D&D 03-Oath of Nerull Page 16

  The weight of the dwarf's body slammed the slug down and immediately dislodged it from the gnome. Brek grappled the rubbery flesh that burned his skin wherever they touched. The pair rolled away from the gnome, over and over. The creature screamed and spat its acid, but not a drop touched Nebin.

  Brek Gorunn had saved Nebin's life. The dwarf took consolation in that knowledge as he rolled the demon farther from the gnome, as its acid burned away one of his hands, leaving a smoldering stump of liquid agony. With the one hand that remained to him, Brek strangled the horrid life from the demon's retching, shrieking, child's face—a life for a life, he grimaced.

  Let Moradin be merciful when we meet.

  Like all disciples of Sosfane, Aganon was accustomed to pain, but the blast from the Golden Wand hurt! He brought up his wand once more with shaking hands, then thought better of it. Up to that point he'd imagined the Golden Wand to be little more than a trinket. The realization that it was an item of real power unnerved him and left him badly hurt in the bargain.

  He looked to Sosfane—she hammered Ember to the floor with an incredible aerial kick. It was only a matter of time before Sosfane crushed the Enabled Hand monk. If he ran from the conflict, Sosfane would find him and he would pay for his cowardice. That thought decided him; death here would be easier to endure.

  Again Aganon discharged his wand. Searing lightning struck at Hennet. The sorcerer stood unflinching, as a mountain's summit weathers an electrical storm. This time, however, Hennet swung his wand like a club. When the wand struck Aganon's sizzling bolt, it reversed and streaked back at its caster.

  This isn't fair, Aganon thought as the electricity tore into him.

  His teeth sparked and his eyes burst. Through the pain, a vision of a skeletal hand appeared in his mind, reaching for him. He would have screamed, but the Reaper had his soul.

  Ember launched herself from the ground at Sosfane, eschewing the time it would take to stand. Sosfane blocked the kick and Ember landed on her feet. The cultist thrust one hand forward attempting to clamp it around Ember's neck, but Ember ducked.

  Charged with the combination of the elixir and Loku's Bracers, Ember launched four variations on standard kicks. She solidly struck her foe with bitro cha gee, the twisting kick, then again with naeryo cha gee, the downward kick. She had found a weakness in Sosfane's technique: too much reliance on the hand and fist, and too little on the foot!

  "I have your measure, now. You won't knock me down again, Sosfane," promised Ember.

  "We'll see."

  Sosfane leaped into the air, out of Ember's reach, once more using the dreaded vertical stance.

  She hovered, studying Ember, and said, "Now, it ends."

  Sosfane prepared to descend on her foe like a falling star. Ember remembered the first kick and wondered whether she really could take another.

  She braced for Sosfane's overwhelming kick, but it didn't come.

  Sosfane floated, a dark angel surveying the carnage of the chamber, and screamed, "Where did you run to, rabbit!?"

  Have her eyes failed her? wondered Ember. Then a memory flashed into her mind—Hennet during the final Duel Arcane had bested Aganon with a newly awakened spell of invisibility. She darted a glance over to Hennet. There was the sorcerer, standing over the smoking body of Aganon. He was looking at Sosfane, but met Ember's gaze for a heartbeat. He winked.

  Ember knew the fight was hers. Hennet had turned her invisible.

  Fuming and without a target, Sosfane alighted on the stone floor. Ember crept closer as Sosfane searched the chamber. The silver-haired fiend gasped aloud when she saw Aganon's smoking corpse.

  Sosfane screamed at Hennet, "You should have fled with the rest. That error will cost you, as it has your companions."

  Slowly she advanced on Hennet, still on guard lest the sorcerer cast some spell her way. Ember followed behind, unseen and unnoticed. She knew she could not allow Sosfane to reach the sorcerer—at close quarters, he would be helpless against her martial skill. And Hennet looked drained. Using the Golden Wand required a supreme effort of will. She saw him fumble for his crossbow. Sosfane continued advancing, taunting him.

  "Soon, you'll keep Aganon company, a servant to usher Aganon into the deathless realm of Nerull."

  Sosfane broke into a charge. Hennet got off a single bolt—it went wide—before the evil monk was upon him. He backed up and raised an arm. It was only luck that Sosfane's first kick broke his arm and not his neck. The sound of the crunching bone brought Ember's heart to her mouth.

  Silently, she positioned herself behind Sosfane. Channeling all the remaining power from the magical potion into her hand, she struck a single blow. The strength of the potion and the desperate straits of herself and her friends combined and fueled her strength beyond any force she had known, and maybe ever would again. The sound of her open hand striking Sosfane's spine was thunderous. The black-hearted, rotten core at the center of the Order's disruption snapped backward soundlessly.

