D&D 03-Oath of Nerull

by T. H. Lain

  "Oh, perfect!" grumbled Nebin, as Brek helped him up from a facedown position in the mud.

  His elaborate coat was sopped and soiled. The others were back on their feet already. The lantern revealed bones of small creatures, cave vermin most likely, mixed in with the mud and water puddles filling the bottom of their prison. Besides the bones of vermin, a lone humanoid skull sat half submerged in the shallow muck. Its presence spoke volumes about the position they had tumbled into.

  "We're lucky this shaft is not half-filled with water," the dwarf noted. "There must be drainage of some sort."

  Brek nudged the skull with his boot.

  "Drainage?" said Nebin. "Who cares? What a useless thing to say...hello!"

  The gnome's rant was derailed, apparently when he noticed large runes on one wall. Brek Gorunn frowned, beginning to feel downright testy. He decided that Nebin was lucky he'd stopped speaking when he did; this was no time to test anyone's temper. Me gave the skull another kick, splashing it across the chamber. He hoped they wouldn't all end up the same as the skull: lost, trapped, starved, and finally dead.

  "What do the runes say, Nebin?" asked Ember.

  "I can't make them out. But I will." The gnome gestured, releasing a pinch of salt into the air from his pouch, and incanted a few arcane syllables. His eyes gleamed with ethereal luminance, and he read:" 'You have chosen the Testing Pit of Lo-Riao. Your arrival here indicates your agreement to be tested. Choose your measure: Test by Strife, or Test by Wit.'"

  The gnome scratched his head and said, "Lo-Riao? Must have something to do with the ancient city."

  The others shook their heads, indicating that they were equally unfamiliar with the name.

  The gnome continued, "There is a miniature hand print under the word 'Strife' and the same under the word 'Wit'."

  The dwarf, beginning to feel herded in a direction he did not care for, said, "Choice? What are you going on about? I choose to get out of this pit, not engage in some ancient guessing game!"

  Hennet noted, "It is unfortunate we left the rope in the crevice of the flute player."

  His timing was bad. The dwarf shot Hennet a lethal look while he formulated a heated retort.

  Ember stepped between them and said, "I'd like the rope, and a dry suit of clothes, and some decent boots, but we have none of those things. The only way we will get out of here is by working together, and by 'here' I don't mean just this pit. Now is not the time to fall on one another with bared teeth."

  "Tell that to the sorcerer," mumbled Brek Gorunn.

  "That's enough, Brek," Ember shot back. "We need your help and your strength, here more than anywhere."

  She was right, Brek knew. Underground, the others were in an alien environment, but it felt like home to him. Not his home, exactly, with slime and fluting monstrosities, but it was a delving just the same.

  "I'm fine, Ember," Brek replied. "It's just that he did fall on me, when we tumbled down that chute."

  Nebin giggled. "You mean Hennet landed on you? I wish 1 had," he added, rubbing his shoulder.

  "I guess I did," Hennet admitted. "Sorry about that. It was unintentional. I grabbed for anything to hang onto as we slid down the chute and got hold of you."

  He looked intently at his feet smothered in the mud. Brek Gorunn coughed, feeling warm under his armor. Apologies, coming from anyone, made him uncomfortable.

  "Forget it."

  "That's better," said Ember. "Now, I am going to try climbing out of the shaft. I'd rather not activate some ancient test about which we know nothing, and trust it to provide our exit."

  Nebin looked defiant but offered no counterargument.

  Ember approached the wall, and Brek sorted through his pack, hoping to find a useful piece of equipment.

  "Too bad I don't have a lifting spell," lamented Nebin. "Once, I had a scroll that granted spiderlike climbing ability, but no more."

  Ember nodded, then shot a glance at Hennet. The sorcerer just shook his head.

  Brek watched Ember trying to find a finger-or toe-hold on the slick wall, but she had little success. The masonry was too well fitted, despite its age. He had been afraid of that—the chamber was well made with strength and solidity. She tried a few running leaps, attempting to reach a higher point along the wall.

  After a few fruitless attempts, she paused, breathing hard, and said, "All right, if we're forced to activate a test, which one?"

  Brek said, "The test by strife," just as Nebin said, "Test by wit, of course."

