D&D 03-Oath of Nerull Page 6

  Ember and Brek Gorunn joined the sorcerer. The dwarf pointed.

  "See the scratches here, as if something was dragged? Dragged through this archway, unless I miss my mark. Whoever camped here either decided to go exploring, or something inside the 'temple' came out and got him."

  "Him..." mused Ember, her heart beating faster. "You think it was Kairoth?"

  "Who else?" said Brek. "Based on his message, he should be here. Here, we find signs of a camp and an ambush."

  Ember couldn't find fault with the dwarf's logic.

  She nodded and said, "Then, through the arch we go. Be wary."

  Ember strolled over to the arch, but the sight of one of the runes on the door distracted her. It strongly resembled the strange symbol she'd seen on Elder Vobod's ring—a circle with many arrows pointing inward. She hoped it was merely coinci dence. She could do nothing about it except push on.

  Ember worked her fingers into the crack between the cold, wet door and frame and pulled. She had to place her foot against the wall and strain before being rewarded with the sounds of creaking hinges and stone grating against stone, but at last the portal moved and swung wide.

  She looked to her companions and asked, "Everyone ready?"

  Hennet unslung his crossbow. He cranked back the mechanism and loaded it with a bolt.

  "I thought you preferred magic?" she asked him.

  "In a tight spot, I prefer options."

  Ember laughed, hoping to break the tension that had descended at the sight of the chamber beyond the portal.

  Brek's lantern revealed that, unlike the crude stonework of the tunnels they stood in, the newly revealed chamber was tiled in a greenish-brown stone. A pile of ash, broken bones, stony debris, and unidentifiable filth lay heaped in the room's center. The smell of rot, as of food too long in the sun, made Ember's nose wrinkle. A single passage led farther into the complex. Nothing moved, save dust particles in the beam of light.

  "Hold back a moment, let me go first," said Ember.

  The rest of the group didn't argue. She knew she had a knack for taking charge, but after all, they were there because of her. She walked slowly forward, looking around as she went, moving toward the ash heap. She didn't like its shape, but something glinted on top.

  Ember was about halfway between the arch and the heap when the tile below her gave way. One side of the tile flipped down as if on a hinge. She dropped down into the pit without a sound and was gone.

  "Ember!" yelled Hennet, sprinting into the room.

  He wasn't the only one yelling or entering the room. Two figures issued from the shadowed hallway opposite the ash heap, shuffling and shambling forward. Hennet stopped short of the pit Ember had fallen into, his eyes wide, and his hands clenched in determination. The mere sight of the creatures threatened to send him spiraling into mind-numbing despair, but he fought it hack.

  The creatures were withered and desiccated, their features hidden beneath centuries-old funerary wrappings. They moved with a steady gait, heading toward the edge of the pit Ember had fallen into. A pungent order wafted forward, like that of a spice cabinet left too long without cleaning.

  Hennet spared a glance at his companions. True to form, the gnome looked terrified beyond any capacity for casting spells. Brek appeared less affected, but still taken aback.

  The dwarf whispered, "Mummified corpses! 'Ware their touch; it's deadly."

  Hennet nodded. He stowed his crossbow and prepared to cast a spell. He hoped that, as a cleric, Brek had power over unlife like other priests he'd known.

  Brek Gorunn took a step forward, held forth his hammer, and bellowed, "Moradin commands that you give way, unholy creatures! Turn your faces and be destroyed!"

  His hammer blazed with golden light and one of the two advancing mummies faltered, croaked out a terrible whine, and turned back toward the way it had come. The other shook off Brek's holy command and continued forward, reaching the edge of the pit.

  Not so fast, thought Hennet.

  He summoned a duo of enchanted force missiles from his out stretched hand, which slammed into the creature like hurled daggers. It absorbed the magical attack with barely a shudder, despite two bloodless holes smoking in its torso. It kept advancing.

  Desperate, Hennet yelled, "Your wand! Nebin, your wand!"

  Hennet silently cursed as the gnome remained frozen in fear. Not so Brek, who rushed forward swinging his warhammer. But he moved too slowly for Hennet's taste. The animate corpse was leaning forward and straining with one arm to reach down into the pit. Hennet released another twin barrage of magical energy; the thing shuddered again, but still remained on its feel.

