Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

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.