D&D 03-Oath of Nerull

by T. H. Lain

  Two more menaced Brek Gorunn, each attempting to distract the dwarf so that the other could attempt a killing blow. Before Ember could assist, Nebin rushed forward, one of his hands aglow with frigid lambency. When the gnome's hand brushed one of Brek's attackers, the supernatural charge stopped him cold. A heartbeat later, the dwarf dropped the other with a ringing blow from his warhammer.

  Kairoth and Vobod continued sparring, two blurred forms moving too quickly to resolve. The dwarf howled his cry to battle, attacking Vobod from the rear. Before the dwarf's roar was fully formed, a foot lashed against his neck. The cry choked off and Brek collapsed, unmoving. Ember, on the dwarf's heels, stopped to check on him. He breathed, but his neck was badly crushed. Ember looked up, wondering if she should pull the dwarf away or help her mentor. No decision was necessary.

  With the dwarf as a distraction, Elder Kairoth executed another spin kick. This time, Vobod had no defense. With the sound of crunching bone, Vobod joined Brek Gorunn on the floor. Kairoth stood as a pillar, unmoving, but his eyes danced.

  It was then that a brutish, hollow voice echoed in the chamber. It said, "Elder Kairoth, remember your oath!"

  Kairoth staggered as if punched, then stood unmoving again, but the flames in his eyes were doused.

  "Who said that?" squealed Nebin.

  Ember darted her gaze around, trying to ascertain the same thing. It hadn't been the last chanter. He cowered on the floor.

  A shape burst through one of the screens surrounding the room, tearing the silk into flapping shreds. It was humanlike, yet bestial, half-again as big as a human. Its skin was muddy green.

  Nebin squeaked, "An ogre! Or half-breed?"

  The gnome's voice wavered with uncertainty. The ogre-like monstrosity laughed.

  "Elder Kairoth," it intoned hollowly, "kill the woman! Then kill the rest!"

  Kairoth grunted, his face working hard. Ember looked at her mentor, taking a step back. With a strangled grunt, he faced Ember.

  He whispered, the muscles of his neck straining like wires, "Run!"

  Ember nearly fell. Whatever had happened in the subterranean temple, they had not rescued Kairoth in time. It would have been clear to anyone that Kairoth's will was fighting the magical effect with supernatural effort. To Ember, who knew the mental disciplines behind the Order's training, the struggle playing out on Kairoth's face was a nightmare to behold. If Kairoth could not overcome it, she knew no one could. That would indeed be powerful and frightening magic—and the ogre somehow manipulated it. The monster had to be dealt with, and quickly. None of them would live long if Kairoth turned fully against them.

  "Hennet, Nebin, kill that ogre now!" she screamed.

  She wanted to say more, but Kairoth kicked at her. Another kick, two feints, and then a hammer blow so fast and hard it made the air ring. Ember fell back with each attack, knowing she couldn't fight her mentor. She barely dared to deflect his blows, afraid that even a glancing hit could shatter her arm or snap a wrist. She dodged and ducked, leaped and rolled, anything to stay away from those hands and feet that could strike like hot iron. If she could avoid getting crippled or knocked out, perhaps she could keep Kairoth occupied long enough for the others to eliminate the ogre that drove the monk to attack.

  These were no thoughts in Ember's mind, only instinct. No time existed for thought. The notion had barely formed when a steely fist streaked past her whirling defense. Even as she was lifted from her feet and lost track of the room's orientation, she marveled at the elder's speed and power. How could a human do such feats?

  She smashed backward through a silk screen and slammed into the solid wall behind. The force of the impact sent spiderweb cracks through the stone. Only when she slid down and collided with the floor did Ember realize she was upside down. Darkness's seductive veil tantalized her eyes.

  Ember moaned, rolled onto all fours, and crawled forward. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth, more streamed down her shoulder. She tried sitting up, pulling at the rough stones on the wall behind the screen for support, but her head swooned and up and down rushed together. Her back slapped the floor in a puff of dust. Lying there, she managed to turn her head so she could watch how the others fared without her.

  Kairoth stood unmoving again, his hands squeezing into fists then relaxing, over and over. His face was beet red and sweat rolled across it to disappear into the knotted muscles of his neck. Ember looked for Hennet, then saw him facing the ogre. The sorcerer muttered a few syllables and gestured. A ghostly, disembodied hand appeared above and behind the ogre. The ogre didn't seem to see it—it was yelling something to Kairoth, but she couldn't hear over the thumping in her ears.