  "Damn you, Nebin!" yelled the human sorcerer, "wake up and use your wand!"

  The gnome groaned and grasped the slender wooden wand at his belt with shaking hands. Its touch seemed to lend Nebin confidence. He whipped out the wand and aimed its tip at the mummified corpse.

  "Back to dust with you!" Nebin shrilled, and released a cascade of rainbow light fully onto the stooping creature.

  The color drained away, leaving the creature unfazed. It groped around below the lip of the pit, chuffing in anticipation.

  Nebin groaned, "Mindless husk!" and dropped his wand to the floor.

  The mummy straightened, hauling Ember out of the pit. It held her firmly around the neck with one arm. The monk struggled and kicked, but she was already hurt from her fall. Long-dead tendons tensed as the creature squeezed, and Ember's struggles weakened. What blows and kicks she landed had little effect on the creature. Hennet realized it was going to squeeze the life from her before their eyes!

  The dwarf charged around the edge of the pit and accelerated toward the thing. The mummy looked up just in time to take Brek's hammer full in the face. The creature was already shot through with smoking holes from Hennet's magical assault. It uttered a dusty sigh then collapsed, inert. Its hold on Ember relaxed; the monk dropped back into the pit.

  Hennet was right behind the dwarf, but he arrived too late to grab the flailing monk before she fell for the second time. He rushed up to the edge of the pit, his heart in his mouth.

  "Thank Pelor," muttered Hennet when he saw her hanging on the lip of the pit, struggling to hold on but still breathing.

  "Lend me a hand, will you?" she said in a husky voice.

  Minutes later, refreshed by the cleric's healing spells, including a ward against disease, Ember returned to the ash heap and plucked the shining thing from its top.

  "This is Kairoth's ring. The inscription reads 'Enabled Hand.' He was in this chamber!" she proclaimed. "We must press on."

  "I was hoping we'd retreat," worried Nebin.

  Hennet laughed and said, "A mighty arcane warrior you are, Nebin! Let the undead tremble at your approach."

  Nebin looked miffed. He said, looking at Ember, "I'm only suggesting possibilities. Of course I want to continue!"

  "Thanks," said Ember. "Now let's find Kairoth, or those who stole him away. I must be sure of his fate."

  Her comrades all nodded. Time to press on.

  Ember and the dwarf moved up to the mouth of the passage from which the mummies had emerged. Brek's lantern revealed the same greenish-brown stone tiling the passage. Carved niches broke the plane of both walls lining the corridor. Some contained urns, others were empty.

  Ember motioned everyone forward, whispering, "Don't touch the urns. Best not to disturb the dead."

  She moved forward cautiously, her companions padding along behind as silently as they could. She gave each niche with an urn a wide berth. A breath of colder air tugged her hair.

  A whisper behind her said, "Dim your lantern. I see light." It was Nebin.

  Brek obliged the gnome. In the utter darkness of the passage, Ember saw a greenish glow ahead. The illumination trickled from around a bend in the corridor. The colder air brought with it the sound of a low, guttural chanting, barely discernable.

  Ember immediately moved forward, resolute. After a few seconds of hes
itation, she heard the others follow her. She was relieved—she had half expected at least the gnome to bolt, and the others to try to argue her back.

  When she reached the bend, Ember peered around. The corridor opened into a domed room, from which many exits led into darkness. A head-sized ball of green fire hung high in the air at the center of the dome, glaring with emerald light. Below the ghoul-glow, a figure half bound in funerary wrappings lay draped across a chipped stone altar. A hideous, animate, mummified corpse stood next to the altar chanting in a harsh, breathless, uncouth voice, and jerking its arms around as if casting a spell. The chanting mummy wore an elaborate headdress and clutched a blood-stained scythe in one hand.

  Ember recognized a mortal threat when she saw one. Without giving herself a second to consider running, she rushed the mummified chanter. It was a simple decision—she recognized the figure on the altar as her old mentor, Kairoth. She leaped onto the altar, readying a lethal kick.

