by T. H. Lain
One of the men wore no mask, and his face seemed familiar. The memory flooded back to Ember—it was Aganon, the man Hennet defeated in the final round of the Duel Arcane! She looked back and saw similar recognition come to Hennet and Nebin.
Brek Gorunn's plan to come upon the temple from the rear worked better than she could have imagined. Unless she missed her guess, they'd stumbled into the heart of the revived temple. Better yet, their arrival hadn't yet been noticed. She decided to wait. The worshipers would likely disperse after the ritual's conclusion, and it would be better to attack them separately, rather than all at once.
The woman in the hooded cloak spoke, raising her voice as she chanted, "By your beneficence Great Lord of the Night, Reaper of all Flesh, Foe of Light, Hater of Life, and King of Death Renewed, accept this sacrifice. Send us your voice to walk among us again, so that we might know your will fully and act with your grim blessing."
The mummies groaned their agreement, while Aganon and the red-masked monks repeated, "With your grim blessing."
The piping of the creatures caught in the light intensified. One of the half-slugs began shaking. Its ululations reached an ear-splitting pitch. As if flicked by an unseen giant's finger, it tumbled out of the pool of light, leaving a slick trail of slime along the stone floor. Unlike the shadowy forms left behind, this one was now all too real. The death god had sent its gift in the form of an abyssal child. And unless Ember's eyes were deceived, the abyssal child was larger than the one they had barely beaten on the road to New Koratia.
The creature sniffed with its horrible infantlike head, then swiveled its body. Its eyes locked onto Ember's and she knew their secret was discovered.
The creature screeched in a demented little girl's voice, "Nerull commands the death of those who look upon these proceedings. They defile this unholy temple, who have refused his oath, who have not received the sacrament of Nerull."
The time of waiting and watching was past. It was time for battle.
The silver-haired woman called loudly, "Intruders in the shrine! To me, my loyal monks!"
With a flick of her hand, she discarded her cloak. Beneath it, she wore a belted half-robe, loose pants, and sandals. Terrible figures were tattooed into her skin. Her eyes shone with vicious intent, fixing on Ember.
"Sosfane?" asked Ember.
The woman slowly smiled in acknowledgement.
"Ah, another monk from my old Order, come to take the Oath? Too late! You should have joined earlier. Now I can offer you only death."
"We rooted out your influence in the Enabled Hand with Vobod's defeat," replied Ember. "We're here to finish the job at the source. Your minutes are numbered, evil one."
Sosfane scoffed. "Your meddling has cost us time, nothing more. Soon enough, the Enabled Hand will return to the fold. This time, they will do Nerull's bidding forevermore." She motioned to the red-masked monks and cloth-wrapped mummies around her. "Kill her, my cenobites. Kill them all."
The undead grunted and lumbered forward, their hands extended and grasping. The red-masked monks grinned and fanned out as they advanced.
Brek Gorunn dashed past Ember into the chamber. He should have charged seconds earlier, before the summoning was complete, but it was too late for should-have-dones. Once in, he stopped short, holding his warhammer over his head.
He called out, "Give way, husks of the once-living! Turn your faces and be destroyed!"
His hammer blazed with golden light, temporarily washing out the greenish glow all around him. One of the creatures barely noticed the holy command and moved in to batter the advancing dwarf with fingers stiffened into a permanent claw. The other mummy, however, puffed into a thousand motes of dust, instantly obliterated by Moradin's holy influence. The dwarf yelled triumphantly, even as the remaining mummy swiped at him with a withered hand.
Brek fell back—he knew that the touch of these animated monsters carried a foul, rotting disease. He saw the corpse's face, partly hidden beneath centuries-old funeral wrappings, open its mouth and exhale a puff of rotten air into his face. He stumbled back another step, but as he did so he raised his warhammer with both hands.
"Be dead, damn you!" screamed the dwarf.
His hammer crashed down on the creature's head. The mummy's empty, dried skull shattered to pieces, leaving only tattered wrappings above its shoulders. But the corpse kept clawing at him, groping for chinks in his armor. Brek knew that the fight could only end with either him or the mummy truly and completely dead.