  Brek paused and glared at the gnome, who had a similar look on his face.

  "I feel we could pass either test," said Ember. "Hennet, your vote decides the issue. What will it be?"

  Hennet mused, "Strife would be the most straightforward."

  Brek smiled, and he reached for the shaft of his warhammer. The sorcerer had a keen head on his shoulders.

  "But," continued Hennet, "we can expect strife and then some when we finally break into the temple. Perhaps we should preserve our strength for that encounter. For that reason, I choose 'wit'."

  Brek Gorunn reevaluated his opinion of the sorcerer's instincts, but stayed silent.

  "Fine," said Ember. "Be ready, everyone. Nebin, please activate the test. Let's hope it still works."

  "And let's hope it is not part of some more elaborate trap," worried Brek.

  Nebin studied the small hand prints, shrugged, and touched one of them, presumably the one below the rune for 'wit,' though of course Brek couldn't read it.

  The skull, the very one Brek Gorunn earlier kicked, spoke. It lay on its side, fetched up in a corner of the shaft. Its voice was harsh, grating, if a bit muffled from its new position.

  "Answer me; be free," spoke the skull. "Fail; remain with me.

  "A novitiate of dread Lo-Riao seeks to enter the Door of Midnight ahead of his time and without knowledge of the secret password. The novitiate observes a master of Lo-Riao pass the door freely. When he knocked, a dread voice behind the Door of Midnight thundered, 'Twelve. 'The master answered, 'Six,' and was allowed to pass. When another master approached and knocked, the voice screamed, 'Six.' The second master answered, 'Three,' and was allowed to pass. The novitiate, emboldened by the pattern he thought he saw, approached the Door of Midnight and knocked. The voice behind the door intoned, Ten!' The novitiate answered, 'Five.' For his failure, the novitiate's essence was absorbed by the flautist who guards the Door of Midnight.

  "How should the novitiate have answered?" concluded the skull.

  After it finished speaking, it lay inert in the corner, empty sockets staring blindly ahead.

  Nebin coughed and said, "I hope all this business about Lo-Riao and the Door of Midnight is secondary to the real answer, otherwise we're in trouble, my friends. I've never heard of either."

  Hennet said, "It is some sort of mathematical trick."

  The sorcerer furrowed his brow as he looked at the inert skull.

  Brek Gorunn mentally ran through the skull's speech. He'd have made the same choice as the novitiate—it seemed clear that the first two masters had simply responded with a countersign equal to half of the number given out by the door. But, when the novitiate did responded with half of ten, the pattern was broken.

  He said aloud, "The pattern isn't half the first number, that's clear."

  Hennet nodded. "Yes, too simple. All this talk of midnight and dread voices makes me wonder whether magic isn't involved?"

  Nebin said, "Maybe Lo-Riao is a god of the ancient city. What if the formula is part of a ritual lost to time? We won't hit upon it by chance."

  "This is a test of wit, not memory," said Ember. "If that's true, we should not look to old rituals and secret numbers, arbitrarily applied, for our answer. There must be a pattern we can puzzle out."

  Brek silently agreed. They sat silent for a while, each trying to work the puzzle according to their own predispositions. Brek wondered if it was simpler than he was trying to make it.

  How many letters are there
in six? he wondered. Three, of course...

  "Wait, I see another pattern!" he burst out. "It is mathematical, as Hennet said first, but it's even simpler than we first supposed. See? How many letters are in the word twelve? Six! And in the word six there are three letters. Those were the countersigns given by the masters."

  "So, if the Door of Midnight gives the sign 'ten'," said Hennet, "the counter-sign must be three; there are three letters in the word ten."

  Ember grinned at the dwarf.

  "Is your answer 'three'?" broke in the skull, suddenly attentive.

  Ember looked around, then said, "Three is our answer."

  The skull said nothing, and the silence stretched.

  The floor below them lurched, then began rising. A haze of dust, loosened from the walls and ceiling, filled the air. The pools of liquid on the floor drained away. The floor lifted thirty feet or more than stopped, just as they all began to worry about the approaching ceiling. At that height, they could see an exit that was hidden from below. It was situated on the side of the shaft opposite from where they had entered.