  The chanting cut off as if severed by a knife. The scythe came around, whistling in a vicious arc. Faster than Ember could respond, her armored forearm rose, deflecting the lethal blow. The motion surprised even her. Then she realized—Loku's Bracer had awakened and revealed its magical legacy. The mummy would have disemboweled her as she leaped onto the altar without the bracers' aid. She mouthed silent thanks to Loku, wherever his spirit resided.

  With her height advantage atop the altar, Ember struck with shi kune, the "stunning fist," executing it perfectly. The mummy's head rocked back, then snapped forward instantly, unfazed. Apparently the walking dead were not easily stunned, Ember scolded herself.

  Hearing the beat of many footfalls, she glanced back and saw the others finally rushing to her aid with Brek Gorunn in the lead. The dwarf, his legs pumping, ran around the left side of the altar, brandishing his hammer.

  Ember punched and chopped at the creature's head, trying to dislodge the grinning rictus from its mummified torso. The dead creature stepped back from Ember's flashing fists, moving beyond her reach from atop the altar. It pointed a single finger at the approaching dwarf and coughed forth a stream of acid syllables. An ominous ray erupted from its wrapped finger, striking the dwarf in the chest. Brek exhaled as if punched in the stomach, then groaned. The dwarf sank to his knees, as if suddenly too weak to support his own weight.

  The mummified chanter had Ember's full attention. She heard Hennet and Nebin incanting spells behind her. Nebin's voice finished first—his spell called forth a brilliant reddish orb that thundered into the mummy. It grunted, but did not fall.

  Ember got the attention of the creature with a solid kick to its head. It rocked back, more by the force of the blow than from pain, which Ember doubted it could even feel.

  Hennet's voice finally ceased with an exultant lilt. Ember looked back again to see what the sorcerer had wrought. A deadly certainty seemed to infuse him. He brought his crossbow to his shoulder in a liquid moment and fired. Magic guided his hands, and the bolt sped true, burying itself deeply into the chest of the mummy. The creature, which had begun mouthing a new, foul incantation, screeched and stepped back another pace. Its spell fizzled and was wasted.

  Ember saw her chance to end the conflict. She jumped into the air, spinning with deadly force. Her right foot kicked out and connected. The force of her jump, spin, and kick slammed instantly into the mummy, and snapped its brittle body in half. The torso, ripped open at the waist, tumbled to the floor. It was followed moments later by the collapsing legs. Small trinkets and other oddments scattered, apparently shaken loose from the creature's wrappings. It lay in a heap, unmoving save for a puff of grave dust that rose from its hollow interior.

  Ember remained wary, ready in case other threats should materialize. Hennet reslung his light crossbow and rushed over to Brek. The dwarf put his back to the altar. He was breathing shallowly.

  "What did he hex you with?" asked Hennet.

  "I'm not certain. I'm as weak as a newborn. Not something a dwarf likes to admit."

  Ember turned to the half-wrapped man on the altar, feeling for a pulse, and found it. There was no mistake, it was Kairoth, and he still lived. Heartened, she gently shook him. His eyelids fluttered, then closed again. He whispered a few words before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

  Ember turned to the others and said, "The elder requires tending. He is sorely wounded." She shot an inquisitive look at the dwarf, but Brek shook his head, to say Brek Gorunn needed tending, too. "Very well, we have what we came for. It's time to go. Moradin willing, Brek Gorunn will shake off the curse by the morrow."

  She lifted her old mentor as if he weighed no more than a child.

  Ember called to Nebin, who remained standing near the entrance, "When I finished off the mummy, I shook lose a few rings and scrolls. You may want to take a look."

  The gnome's expression turned from diffidence to eager anticipation as he rushed forward.

  She turned to Hennet and said, "Watch for more creatures as we retreat. At least one more lurks nearby, the one Brek Gorunn chased away."

  Hennet nodded, but continued to look at Kairoth, draped in Ember's arms.

  "What did he say, when you woke him?" the sorcerer asked.

  "I'm not sure," responded Ember. "Something about 'the Oath'."