As its dead hand blindly reached for him again, Brek swiped the warhammer sideways against the desiccated creature's elbow. The forearm broke away and hung by the wrappings. A succession of quick blows reduced the stumbling creature to a heap of feebly twitching bones and wrappings.
Ember zipped after Brek. She was glad for the dwarf's influence over the undead, but she wanted to deal with the monks herself. Without thinking about it, she selected an advancing red mask and ran at him full speed. Even among those of equal talent in the Order, Emher was known for her speed. Before her enemy quite knew where she was, she was hammering him with shi kune. He gasped and collapsed, but his friends were already drawing their net around Ember.
She jumped away from the first monk and whirled on the others, slipping between the sweeping hands of a scythelike strike. A back-kick tapped that man's head, sending him reeling. Two others closed in, spinning their own lethal kicks, but she rolled between them. A second later she was up and outside the broken ring. Two out of seven were dazed and stumbling.
Ember was barely set in her stance, bahng ah jah se, before three of the monks were on her. They tumbled forward in an impressive display of martial threat. She did not retreat; instead she leaped straight in the air at the last moment, scissoring her feet in a sharp arc that connected with the heads of two men. Using their heads as steps, she launched a spectacular flying elbow-strike against the third. The crack of her hardened joint against his skull dropped him instantly.
Two of the seven remained on their feet. The man she had attacked first with shi kune also was struggling back to his feet, but the others were clearly done.
From behind them, Sosfane yelled, "Get her, or your ineptitude will doom your souls before Nerull!"
Steeling themselves, they advanced. Ember smiled and crooked a finger.
Hennet stood half in the chamber, gazing in awe at Ember's martial display. At this rate, he thought, they'll all be dead before Nebin gets up his nerve! Then he noticed Aganon. As Sosfane angrily ordered her monks forward, Aganon's gaze narrowed on Hennet, and the sorcerer glared back.
Aganon smirked and said, "Small world, no? I told you I would have my revenge. Now, I can simply kill you. Rules won't protect you here. I'll have the Duel Arcane trophy in the end."
He drew a pale wand from his shirt. It was thin but jagged, like a stylized bolt of lightning.
Hennet said nothing, but held forth his own wand. It was golden, and its light was not tainted by the evil illumination of the chamber.
"Another duel, then," the sorcerer said. "It will end the same way, except today you'll be losing your life along with the match."
Aganon sneered and brought up his weapon. The battle of wands was joined.
Nebin decided that Hennet could deal with Aganon; he had once before, after all. Brek was the one who needed aid. As he demolished the second mummy, the abyssal slug was already bearing down on the dwarf. Nebin raised his hands to fling a spell at the slug when three more red-masks sprinted into the chamber. All bore themselves like monks and moved to join those menacing Ember. She was already outnumbered, so Nebin turned to face them instead. He had to neutralize all three of them somehow. The gnome reviewed his magical arsenal.
When in doubt, stick with what you know, he decided.
Nebin gestured and uttered arcane syllables, manifesting a twisting pattern of subtle, shifting color directly in front of the red-masked men. One cenobite ran through it without noticing, but the other two stumbled to a
stop, staring in complete fascination at the pattern.
I've snared you, you bastards! Nebin exulted.
He concentrated on the pattern, weaving it with new variations of color and complexity. The combinations thrilled him. A few greens, some purple. It was a sight to behold.
The red-mask who hadn't stopped hesitated when he found himself suddenly alone. Glancing around, he saw the gnome at the edge of the room. Nebin shrank back, frantically sputtering a spell of shielding as the cenobite charged him. The spell triggered just as a fist rocketed toward his face. Nebin squealed, his magical shield flared blue as it deflected the blow, and the red-mask yelped in pain over his broken knuckles.
"You know not who you face!" roared Nebin, trying to make himself sound intimidating as he groped for a scroll of staying, or his wand, or anything that could disable the attacker quickly.
