by T. H. Lain
Jeelsen, not quite sure what to make of the dwarf's speech, murmured, "You are so right. Of course, I'll repent."
Without a glance at his men who lay sleeping from Nebin's spell, he turned and trotted down the stone corridor after the others, grabbing his lamp as he passed. The bobbing light dwindled into the distance.
"I don't know why I waste Moradin's teaching on one such as him," Brek Gorunn said. "Incompetence is its own reward—that's another of the Dwarffather's teachings, my friends."
The dwarf laughed, uncocking his crossbow.
Ember rejoined them before the door, stepping carefully over the sleeping forms, and said, "A swift fight—a good omen, I think. Let's continue. These louts can take their chances here after sleeping off their poor decision."
"Should we interrogate one of the sleepers," asked Hennet, "to see if they know anything about the temple?"
Ember paused, her brow creased. She shook her head. "No, I'd rather they continue to think we're tomb raiders like themselves. We can't kill them in cold blood, and I'd hate to let them know our purpose in case they get ahead of us and give warning."
He nodded. She was right. He didn't kid himself—at this point, he'd find it hard to disagree with her, no matter what she said.
"We just scared off a roving band of brigands without taking a bruise!" exulted Nebin.
Hennet grinned and said, "We do make a good team, don't you think, Ember?" He glanced at Ember, smiling. She winked back. Then they readjusted their gear and moved on.
Ember felt they were close. Brek Gorunn confirmed it. His dwarven instincts concerning stone and the earth seemed supernatural, they were so finely tuned. Even some of her own abilities, and certainly those of her teachers, verged on and sometimes crossed the line from ordinary to extraordinary, Ember reflected.
But the passage Brek led them down was blocked by water. She watched Brek, wondering which way he'd point them next. The dwarf was baffled.
"The map indicates clearly that this is the fastest way," he said. "If we have to backtrack, we'll lose hours!"
The stone walls of the tunnel opened up on either side into what seemed a natural cavern that was far larger than the lamp's small circle of illumination. The floor descended to the edge of a subterranean lake. Its water was so perfectly still and so inky black that it looked almost like a gigantic mirror laid on the floor. The sound of splashing, however, indicated that somewhere in the distance, the water was moving. Of more immediate concern was a glimmer of green light twinkling out on the lake. In the gloom, it was impossible to judge the distance from the shore to the unidentified light.
Ember edged down to the pool. Something caught her eye on the left side of the cavern.
"Brek, please bring the lamp down here."
The dwarf obliged. With the light, Ember spied a slender stone ledge running around the side of the cavern. It was close to the water and difficult to see. At the near end the ledge was only about two feet across, and the edges were partly crumbled. Whether it continued on that way for its whole length was anyone's guess. It was the only way forward. The dwarf had not steered them wrong, and Ember clapped him on the back.
"This way," she said. "I'll go first, then Brek with the light. Hennet and Nebin bring up the rear—Nebin, watch behind. We don't want to be surprised out on this catwalk."
The gnome gulped, nodding.
Silently, clutching at the rocky wall to the left, they went in single file along the ledge. Indeed, there were many places where the path was crumbled nearly to nothing. Luckily, the gaps were small enough that a single step was sufficient to get past, even for the gnome. Ember wasn't worried about herself here. It was Brek Gorunn, with his broad shoulders and heavy armor, that caused her concern.
Splashes echoed again across the lake. A quick check behind confirmed that all her friends were accounted for.
From the rear, Nebin whispered, "Now don't tell me you all didn't hear that?"
Ember cocked her head and heard another series of splashes. A sad melody sounding like a flute wafted out from the cold darkness behind them.
"Oh, shards!" yelled Nebin. "It's been following us. Go, go, go!"
So saying, the gnome tried to worm his way around Hennet and nearly knocked both of them into the still water.
"Nebin, if you push me in so help me...," began Hennet.
"Quickly!" hissed Ember from the lead.
Following her own command, she turned and redoubled her earlier pace, praying the dwarf suffered no misstep. If he fell, he'd be lost. Now was not the time to mount a water rescue. She didn't want to meet that hideous, tentacled thing again, and especially not while trapped on a ledge.