  Sosfane was received directly into the kingdom of her evil god.

  With Sosfane's passing, the shadow of her influence departed the temple. Where the shadow fled, those forced to take the Oath of Nerull were suddenly freed. They were left blinking and confused, as if suddenly wakened from an evil dream. In the city above, the vestige of Sosfane's influence melted like ice in the sun. Those who were only lightly touched, such as Elder Kairoth and some few others, suddenly walked easier, as if some burden, carried so long it was forgotten, was suddenly set aside.

  A drawn-out, grating scream reverberated through the chamber where Ember stood triumphant. It came from the sick pool of light where demonic slugs swam in filth. Never clear, the vision faded completely, until only bare stone remained. With the passing of the window to the Abyss, the unclean illumination springing from every stone also dimmed, then failed. The chamber was quickly pulled into darkness, but wholesome, clean darkness was a great improvement.

  From his position on the ground, Hennet groaned, "Are we victorious?"

  All was hidden, without the light of evil illuminating the room. The sorcerer mumbled a simple spell of light—a flickering ghost-flame as bright as a candle answered his summons.

  Ember, revealed in Hennet's light, smiled and said, "We are. Let's see to our companions."

  Grimacing from the pain in his arm, Hennet stood. The small circle of light revealed Aganon, Sosfane, and just at the edge, Nebin's boot. None moved. Hennet and Ember rushed to where Nebin lay sprawled on his side.

  Hennet checked for a pulse and was relieved to find it. He quickly retrieved one of his curative vials. Popping the cork, he dabbed the gnomes lips. Nebin's eyes slowly opened.

  Hennet gave the gnome the rest to drink, saying, "You had me worried for a moment. I should have realized you're too ornery to die."

  The magic was quick to work on Nebin, and he sat up, his bruises fading as Hennet watched.

  The gnome said, "Did we win?"

  Ember and Hennet laughed and Ember replied, "You and Hennet sound as if you have practice with that question. Come, we must see to Brek Gorunn."

  Nebin climbed to his feet. Brushing off his coat, the gnome said, "One of the red masks knocked me senseless, but I could still make out what was going on. Brek knocked the cultist down, but the abyssal child was going to dissolve me! Thankfully, Brek pulled it away, right before I lost consciousness. He saved my life."

  "I'll look," said Ember, and she moved off into the dark.

  A few dozen feet away in the gloom Ember halted, looking at something on the floor ahead. Her body prevented the gnome from getting a clear view.

  In a quiet voice, Ember said, "He died saving you, then."

  "No, it can't be..." Nebin mumbled, stumbling forward. Hennet followed and saw that Ember spoke the truth. Brek had fallen. After his ferocious, grappling struggle with the abyssal child and its flesh-dissolving acids, little of the dwarf remained but bits of metal and hair. The demon, too, was slain, strangled by the dwarf's migh
ty sinews. But the creature's death came at too dear a price.

  Nebin was speechless. Hennet put a hand on Ember's arm, tying to think of something he could say, some condolence he could offer. He had nothing. Ember cast a hand over her face. Though she made no sound, tears of terrible grief rolled down her cheek.

  Brilliant sunlight did not allay the solemn mood in the courtyard. The Elders of the Enabled Hand stood assembled, their heads respectfully bowed. The courtyard, one of many contained in the Motherhouse, was reserved for monuments to heroes of the Order. And so it was offered to accept Brek Gorunn's remains.

  Ember knelt before the small monument to the dwarf raised just that morning.

  "Goodbye, Brek," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

  She rested her hand for a moment on the cold stone, then rose to her feet. Behind her, Hennet stood, his face downturned. Nebin wept openly, clutching Brek's warhammer to his chest. Beyond the courtyard the banner of the Order flew at half mast. A deep bell tolled its grief.

  Elder Kairoth stepped forward and spoke.

  "Brek Gorunn returns to the halls of his fathers. He goes where gold, silver, and acclaim are of little worth, yet here his name shall long be spoken with hushed tones of respect. He died saving his friends from the fury of a beast most fell and the servitors of an evil god. His sacrifice ensured victory and life for his friends. Through their victory, our Order was rescued from a dark influence of secret evil; the death god's plans are laid bare and dissolved. Therefore, forevermore let the name of Brek Gorunn be remembered. He shall be entered in the sacred lists of the Order, and he will stand equal to Bezoar, Loku, and the other sacred heroes of the Enabled Hand. So let it be written; so let it be done!"