  "Brek Gorunn, old dog, who would have guessed you're a first rate riddle master?" exclaimed Nebin. "We're out!"

  The methodical exploration of the ancient labyrinth agreed with Hennet. He relished it, unlike his friend Nebin. The gnome declared on more than one occasion his wish to be free of the dark ways. The slow revelation of hidden paths forgotten below the earth, leading to further mysterious chambers, tunnels, tombs, and deeper passages, thrilled his sense of adventure. Danger threatened every step, but of course that was the spice. What was the lost purpose of these ancient halls? Were the delvers humanoid, or did they belong to some older, pre-humanoid species? It was fun to speculate.

  They bypassed a chamber whose ceiling was upheld by statues carved to resemble giant men bearing a great burden. They walked along a hall where corroded metal plates in the ceiling buzzed and gleamed as they passed, but which offered no other clue as to their purpose. They walked through a tiny waterfall that issued from a shaft far above, and drained away through a side passage that led steeply down, possibly to join some sunless sea of myth. Or so Hennet liked to imagine.

  Even now they walked a passage hung with the tatters of time-lost tapestries, Brek in front holding the gleaming lantern aloft. A garble of whispered voices issued from the very stone beneath their feet. When they first heard the noises, the company stopped and thoroughly investigated, but could find no inherent threat. Thus, they walked on, despite the susurrus of voices speaking in tongues long dead on the surface.

  For a long stretch—since the Test of Wit in fact—nothing assailed their passage. Such was the sorcerer's thought when they came to a side door along the passage. Bones of some past traveler lay strewn before the door. Here he had apparently met his end. The catacombs were moist and given to rot, and the traveler's possessions were decomposed, but a dagger still glinted, untouched by time. The nearby door was rent and notched, as if the traveler had spent his last hours desperately trying to force his way through. If so, he had failed in that attempt and died far from light and hope.

  Nebin ventured, "Why do you suppose he wanted to pass this door? Is our way the same, to reach the revived temple?"

  Brek Gorunn looked at the door, then forward down the hall they had been traversing, and said, "My gut tells me this door is not our path. But it conceals something, or so this poor fellow believed."

  "We should open the door ourselves, to see what we can see," broke in Hennet. This was exactly the sort of thing he loved. "Perhaps a treasury, or a library filled with the lore of times forgotten?"

  He threw in the library in an attempt to get Nebin interested.

  "Or a demon bound with spells of somnolence, until disturbed," said Brek Gorunn. "It may be both, or neither, but it is not our quest. Later, we may return when other needs are met. It would be foolhardy to turn aside now, wasting our strength when we will soon have such need of it."

  "Brek Gorunn is right, Hennet," said Ember. She put a hand on his shoulder as if commiserating. Her touch was enough to convince him.

  Besides, he realized the wisdom of Brek's words. "At least let's gather this poor fellows belongings," he said. "We might learn something of his purpose."

  So saying, he retrieved the dagger. He turned it over in his hands, and the others drew close. Beautiful, he thought. The handle was carved to resemble a unicorn, and the blade, its horn. Its ageless appearance suggested preservation only magic could explain. Testing that hypothesis was easy enough—Hennet concentrated on the dagger and felt the answering pulse of enchantment. It wasn't an overpowering response, but it was definite.

  The sorcerer looked up to his companions and said, "This dagger is magical."

  A harsh voice from farther up the hallway said, "Then hand it over!"

  Hennet started, nearly dropping the dagger, as the others whirled around. Farther up along the passage, a band of men appeared, unshuttering their lamps and drawing their swords.

  There were perhaps half a dozen of them. The four in the front, three humans and a halfling, waved swords as they came on, two by two down the corridor. Two elves in the rear held cocked bows.

  Another man, better dressed than the others and standing behind the elves, called out, "The dagger, and your other valuables. We're the Raiding Lions. I'm Jeelsen. If you've heard of us, you know that we are merciful to those who surrender up their wealth to us when asked."

  Brek Gorunn cursed, "By Moradin's overflowing tankard, what are you doing down here?"

  Nebin called out, "Actually, we haven't heard of you, Jellyfish!"

  Hennet elbowed the gnome in the ribs, hard.