They all followed her, and so, too, did the fluting. Ripples, as of something moving out on the lake, began washing against the foot of the ledge. The fear she remembered so clearly from the nightmare at the crevice clawed anew at the edges of her mind.
The path opened into a larger space, and Ember rushed forward from the ledge, gasping, looking for any avenue of escape. The others were close on her heels and had the same thoughts in mind. But the space seemed only a cubbyhole, a room-sized niche in the side of the cavern.
Somehow they all spied the alcove at the back of the landing at the same time and rushed forward. To their horror, it was not a pathway but only a small, dead-end hollow space. The only way out was to continue around the lake on the ledge, and that meant more of the horrid fluting.
Besides the horror of the tentacled thing, Ember had been keeping one eye on the green light. They were noticeably closer to it now. In fact, it was close enough that she could see its glow reflected off the damp stone walls of the cavern.
Suddenly the light dimmed to nothing. Ember realized that something must have blocked the entrance to the niche, trapping them inside.
Tentacles wavered toward them in the small chamber, twitching in time to that hideous, unnatural fluting. The sound was utterly devoid of life, like the voice of death calling in the night. It seemed to come from a void, and it beckoned them to its realm beyond terror.
Ember believed her last, desperate hour had arrived. She moved forward, uncertain what she could do against such a creature, but preferring death to torment. Beside her, Brek Gorunn held forth his warhammer, praying aloud to Moradin for the strength to prevail against such unholy might. Nebin pointed his trusty wand at the blot of evil, his face set and grim. Hennet drew the Golden Wand, his eyes steely.
Ember inched forward.
Interlaced with the ghastly music, she suddenly heard a voice.
It was an inhuman sound created by the lilting tones, and it said, "Give back what you have stolen." Ember hesitated, confused.
Nebin squeaked out, "We haven't stolen anything! Leave us be!"
The mass filled all the opening and bulged inward. The music swelled, and with it the voice.
It said again, "Give back. Give back what you have stolen. The Door of Midnight swings wide, unless the thief returns the key."
Her voice shaking, Ember asked, "What did the thief take?"
A dozen tentacles wormed across the cramped space as the voice said, "The horn blade."
"The unicorn dagger!" cried Hennet as he yanked the gleaming blade from his belt. He flipped it through the air toward the monstrosity. "Take it!"
Darkness converged on the dagger, hiding it from view. The moment the weapon disappeared, the music died.
A final note whispered, "You may go," then silence returned.
The darkness receded from the lantern's glow like a physical creature. Perhaps it was. When it was gone, so was the dagger.
Ember breathed heavily. Perhaps her last battle wasn't upon her after all.
She smiled tentatively and said, "Was that a good omen?"
Everyone laughed, the tension broken. Nebin cast himself on the floor in relief.
"Perhaps we were wrong about that fellow we found lying near the door," said Hennet. "I guess that dagger wasn't his, though we found it near h
is remains. He must have taken it from some tomb or reliquary. Perhaps from beyond that door—could it be the Door of Midnight? If it wasn't his, it wasn't mine to take, either. I hope we returned it to its rightful owner."
Ember placed a hand on both of Hennet's shoulders, facing him. "I'd say you saved us."
Hennet took one of her hands in both of his and held it. His touch was firm, dry, and she treasured it.
"Not to interrupt this moment," said the dwarf, "but we're close to the center." Brek Gorunn stood at the edge of the niche where the creature had so recently been. He looked out across the water and the faint, green trail glimmering like a path to the nearby glow. "The green glow just ahead could well mark the porch of the revived temple."
"Whether it does or doesn't, I need to rest," said Nebin. "I've had as much as I can take in one day. If we're so close, let's rest a while, then go on at full strength afterward."
Brek nodded. "I can barely think, for memory of that fluting sound. That music will haunt me for years."
He looked at Ember, who mentally recounted the hours that had passed since they entered the catacombs. Everyone had sustained bruises and cuts in the fall down the chute. The mages had nearly exhausted their spells along the way and needed time to rest if only to refocus their energy. Ember was tired simply from so many hours of walking through darkness at high alert. Their narrow escape from the tentacled monstrosity had earned them a rest.