  The ghostly hand, moving as Hennet's own hand moved, grabbed a loose drape of silk, one of the sheets torn by the ogre's entrance.

  What's he up to? she wondered.

  With a flip and a shake, the hand flicked the silk over the head of the ogre. The ogre roared and groped for the edge of the cloth. Ember saw Nebin skip forward. The gnome's hand was still charged with icy cold. He reached out and up, touching the creature in the middle of its chest. The ogre stiffened, its head wrapped in the silk.

  It gasped, "Mistress Sosfane, help me! Nerull, preserve me."

  Then it fell. Its heart was frozen.

  Something occluded Ember's view. Kairoth! She flinched back as he reached toward her.

  "Ember, a magical compulsion held me. I am so, so sorry. Please, let me help you."

  He held her hand, and she allowed him to help her stand. Ember groaned. Once she was on her feet, her head cleared quickly.

  With a hand on her mentor's shoulder, she said, "It was only your teaching, Kairoth, that allowed me to evade your attacks for as long as I did. And your last blow, I believe, would have killed anyone not trained by you."

  Kairoth sighed and said, "A blackness fell over me. Something other than my own will directed my actions."

  Ember nodded and vowed silently to keep one eye on the elder. His situation was a topic that required discussion, but it could wait.

  Nebin remained where he stood before the unmoving ogre, breathing hard through his mouth. Ember presumed he was dazed or surprised at his own foolhardiness.

  Hennet pulled a vial from his pouch and went to the dwarf's side. The sorcerer put the vial to the dwarf's lips, forcing him to drink. A gulp, a cough, and Brek Gorunn's eyes popped open.

  Seeing Hennet, he asked, "We are the victors, then?"

  Hennet nodded wearily.

  Vobod and Cestra both lay unconscious. Neither showed any sign of coming around, but they continued to breathe shallowly. After a search of all the defeated cultists and their equipment, the group considered the fruits of their victory. They had collected several mundane rings and amulets bearing Nerull's sign, a few vials of magical liquid that Nebin promised to "keep safe" for later identification, and a single rolled parchment containing a message to Vobod. The message was inked in Common:

  Dearest Vobod,

  Administer the Oath to Elder Cestra. Her unwitting cooperation has been useful, but the time has come to bring her fully into the fold. Our secret is in danger of spilling out. Kairoth has resurfaced. I blame you for leaving him to his own devices in the Old Temple. He should have been brought to me, in the Revived Temple, as I commanded. You will receive your punishment in due course for this lapse. But for now, tend to Cestra. Things come to a head. Nerull's umbral glory is about to shine forth from the flaming pit. Let all fall before the Reaper of Flesh!

  —S.

  " 'S' eh?" wondered Nebin.

  "Perhaps 'S' stands for Sosfane," said Ember. "When we spoke with Elder Vobod earlier, he mentioned someone named Sosfane. He claimed she had been slain, but it's obvious he lied about many things. Assuming 'S' and Sosfane are one and the same, what does she have against the Order of the Enabled Hand? I asked Vobod that question earlier, but he wouldn't answer."

  "It could be that she is simply exploiting a weakness to further her cause," Hen
net mused. "Maybe the Order of the Enabled Hand is only involved because Vobod, or some other elder, proved weak?"

  "Hard to say," Kairoth responded. "We have few facts, and speculation won't lead us to the truth."

  Nebin nudged Hennet in the ribs with a grin.

  "Where is this 'Revived Temple' the note speaks of?" wondered Ember.

  Kairoth shook his head and said, "If anywhere, it is below the city. The duke would never accept a temple to Nerull operating openly on the streets."

  Hennet asked, "Do you suppose it is near where we rescued you, Elder Kairoth?"

  "It may be, though this letter suggests that they are not near each other. Lucky for me, it seems," said the elder with unaccustomed irony.

  "What is our next move? Despite all we have done here, this letter makes clear that we have not rooted out the source of the evil afflicting the order," Ember said, looking to Kairoth for direction.

  "Find the Revived Temple," Kairoth replied. "Then we eliminate it, just as they attempted to eliminate us. We must fight or perish, that much is clear."