The cenobite laughed grimly, then swept his leg out parallel to the floor, neatly tripping Nebin. The floor met the gnome's face with a sickening jolt. Nebin scrambled to roll over, and half succeeded before the red-mask struck again.
His hands whirled too quickly for the gnome to follow. Before Nebin really understood his peril, he was struck four times. For him, the battle was over.
Brek Gorunn swore. The damned slug was just looking at him. The dwarf gritted his teeth, anticipating anything.
It piped, "Flee, priest, unless you would die in a place where your pitiful god will not hear your screams."
As it spoke, the creature's eyes flared red. A compulsion washed over Brek Gorunn, pushing him to drop everything and flee to save his life. Gritting his teeth and groaning with the effort, he fought the urge. A cleric of the Dwarffather would not be bested by such a miserable trick! Brek had walked in many deep places of the world and faced real terrors unafraid; he would not run now, demon or no.
A red-mask hammered him from the side; the dwarf barely deflected the blows with his iron shield. Behind the cenobite lay Nebin's crumpled body. The dwarf looked away from the demon slug. There would be time enough to deal with the fiend after he showered the monk with the Dwarffather's "blessings."
The magical oil seemed almost to guide the hammer on its own and multiply the force of its blows. Instead of grasping the weapon by its handle, he gripped the stout leather thong and whirled it like a sling. The shrieking hammer was like a hurricane, threatening death at the slightest, glancing blow. Now it was Brek who advanced and his foe who was suddenly uncertain.
The red-mask impressed Brek with his bravery by deflecting the first three hammer blows, but deflecting a whirling hammer with a hand or elbow has its price. The cenobite tried to regain the initiative with a flurry of counterattacks, only to learn too late that his wrist and elbow were already shattered.
The dwarf growled from beneath his beard, "Your death god is weak!"
He pounded the sentiment home by bashing the man's face with his shield. Its clang against his skull was the last sound the cenobite ever heard.
Brek spun around, wondering where the abyssal child had gone.
Three cenobites lay senseless at Ember's feet. Three more maneuvered to renew their attack against her, calling out instructions to each other as they circled. Behind them, Sosfane watched, her eyes glittering. Ember had no time to wonder why Sosfane waited. The three cenobites rushed her with perfect timing.
Defiantly yelling, "For the Hand!" Ember pivoted on her heel and thrust her palm into the first red-mask's neck.
Cartilage parted under her ferocious blow. Someone clubbed her but she feinted away, drawing her attackers on with her movement. Doubling back with a cartwheel kick, she caught a second under the chin. The impact was enough to hurl him backward, unconscious.
The last monk paused, taking stock, as Ember completed her cartwheel. More cautious with his own safety than his former compatriots had been, this one adopted a defensive posture. As Ember advanced, the cenobite retreated, step for step. Reluctant to expend time she might not have, Ember coiled her body, then thrust herself forward with both her fists out and together. Her full-body blow caught the last cenobite squarely on the chest. Ribs snapped, and the man fled, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.
Then there was only Sosfane. Ember knew that her friends still fought all around her, but it was the cult leader who represented the real threat.
She called out, "Are you afraid to face me, witch?"
The silver-haired woman smiled as she said, "You are a prodigy of my old Order and Kairoth's student. I'll enjoy killing you."
The sentence was barely complete when Sosfane leaped a dozen feet through the air like a bolt launched from a crossbow. A lethal high kick was aimed directly at Ember's chest. It would have struck her down if not for Loku's Bracers, which of their own accord, lifted Ember's arm and deflected the attack! Ember looked into her foe's eyes from a distance of barely a pace.
"Your order? The Enabled Hand never trained a foul creature like you!"
Ember kicked twice; both attacks were met by the woman's flashing wrists.
Sosfane lauughed and said, "I was a star pupil! Kairoth himself taught me the Order's most guarded techniques. The old fool didn't know I was also learning the secrets of the death god, Nerull! I reopened this temple years ago. Since then, I've been bending members of the Hand to Nerull's will, a few at a time. Some had to be forced, but not all. You would be surprised at how many were keen to join."