"Set camp," she said.
Their narrow sanctuary was bare of any adornment, debris, or other clues to its original purpose. For now, it served as the perfect shelter. Bedrolls and provisions were retrieved them from packs. Ember's mat had seen better days, but she still found it comfortable; she'd slept on much worse. Brek set the lantern in the corner, refilled the oil, and turned the wick low. Ember realized that she had come to regard the lantern and its welcome light almost as another member of their group.
Brek Gorunn volunteered for the first watch. He sat on the floor, near the alcove opening, humming dwarven chants under his breath. Ember tried to sleep, lulled by the dwarf's murmuring, the glimmering shadows thrown by the lamp, Nebin's snores, and Hennet's deep, easy breathing.
Hennet started suddenly awake—had someone tapped him? It was Ember, waking him for his turn on watch. The dwarf and the gnome were bundled in their bedrolls along one wall, turned away from the light of the lantern. Ember sat near him. The sorcerer sat up and yawned.
"All quiet?" asked Hennet sleepily.
"All quiet," confirmed Ember.
She watched him, her eyes hidden in shadow, but with a small smile touching her lips.
"Great. I'm good. I'll wake Nebin in a few hours. Get some sleep."
Ember nodded, but said, "I'm not sleepy. I've been meditating as I sat here, so I'm rested. I'll keep you company during your watch, if you like."
"I'd like nothing better!"
"Good. Perhaps you and I can talk a little."
"About what?"
Ember mused, then said, "I thought perhaps you could tell me more of your past journeys. I'm still curious about Nebin and the 'red lever' you referred to last night in the Cuttlestone."
Hennet laughed quietly, absurdly pleased she remembered his words. It seemed as if he had spoken them weeks ago. He pulled a wine skin from his pack and shared some with Ember. The stone where they sat was cold, and the wine helped warm their backsides, or at least it seemed so.
Hennet began, his voice a bit hoarse at first, "Well, it's a silly story after all. An alchemist known to both Nebin and I asked us to visit him in his home. He wanted our help on a certain matter of enchantment. The details are unimportant. The moment he left us alone in his laboratory, Nebin began riffling through things. That's when he found the lever. I knew right away what he was thinking, and warned him off. Of course he wouldn't listen. The next thing we knew, we were being chiseled out of an alchemical preservative. Two weeks had passed in the blink of an eye as we stood frozen in place. Nebin dumped a full load of the stuff on top of us. We're lucky neither of us suffocated."
Ember laughed quietly. Hennet wondered at her sudden closeness. He stopped himself from jumping to conclusions. Just because they were finally alone, and Ember chose that moment to make small talk—well, what of it? Likely she just wanted to talk, as she had indicated. But where his head insisted on reading nothing into the lamp-side chat, his heart had an entirely different interpretation.
When Ember drew close, kissing him on the lips, he knew his heart was right all along.
The lantern's light revealed her face a lighter shade against the dark stone walls behind her, but not so dark as her hair. Her eyes were as bright as stars.
"We have a little time," she whispered.
Nebin felt enlivened after the rest, ready for anything.
He snapped his fingers, laughing, "I'm even ready for another flute-playing phantom."
He chuckled, waiting for Hennet's censuring look, disapproving of his over-exuberance. But Hennet and Ember were paying attention only to each other, not to him. He decided he could grandstand later, when his audience was ready to appreciate his wit.
When camp was struck, they again moved out on the narrow ledge. The vast cavern remained dark but for the emerald beacon. The black water was perfectly calm. They continued their interrupted journey on the ledge that seemed to circled the water. Nebin felt much better when they finally reached the green radiance.
The light gleamed from the mouth of a tunnel that opened on the lake. The gnome estimated the tunnel was roughly opposite from where they'd entered the cavern. Water from the lake encroached the corridor, but it was shallow enough for them to splash through.