  Ember considered. "I concur, except for one thing. I mean no offense, Elder Kairoth, but you have become vulnerable to them, and your vulnerability places all of us in great danger. You could be turned against us again, should you accompany us on our search for the Revived Temple. The same is true of Cestra, and potentially any other monk of the Enabled Hand. As far as I know, I am the only one who hasn't had contact with the Order before a few days ago. The task falls on me."

  "Ember, you can count on me to help," declared Hennet.

  "By the beard of my father, she can count on all of us, of course," agreed Brek Gorunn.

  Nebin nodded. "Right. But lest we forget, tomorrow Hennet and I have one final obligation to fulfill in the coliseum."

  Ember smiled. "Don't worry, wizard. It will take a day or longer to track down the whereabouts of this Revived Temple. Brek has other contacts in town, at the Temple of Moradin. Perhaps they can tell him where to start looking."

  Ember turned to the dwarf, who said, "I will pay a visit to the Dwarffather's temple tomorrow morning, first thing. If there is any activity below the city, temple or not, my kindred here should know of it."

  "Very well," concluded the elder. "I and Cestra will restore order in the Motherhouse as much as we are able. We will also question Vobod when he wakes—under strict guard, of course. Perhaps we can persuade him to tell us where the Revived Temple is located."

  "Revived Temple of Nerull," Nebin pondered aloud. "I don't believe I like the sound of that."

  It was good to be back in the coliseum. Screaming and cheering spectators crammed the stands. They "oohed" and "aahed" at flashy exhibition spells cast by the College of Wizardry staffers to entertain between events. The duel had gone on during Nebin and Hennet's absence, though not for novice casters. The intermediate, name, and grandmaster casters competed, and the stories from some of the individual duels were extraordinary. In fact, Nebin and Hennet arrived in time to watch the final round of the Grandmaster class.

  Nebin sidled up to a judge and asked, "Who's dueling?"

  Without moving her eyes away from the duel, the woman responded, "It's Incanus versus Ronassic. Incanus is a pyromancer from around here. Everyone knows he's started more fires than he's admitted to. Now, they say Ronassic is from a place so far away that miles can't be used as a measure—a fancy way of saying 'extraplanar,' I suppose."

  Nebin nodded, suitably impressed. He turned his eyes to the duel, watching as Incanus hurled three balls of roaring fire at Ronassic. The fury of his attack lapped out of the dueling area, starting secondary fires. Nebin and Hennet were pushed back as the ready crowd shuffled backward several feet.

  Ronassic stood unharmed and apparently unconcerned. Incanus growled out an oath, then called burning magma like rain from the sky. The magma sent the crowd scuffling back even farther, but Ronassic only smiled as the fiery gobs of burning earth splattered down, always missing him. Ronassic screamed in apoplectic fury. A flurry of words poured from his mouth, and where he had been standing now stood a twenty-foot-tall creature of roaring flame!

  Ronassic weathered the attack of the fiery creature without harm, still affecting a lackadaisical, waiting posture. Finally, he raised one eyebrow as if making a comment on Incanus' provincial ways. The crowd murmured loudly in response, and a cheer went up, "Ronassic!"

  The mage shrugged and walked toward the hulking creature of fire. Incanus, suddenly realizing he might be on the wrong track with all the fire, shrank back to his normal size and form. Before he could do more than say, "Oh-oh," Ronassic reached out and touched the cringing wizard. As finger touched sleeve, a sphere of force enveloped Incanus like an eyelid closing. Then, as easily as a stone sinking in water, the sphere fell into the earth, leaving behind only a simple crater.

  Silence reigned for seconds as Ronassic stood looking around as if unconcerned with his display of incredible power.

  Hennet poked Nebin and whispered, "We have a lot to learn."

  When Ronassic was declared the winner, the crowd cheered. Ronassic waved, accepting his accolades with easy grace.

  "Wow. Have you ever seen magic wielded so well? I wish we could have seen the others," complained Nebin.

  He and Hennet were jostled by the press of novices waiting to begin their final round, now that the grandmaster competitions were complete. "Press" was the wrong word—there were only eight novice casters who qualified for the finals. Looking at that small group, Nebin realized how exceptional it was that he and Hennet both qualified.

  Hennet interrupted his thoughts. "Nebin, had we stayed yesterday, Ember would have been without our help. Surely, doing good in the world and helping those in need is worth more than your entertainment?"