As she spoke, her hand crept into her sash. It lashed forth holding a small kama, its daggerlike blade tipped with a reddish liquid.
She jabbed at Ember, but the monk flipped back and kicked the kama from the tattooed woman's hand. It clattered to the ground, far out of reach.
Breathing hard, Ember exclaimed, "No one by the name of Sosfane was ever trained in the Order!"
"Adeva Silverhair was the name I used," said the woman, raining a flurry of blows on Ember. "But I am Sosfane, a disciple of the death god. "And when I've killed you," she gloated, "I shall feast on your flesh, in Nerull's name!"
They were upon each other again, trading blows, kicks, blocks, and throws too swiftly for any eye to follow. Training and instinct guided their hands and feet.
Ember stood toe to toe with her nemesis, and she knew Sosfane was beating her. Despite all her skill and noble purpose, Sosfane was simply more excellent. She was not really hurting Ember, yet.
Both knew the forms, the attacks, and the defenses. When Ember struck with shi kune, the stunning fist, Sosfane countered with makee, the blocking fist. Ember's yup ju mok, the hammer fist, was defeated by Sosfane's pal moke makeei, the outer forearm block. Ember could find no way past Sosfane's defenses, and her own were likewise impenetrable. But Ember was growing tired. She had already fought seven men before facing Sosfane.
Again they drew apart for a heartbeat.
Sosfane said, "You are a high student of the Order, but your skills are stagnant. Nerull could teach you more...as he taught me."
Sosfane seemed to levitate into the air for a moment. Ember gasped—it was soo jik so gee, the vertical stance! This was far beyond her own skill—maybe even beyond Elder Kairoth's.
Sosfane unfolded from her superior aerial position, striking out with the side of her foot like a tornado brushing the ground. Unable to block, Ember took the full force of the blow. She tumbled and fell, feeling crippling pain shoot through her.
If there was ever a time for a hero, she thought, that time was now. Ember slipped a hand into her tunic and pulled out the vial she purchased at the Wizard's Hoard. She pulled the stopper with her teeth and gulped down the magical elixir.
At the liquid's first touch on her tongue, confidence coursed through her limbs and renewed strength pulsed in her hands. The sensation of power exceeded anything she could have imagined! She noticed that even Loku's Bracers pulsed with white light, in tune to her heartbeat. Somehow, the bracers were enhancing the effect of the elixir, and vice versa.
She slowly stood, and said, "Let's begin again."
&
nbsp; Sosfane obliged.
Aganon was faster than Hennet. A blast of jagged light issued from the tip of his wand, searing toward Hennet with electrical fingers. Hennet held forth the Golden Wand. Its yellow glow intensified. With a clap like thunder, the golden light absorbed Aganon's electrical bolt. The wand sizzled and sparked in Hennet's hand, filled to capacity with its meal—tiny jolts of electricity discharged, stinging the sorcerer's hand. Hennet was thrilled.
He bore the pain from the sparks with a smile. After all, without his trophy, Aganon's first bolt might have simply killed him. Hennet could feel the force of the lightning bolt trapped within his wand. It raged like a caged beast, straining to break free.
Hennet mentally grasped that energy, molding and shaping it. This was not something he could normally do, he knew, but a power granted by the wand. When it was ready seconds later, he flicked it back at Aganon. This time, a golden beam of energy flowed between the two mages. Aganon tried to dodge, but a splash of golden fire enveloped him. He cried out in pain. Smoke rose from his clothing and his skin was charred, but he stood.
Hennet said, "Yield, or I'll burn you to a cinder!"
Brek looked wildly around for the abyssal child. Had it fled? He couldn't find it. Then his eyes fell on Nebin's body. When his attention was focused on the monk, the creature had decided to indulge its hunger on Nebin's defenseless form. Brek could easily see the slug's trail of slime on the floor. It pulled itself upright over Nebin and prepared to douse him with its digestive slime.
That's when Brek Gorunn threw himself bodily on the fiend, screaming, "Back to the Abyss with you, demon!"