  "The name," screamed the brigand, "is Jeelsen! If you haven't heard of us, then know now that while we are merciful to some, to those who give us trouble we are bloodthirsty to the last. Which shall we visit on you? Mercy, or death? Either way, we'll have your valuables. Surrender now and live!"

  Brek muttered, "There must be other entrances to the catacombs besides the one we used."

  Hennet could only agree. At least, none of those menacing them in the narrow hall carried overt Nerullan symbology.

  Nebin whispered, "Who does this poser think he's fooling? Hennet, ensorcel him, I'll take out the rest."

  Ember raised an eyebrow. Hennet knew why; it wasn't like the gnome to be so brash. Hennet studied his friend, and saw the way he possessively clutched his spellbook.

  Brek Gorunn said, "Those archers can do much damage from a distance, while the swordsmen hold us off. Perhaps we should pay their toll."

  Ember looked at the dwarf, then at Hennet and Nebin, and said, "I'm not about to give them Loku's Bracers, the relics of my vanquished chapter. Without our equipment, we would have to turn back from our quest, and there's no way out behind us. I'm with Nebin. We must fight."

  Hennet, never one to back down from a challenge, nodded grimly.

  Jeelsen, seeing their impromptu conference, apparently misread their hesitation.

  He yelled, "Yes, yes, you know I speak the truth. Save yourselves some trouble. Am I answered?"

  Nebin shouted, "You are!"

  The gnome flicked a scroll from his belt and began incanting. Brek unlimbered a crossbow and scrambled to fit a bolt and pull back the crank.

  He yelled, "Watch those archers! I'll peg the swordsmen."

  Hennet's blood beat in his ears. Brek and Ember took the front rank in the narrow corridor, while he and Nebin stood behind.

  Hennet yelled, "You picked your victims badly this time!"

  Actually he had no illusions about his own power and his inexperience in the world, but perhaps his bold speech, backed up by aggressive action, would give the bandits pause. He called up his own power. Magic was in his blood, and he loved wielding it. Giving it a shape and a name, he let go a glittering, ruby ray toward Jeelsen.

  Ember leaped forward, directly toward the swordsmen. Hennet tensed, then gasped in surprise as she deftly tumble-
rolled past them, avoiding their sudden, wild swings. Arrows from the bow-armed elves whined past her spinning form to snap against the wall and floor. Then she was past them, too. Before Hennet quite knew how, she stood next to Jeelsen. The bandit leader recoiled in surprise.

  That was when Hennet's magical bolts struck the bandit leader, sending him gasping and reeling backward. Ember followed up, unleashing a spinning kick that knocked Jeelsen flat. Twin streamers of smoke rose from his clothing where Hennet's spell had hit him.

  Nebin finished his incantation, and the two swordsmen at the front collapsed to the floor, asleep. The four left on their feet wavered.

  Brek Gorunn, who had finally finished cocking his crossbow, pointed at the leading swordsman and said, "Run."

  The archers and swordsmen, seeing Jeelsen prostrate and smoking, ran back down the corridor the way they came. Jeelsen, despite his pain, called after them to no effect. Ember nudged him with her foot, as if to remind the bandit leader of her presence.

  Jeelsen suddenly changed tactics, exclaiming, "Mercy! We made a grave error. Oh, yes, most grave. We didn't know...we didn't realize you were so powerful...please, mercy!"

  Ember nudged the man with her foot again. Hennet saw that by the way she clenched her jaw, she was restraining herself from delivering a stronger blow.

  "Get up," she said. "Wake your men, and leave. If we meet you or any of your men again in these catacombs, or hear of you attacking anyone else, you'll have us to reckon with and we won't be merciful. Do you understand me?"

  Jeelsen rose unsteadily to his feet and said, "I understand."

  Still holding his cocked crossbow, Brek Gorunn added, "Fear makes you agreeable now. When we've gone, remember that we showed you mercy when you deserved none. Seek a new path, or your reward will be ashes in your mouth. Even Moradin may be merciful to the repentant."

  Hennet wondered at the dwarf's sudden sermonizing. It was a tack he hadn't used before. Then again, he'd never fought human foes with the dwarf before.