  The gnome cocked his head toward his friend. "I want to watch the duel, you want to watch the monk. I don't see a big difference."

  Hennet flushed, embarrassed. "There is a difference."

  Nebin waited for the sorcerer to continue, but Hennet's gaze strayed to the stands. Ember was sitting somewhere out there—Hennet had asked her to attend, and wonder of wonders, she'd said yes. Nebin scanned the crowd, too, but couldn't locate her within the yelling throng.

  Nebin suddenly felt a hand clasping his shoulder—a similar hand clasped Hennet's shoulder. It was Aganon, who had strolled up from behind them.

  Aganon said, "Look at them! All those people in the stands, all of them ready to see who wins or loses today. Really, what they want to see is a little blood, unless I miss my mark. We shouldn't disappoint them, eh Nebin?"

  Nebin shrugged and said, "I suppose if it comes down to it."

  Hennet studied the hand on his shoulder. Nebin shrugged out of Aganon's clasp, wishing he'd been a little less friendly to the human when they first met. Something about Aganon didn't strike him as quite right. Nebin tried to put his finger on it, but all he could come up with was that the man's bravado seemed overshadowed by...insincerity.

  " 'If it comes down to it?'" repeated Aganon. "The crowd demands a show, and I for one am up to that challenge. Those who win the Golden Wand are expected to possess a certain showmanship—a sense of entitlement. And I excel in both areas, as you may have noticed." Aganon chuckled.

  "Well, may the best man win," replied the gnome. "Though you should know that I intend the Golden Wand for myself."

  Aganon's usually jovial facade faded for an instant as he said, "Yes, let the best man win, Nebin, but a word to the wise: Don't hinder me, and things will continue to go well for you. I'm not someone you'd care to upset."

  Nebin's witty response failed to find his mouth. Aganon's quick anger was like lightning out of a cloudless sky and just as disconcerting. The gnome frowned, understanding he'd just been threatened.

  Aganon smiled, the threat wiped away as easily as a hostler wipes crumbs from a table. "But I'm sure it won't come to that. Good luck!"

  He laughed jovially, and moved to stand closer to the edge of th
e arena, watching as another exhibition spell display wound down.

  Nebin turned to Hennet and said, "Now, I call that downright odd. For a second, he seemed about to bite my head off. The next, he was as happy as a cat in a milk barn."

  Hennet, who had watched the entire encounter, said, "He's a snake ready to shed its skin if ever I saw one. Watch him, I say."

  Nebin said, "Don't worry. If luck is with us, he'll lose in the first round."

  "If such comes to pass, then the gods indeed are looking out for us, Nebin," said the sorcerer.

  Hennet suddenly cocked ear and said, "Listen! We're up. Luck to you, Nebin."

  The crowd quieted slightly when the novice final rounds were announced. The first four rounds were called simultaneously. Nebin watched as Hennet was called to face a portly human man in too-tight-fitting orange robes, named Semeel Schniedly. Aganon squared off against a halfling woman in gray who had several short wands strapped to each forearm. Nebin hoped he wouldn't face her wands in the future, but hoped all the same that she would overcome Aganon. Two other mages faced each other, but Nebin didn't catch their names; he'd worry about that if he met one later. He had his own opponent to size up.

  Nebin's competitor was a pale-skinned man wearing yellow pants, yellow boots, and a fine, yellow coat. His hat was likewise yellow, but a red feather was stuck in it. His white beard was neatly tied into many small braids on which arcane charms hung.

  Fabulous Kuzon was the name the judges called. Nebin had to hand it to him—the human knew how to dress.

  "Ready, Fab?" asked Nebin, using the diminutive of the man's name purposefully.

  Fabulous Kuzon shot the gnome a sour look. Nearby, Nebin heard the judges for other rounds give the command to begin. Magical flares sparked over the floor of the coliseum—one nearly blinded the gnome. The roar of the crowd rumbled, and banners of all colors waved.

  That was when their judge yelled, "Begin!"

  The gnome, blinking the light out of his eyes, gestured and uttered words to a spell he considered an old friend. With it, he produced a freestanding pattern of pulsing, flowing, hypnotic lights. Nebin waved his hands, manipulating the colorful swirls to do his hypnotic bidding. He shot a glance at Kuzon, to see what effect his spell was having. If he was lucky, Fab was already staring and drooling like an idiot, but there was no such luck. Kuzon's eyes were closed.