoth's eyes widened slightly and he said, "It could be so. Who knows how far their reach already extends, with no one the wiser. We must put down this dark revival, and soon."
The dwarf clapped Kairoth on the shoulder. "Moradin willing, we shall," he said. "We are wise to their scheme, but they know nothing about us. Surely, the floors of the sacred Order groan under their sinful feet, but our footsteps will go unmarked. Tonight, we purge the evil from the halls of the Enabled Hand or die in the attempt. So say I, Brek Gorunn, Cleric of Moradin."
"Wake up, sleepyhead," said the voice.
Hennet opened one eye. Ember regarded the waking sorcerer with a smile. He returned her smile, groping for her hand, but she turned to wake the others. His hand fell back to his side.
She moved from cot to cot, waking everyone with a quick shake of the shoulder. She wasn't blind; she could see that the sorcerer was smitten with her, but his timing was not good. The loss of her chapter was too recent and weighed too heavily. Perhaps after the cult was dealt with, she could reach closure. Then she would consider the possibility of a deeper friendship with the sorcerer. But for now, she could not entertain distractions.
Though he is striking, she thought, with those tattoos and his eastern mannerisms....
The streets of New Koratia at that late hour were still active. The five adventurers on their way to the Motherhouse of the Enabled Hand were just five more late revelers, among the many dozens still out late, seeking some last bit of entertainment before the dawn, only four hours away. They spoke little. The hard, bright stars looked down from on high, indifferent to the antics of the living.
Soon enough they stood in an alley near the Motherhouse. Ember felt a breath of danger on her neck and looked around cautiously. It reminded her of the night-darkened alley where she and Brek Gorunn had been ambushed. It wasn't a memory she was likely to lose. Judging by the way the dwarf clutched his warhammer, Ember concluded that Brek was recalling the same scene.
Kairoth rubbed his hands together as he approached one brick wall.
"A secret passage is here," he said, "but it is mostly forgotten. The younger elders do not know of it. It provided my escape when the Order was beset."
The older monk slowly walked along the wall, one hand trailing across the brick. The dim light from a street lantern threw his shadow along the wall before him.
"Ah, here it is."
A press, a twist, and a section of the wall whispered open.
Brek Gorunn noted in a professional tone, "Fine stonework."
Kairoth pressed a finger to his lips, motioning them to follow with his other hand. The elder stepped through the door into a narrow, dusty corridor. Ember followed him, then Brek and Hennet, and Nebin brought up the rear.
In the darkness of the passage, someone whispered, "Shall I summon light?" Ember recognized Hennet's voice.
The gruff voice of Brek Gorunn uttered a terse, "No." There were a few more seconds of darkness, then light blossomed from a lantern held by the dwarf. "Save your magic for the fighting, if it comes to it."
The narrow corridor ran parallel to the outer brick wall, then made a sudden turn, becoming even narrower, if possible. Ember felt sorry for the dwarf, who was barely able to squeeze along with bis broad shoulders and mail overcoat. Kairoth led them to a small door.
The monk opened the door, revealing a small meditation cubicle. It held a single, flickering candle. Ember realized the door they had just opened into the cubicle was also secret.
She murmured back to the others, "This is a meditation chamber; we must be in the Hall of Meditation. Good news; we are close to the Elders' Sanctum."
Brek nodded, whispering, "The more of the Motherhouse we can bypass completely, the more likely we are to succeed."
"If we can avoid raising a general alarm, all the better. I do not want to fight innocent students," Kairoth agreed.
So saying, the older monk moved into the cubicle and opened the far door. Beyond was a broad hallway lit with golden lanterns, though all were burning on low wicks. Ember and the others followed, one after the other, passing out of the meditation cubicle, which was normally considered large enough for only a single student. Nebin followed Brek into the hallway, and Hennet followed after, closing the door with a tiny click.
Ember scanned the hallway, relieved to see that their entry was unmarked. Sometimes those who couldn't sleep visited the Hall of Meditation late at night to calm their thoughts.
Kairoth looked around and grimaced. "The Elders' Sanctum lies at the end of the hall."
They moved as a group in the direction the elder indicated. Ember recalled walking that very hall when she and Brek first visited the order two days before. A definite air of threat suffused the air, or at least she imagined so. A richly carved set of oak doors stood closed at the end of the hallway. The doors were framed in a matching oak lintel. The last time Ember and Brek passed that way, the doors were open.
Ember cocked her head. "Do you hear that?" Indeed, all could hear the mutterings of many voices in the next room, muted by the stout door. "It is some sort of gathering. I've never known the elders to meet so late."
Ember looked to Kairoth, and the elder shook his head.
"Any elders we see beyond this door are masters in the art of hand, fist, and foot, even if they've been somehow subverted. It would be foolish for any of you to try your strength against them. Leave them to me. Are you ready?"
Nebin brought his goggles down over his eyes and pulled a scroll from his belt. Hennet rubbed his hands together, while the dwarf smacked the head of his warhammer into his other palm.
Ember simply nodded and said, "It is time."
Kairoth pushed wide the door.
Two days before, Ember was heartened by the warm lights and fragrant oils of this chamber. Now
, the ambiance of the reddish lights seemed to suggest only blood.
Four people sat in a circle at the center of the large room. All four wore red masks and chanted in atonal unison. At the center of the circle were two more figures. One was a woman half wrapped in gray strands of fabric, lying face up. She seemed drugged, unaware of her surroundings. Another red-masked figure hunched over her, tightening the woman's wrappings, winding the fabric around her slowly and ritually in time to the chanting. Ember recognized both. The woman being wrapped was Elder Cestra, the other, Elder Vobod! The walls of the room were hidden by silken screens.
Elder Kairoth spoke loudly. "Vobod, your betrayal of the Order ends here."
The chanting ceased as every masked face turned toward the intruders.
Vobod looked up, easily recognizable despite his red mask, and said, "Look here, my fellow adepts. We have more applicants who wish to take the Oath. Welcome them!"
The chanters scrambled to gain their feet. Elder Kairoth didn't give them the chance. With a yell, he leaped spectacularly over their heads and delivered a powerful spinning kick to Elder Vobod. Vobod deflected most of the force with the back of his hand, then counterattacked; he was a blur of flashing arms and legs. Normally, an exhibition fight between two elders was something Ember wouldn't miss. Now, she had to somehow deal with the other red-masked chanters. She hoped there were no elders hiding among them, or the battle was over before it began.
With a rush of feet, the red masks leaped to the attack, one after another.
Ember engaged the foremost, using careful ho shin sul, the self defense techniques of the Order. She was slightly dismayed when the man she faced used a similar, if not identical, technique. A stunning, round-house thunder slap to his neck penetrated his defense before he could counterattack. Ember spun past the collapsing man, looking for more adversaries.
Her breath caught when she saw robes cartwheeling past her and Brek's flank, directly toward Hennet. The sorcerer traced a pattern in the air, then reduced his assailant to a writhing heap on the floor with sizzling bolts of magic. Though the man fell, the momentum of his charge pushed the body to within a foot of the sorcerer.