The pale glow seeped from the very stone like condensation, beading the walls with motes of sick radiance. Black water lapped on the floor of the corridor, still and fetid. He could hardly bear the stagnant stink of it as they trooped forward. Thankfully, about thirty paces in they arrived at the tunnel's terminus. An iron door blocked the passage. Disturbing scenes were welded onto the door's face, which Nebin avoided looking at too closely. The skull and scythe symbol of Nerull was welded into the very center of the door in raised relief. A dark gemstone gleamed dully in one eye socket, but the other was hollow. No keyhole or pull ring was visible on the door. Nebin realized that this was probably the back entrance to the revived temple of Nerull, the Reaper of Flesh.
"No one has come this way in a long, long time," said Brek Gorunn. "I doubt this water has stirred in years. I think we've achieved the surprise we sought."
Nebin sloshed forward, sending small waves to ripple through the pool. He was glad to find the water shallower near the door. He pushed up his goggles and squinted at the relief-carved skull.
"Is the skull important?" wondered Ember.
Nebin wondered the same thing. "What kind of gem is that, do you think?"
He reached out, tapping it. Nothing happened.
Brek Gorunn said, "Nebin! Be careful, will you?"
Nebin nodded, half listening. "Sure...Say, maybe this is some sort of key."
He touched the empty socket, and the dwarf's intake of breath was audible. Again, nothing happened.
The gnome scratched his chin.
"Maybe pull the other one out?" ventured Hennet.
Brek Gorunn glared at Nebin, stroked the head of his warhammer, and said, "Or, if we're just going to poke and prod our way into every trap and alarm along the path anyway, I could save some time and just hammer the door off its hinges."
Ember shook her head and said, "Before we start getting on one another's nerves again, lets try a few simple ideas. For instance, why is one eye socket hollow, but the other filled?
"Try this," she continued. "Put something in the hollow socket. A small gem, like the other, perhaps." So saying, she reached into an inner pocket in her vest and drew out a small gemstone. "Agate. Not too valuable, but maybe worth a shot."
The monk tossed the stone to the gnome. Nebin caught the agate, examined
it briefly, then pressed it into the hollow socket.
Nothing.
Brek Gorunn grumbled, "Is the beard-tangled door even locked?"
"That's a good question," admitted Nebin.
He pushed on the door.
A faint, emerald glitter woke in the skull's stone eye. They heard a click, and the door began swinging silently open. Ember and Brek both looked at Nebin in surprise. He realized he may have been premature. Slightly embarrassed, he snatched the agate back from the skull and slipped it into his coat pocket as the door opened wide.
"Be ready!" whispered Ember.
She fell into bahng ah jah se, the right guarding stance, and watched the opening widen. The time for subtlety was reaching an end. Nebin scuttled back from the door, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.
"Is everyone ready?" she whispered.
She looked to Hennet first. The sorcerer flicked his wrist, and the Golden Wand fell easily into it, promising potent electrical displays. Brek produced the oil he'd purchased at the Wizard's Hoard and poured it over the head of his warhammer. The weapon absorbed all the oil instantly, then glimmered with a dull, inner light.
Bright light spilled from the room beyond. Ember blinked as her eyes adjusted to the powerful illumination.
The chamber beyond the door was expansive. The ceiling rose smoothly into a dome high above the floor. Virulent emerald light pulsed through the mortared stone walls and played lewdly over the signs and figures carved on them. Lambent rivulets of radiance gathered and flowed down the walls, creating a shallow pool of brightness in the center of the floor. Within the pool of light, things moved—familiar, sluglike things. They lay in the light as if bathing, and perhaps they were. Their high, piping voices cried rhythmically to the cadence of the pulsing illumination. They were ghostly, however, insubstantial, as if they were not entirely real, or not entirely...there.
People stood silhouetted against the glowing pool, partly occluding the writhing forms. Two of the figures were covered in funerary wrappings—they were undead. Only one figure was female—a silvery-haired woman wearing a hooded, skull-encrusted cloak. Perhaps it was Sosfane, the mastermind behind all their recent woe. Several men stood nearby, dressed in loose robes and wearing red half-masks. Cultists, she realized, and probably all trained in the way of hand, foot, and fist.