T.H. Lain - Oath of Nerull

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 his 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.