  The Duel Arcane was the biggest event in New Koratia. Held every three years, it afforded the city a wonderful influx of business as wizards, sorcerers, hedge wizards, shamans, and not a few charlatans and fakirs descended on the city. Inns were full, and business in the bazaar was brisk. Outfitters of all types expected booming sales. The city welcomed the wizards with open arms (especially particularly famous, and rich, mages). Many shops and temporary carts greatly expanded their magical inventory of reagents, arcane focuses, ingredients, and spell components while the duel ran. Inflated prices for especially rare components was a form of profiteering expected by every attending mage.

  Hennet and Nebin approached the coliseum beneath the Floating Crystal, which hovered like a solid cloud. This time, the press of people on the streets was almost impassable. Everyone with an interest in the duel moved toward the half-bowl seating, and that seemed to include most of the city. In fact, a holiday atmosphere was evident. Sweetmeat vendors with tiny carts were everywhere hawking delicious snacks. Children rode on their parents' shoulders as they moved toward the coliseum while apprentice mages not much older, apparently from the college itself, passed out minor charms and firecrackers. The crowd was primed and excited to see the magical contest.

  With the help of green-robed duel officials—wizards from the sponsoring College of Wizardry—Hennet and Nebin made it through the press to the edge of the field where dozens of other competitor mages waited. The stands were full. Thousands of people yelled, cheered, talked, and screamed. The crowd came to see magic, and they would not be disappointed.

  Over thirty "casting circles" were marked out on the field, denoted by colored stones. Nebin guessed that each circular area was twenty feet across. Most of the casting circles already contained dueling mages. Each duel was attended by a judge in green robes. Clerics of Pelor, a beneficent deity, stood along the sidelines, ready to grant the grace of healing to those who lost a bout particularly badly. Flashes, explosions, strange smells, phantoms, and summoned beasts ran riot in and around the field.

  Nebin was so excited that it felt as if his hair was standing on end—perhaps because of all the magic in the air, he thought. He raised his arms, trying to feel the magical flux. A blast of energy nearby hurled a man in a camel-brown suit from a ring. He'd lost his match to a woman in silvery clothing, but Nebin missed the spell she'd used to send her opponent sprawling. A duel was over when one contestant was magically forced out of his circle, either directly or indirectly, or if a judge called the bout one way or the other after a preset amount of time. If even part of the competitor's body left the circle, the bout was over. Losers did not advance in the competition. Nebin mentally promised himself, for the hundredth time, that
he would not be a loser.

  The gnome felt a tap on his own shoulder.

  "Nebin Raulnor?" a judge said. "You're up. Come with me." Hennet gave him the thumbs up sign for good luck. The gnome gulped.

  Nebin followed the judge, who wore the symbol of the Floating Crystal, out to a casting circle near the center of the field. Already a diaphanously robed human woman stood in the circle, her eyes closed and hands clasped. Close up, the gnome could see that the circles were already scored and discolored from earlier spells. The judge ushered him into the circle. Sand and gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked to his position.

  Nebin greeted his opponent with a pleasant, "Hello!"

  She narrowed her eyes.

  So that's how she wants to play it, he thought.

  "Nebin Raulnor," called out the judge in a remarkably loud voice, "wizard, novice, faces off against Filiseethra, wizard, novice. You have three minutes to duel, and they begin...now!"

  Wh-what, now? mentally stuttered the gnome.

  He tried to ignore the increasingly boisterous crowd, which was easier than ignoring the magical flashes and booms of other matches.

  Like a striking snake, his opponent Filiseethra grabbed a wand from her belt and pointed it toward him. He cursed himself, just then remembering that wands and lesser magical items were allowed! Her wand crackled, and a cold wind surged against him. Outside the casting circle it was little more than a breeze, but against Nebin, it was a gale. The wind pushed him back toward the circle's edge. He leaned into it, trying to brace his feet against the rough ground, but he continued sliding. His goggles protected his eyes from the blowing sand, and he was thankful he'd remembered to pull them down. The woman, her wand outthrust, slowly advanced.

  Nebin carefully felt for his own wand. With the wind interfering, he doubted he could cast a spell, but not so the wand's power. The woman's eyes widened as he brought it up and pointed it at her.

  Not so tricksy, now, eh? thought the gnome, as a stream of flashing, multicolored light flashed from the wand and into Filiseethra's face.