  Nebin stepped forward and laid Brek's beloved warhammer across the monument.

  "Well done," murmured Hennet. Ember nodded her agreement, holding the sorcerer's hand. Nebin stepped back, and all assembled regarded the monument until the bell tolled again.

  After the ceremony was concluded, the companions followed the elders into the Motherhouse. They were ushered past lines of respectful novices into the elder's inner dojo. There, each was given a commendation for his part in saving the Order from Sosfane's machinations. Each was also awarded a small ribbon of silk. Elder Kairoth explained that each length of silk contained the strength of the Order woven into it. At need, the bearer could call on that strength in a desperate situation, or when grief grew too burdensome to bear alone.

  All murmured their thanks, knowing the Order was doing them a great honor. But no honor, no matter how magnificent, could fill the hollow they felt in the centers of their chests. Their friend was dead.

  Though the body of Brek Gorunn was gone, his memory remained anchored to the monument. His warhammer was his fiercest weapon and his tool of piety. In it, the dwarf invested much of his thought and purpose. In the years following, it was said that the hammer rang with the clamor of battle if danger threatened the Order, and the Motherhouse of the Enabled Hand was thus always forewarned of the approach of enemies.

  Twelve days later, the three friends met one last time. They sat in the common room of the Cuttlestone, as they had often since Brek's memorial. They discussed many things sitting at this table, including what the future held for each of them. Hennet and Ember had also spoken privately of themselves. Heaping loss on grief, it became clear that he and Ember were destined to part. She wished to remain at the order, seeing to its renewal. Hennet couldn't fault her, but he wished with all his heart that she would join him on the road. Mostly, however, they spoke of their lost friend.

  As the days of the season grew shorter, it was time for leave-taking.

  "Ember, want to reconsider?" he joked, half-seriously. "On the morrow we must go. If you decide against remaining in New Koratia, you know I..." He couldn't continue. She already knew. She reached for his hand, saying nothing.

  Hennet continued, "Nebin and I have long traveled together...he would welcome you as a companion, too. We could look out for each other. There are dangers in the world worse even than Sosfane, I imagine. And there is loneliness."

  Ember shook her head.

  "Dear Hennet," she said, gripping his hand harder, "I would come with you if I could—you know that—but there is much to do in the Order, to rebuild the damage done by Sosfane. I cannot leave now. I have made the only decision I can. I will stay with the Order until it is healed."

  Hennet sighed, nodding glumly. With all their talk, he hadn't expected anything less. When he spoke of Nebin and himself as a team, he suspected that wouldn't last much longer, either. The College of Wizardry in New Koratia held a strong fascination for the gnome. Nebin spent many hours every night, after their talks in the Cuttlestone, reading in the college libraries.

  As if in answer to Hennet's thought, the gnome cleared his throat. Nebin said, a plaintive note in his voice, "Hennet—I, too, must take my leave from your side for a while. I value your friendship more than gold, but I am summoned. The College of Wizardry here in New Koratia offered me a seat in a two-month course of study, 'The Metamagical Principle.' I have to accept, if I wish to advance in my craft. I should have spoken before."

  The gnome hung his head, not meeting Hennet's gaze.

  Hennet looked from Nebin to Ember, and shook his head. He had suspected, but all the words had been spoken, and there was no recalling them. Even he had a task that called him, else he would just stay with Ember.

  Before coming to New Koratia, the winning of the Golden Wand in the Duel Arcane had been his only concern. With the Golden Wand hanging at his belt, new goals and broader concerns moved into the forefront of his mind. A sorcerer born, he couldn't gainsay his spirit of discovery.

  "So, that's it," said Hennet. "Ember, of course the Order needs your strength right now. I apologize for bringing it up again. And, Nebin, you know I won't deny you this opportunity."

  He paused, then continued. "I feel a summons, too. It's my legacy. Something in me yearns for the Far North, where the tribulations of dragons are rumored. Like you, Nebin, I can't resist seeing for myself the truth of my own heritage and power."

  The sorcerer sat back, looking at his friends. Ember was closer than he ever could have hoped, while the gnome was more reserved after Brek's death, yet just as dear. Hennet fervently wished that Ember and Nebin would travel with him, despite his brave words to the contrary. He reflected on the nature of an adventurer, as he styled himself. It was dangerous, and lonely. Though still new to the life, he realized that chance-met companions on the road were the only buffer against solitude. He desperately wished they could stay together, but they each had a separate path to follow.

  So be it, he thought. What was the line the bards sang? "Every good-bye is some tomorrow's hello."