Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

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.

She gasped, throwing one forearm across her eyes.

The wind abated instantly, and Nebin stumbled forward. His competitor groaned, then fell face forward into the sand.

“The bout goes to Nebin Raulnor!” exclaimed the judge.

The woman, unable to see anything but swirling colors, was pulled from the circle by a Peloran cleric. Nebin strutted to his next match.

Hennet’s first competitor was a salt-bearded fellow called Harper. Harper stood in the circle across from Hennet, darting glances to and fro. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he rubbed his hands incessantly. Hennet’s own nervousness faded somewhat on seeing his competitor so shaken. He restrained himself from offering the man encouragement. This was a competition, after all.

“…begin now!” bawled out the judge.

Hennet was ready. A puff of sulfurous smoke from a nearby magical duel half-occluded Harper, who actually mewled in terror.

What’s up with this guy? wondered Hennet.

Rather than attacking his already intimidated opponent all-out, he decided to gamble on conserving power for a later match. Hennet opened his mouth and crooned a whispery sound. Infused by magic from his waving fingertips, the sound was transformed. A low growl, as of a lion catching scent of its prey, issued from the center of the hazy circle. When Hennet heard the man take in a deep breath, he knew he’d won already. As his hands moved farther apart, the low growl increased in volume, quickly becoming the ear-shattering roar of a charging lion!

The judge stepped back, nearby competitors stumbled in the midst of their spells, and Harper wet himself as he fell out of the circle. The round was Hennet’s. Even better, he’d won with the first spell that he ever mastered, one that stole into his mind on the eve of his thirteenth birthday. He’d used it often since then, but never before with such perfection. It was going to be a good day.

Walking to his second match, Nebin realized something important. In order to win the last matches of the day, he’d need to conserve spells and tricks. The more spells and wand energy he used early, the less he would have available for the final match. And, logically, each new opponent would be more challenging than the ones who came before, as the weakest were weeded out first. Nebin glanced around, looking for Hennet. He wanted to share his revelation, but the constant flash and dazzle of spells restricted his view to only the closest duels.

His next opponent was a diminutive elf, nearly as short as Nebin. The elf wore a simple tunic the color of rose petals. Nebin pegged him as an apprentice who’d recently learned his first real spell, and gave a smug smile calculated to infuriate. Then the duel commenced.

Ready this time, Nebin whipped out his wand and fired off two blasts of rioting color before the elf could do more than blink.

When the color faded, the elf blinked a second time and said quietly, “I’m immune to that enchantment. Are you?”

The elf raised one hand as if cupping something and lobbed it underhand at the gnome. Halfway between the elf and Nebin, the unseen something ignited with a violet whumpf! A sphere of burning purple the size of his head slammed into Nebin. Pain flared through him, unexpected and unbearable. He was certain that his body would be gushing blood from a thousand wounds but for the cauterizing effect of the fiery sphere that was consuming his flesh. Nebin scrambled back, and the sphere fell and bounced away. Gasping for breath, Nebin saw that the elf held one hand forward, gently waving his fingertips. The gnome’s breath came even quicker when he saw the sphere respond to the elf’s gestures and roll back toward him.

At that moment, Nebin believed with all his might that anything, death included, would be better than being touched by that sphere again. He was so desperate to avoid it that the simplest solution, stepping out of the circle, never occurred to him. Instead, he began breathlessly reciting a long string of harsh syllables. The burning sphere rolled around the periphery of the circle toward him, and Nebin lurched frantically away, trying to stay ahead of it. Walking and casting spells simultaneously was difficult even for arch wizards, let alone someone who hovered just beyond death’s grasp. The gnome moved and incanted, chanted and dodged, laboring through magical verses that were far too complex for such a competition. All the while, the sphere narrowed the gap. He could feel the heat groping toward him. Nebin, the sphere, and the elf all moved around the inside of the circle as if pantomiming the face of a sundial.

Nebin smiled as he gasped out the final syllables of his spell. The elf looked confused for a moment when nothing happened, then a shadow swept across his face. He looked up just in time to meet the talons of a stooping hawk with hell-bright eyes. As the hawk raked bloody tracks across the elf’s face, its scream was matched by the elf’s.

“Not my face!” he shrieked, throwing his hands across his eyes.

Nebin leaped into the air when he saw the flaming sphere dissipate. The hawk that he had summoned from an otherworldly place to do his bidding flapped, screeched, and tore at the elf’s arms and head.

Nebin laughed, screaming, “Who’s immune now, elf?”

The elf turned and ran, the hawk bedeviling him as he scurried across the floor of the coliseum. Nebin stepped into an impromptu jig but the burning pain in his side stopped him cold.

He called, “Healing!” and a priest moved forward, the sunburst of Pelor on his mantle.

He ran his hands over Nebin’s sides. Where he touched, the blackened flesh turned supple and brown.

Then the priest gave Nebin a chiding look as he walked away, saying, “Be not too swift to call dark agents to your side, lest you become addicted to their hate. Seek instead for allies in the celestial sphere.”

Nebin ducked his head guiltily. True, the hawk had the taint of the lower Planes on it, but his choices were limited. He did what he needed to win the match and refused to believe that was wrong. It was only a game, after all. But despite his rationalizations, Nebin also knew the priest’s words were true. He promised himself he’d remember the warning.

He turned to the standings, which flashed on a large, blank wall in magical glyphs. In the Novice Competition, two rounds remained for those who advanced. Nebin knew that after that, there would be a few days before the finals. The novices competing for the Golden Wand had to wait for the intermediate and grandmaster competitions. But the boards revealed wonderful news: He was getting a bye into the last round! The gnome wondered what he had done that fate was so kind to him. He took the ten minutes at his disposal to wander the field, looking for Hennet. Had the sorcerer already lost? He couldn’t find his friend, but did find Aganon, the spellcaster they’d met during the preliminaries.

Nebin called, “Aganon! How fares the day?”

Aganon looked up, saw the gnome, and bragged, “I am at the top of my magic. Stay, and learn a thing or two.”

Aganon certainly is sure of himself. Sort of like me, realized the gnome.

Aganon faced off against a dwarf with snow-white braids in his beard and a short, stout staff inset with a crystal. The dwarf aimed a narrow fan of fire at Aganon, who ducked most of it, but not all. Nebin saw a Peloran cleric move closer, monitoring Aganon’s fight, along with another match in the next ring where ice bolts were haphazardly flung. Aganon palmed a vial and gulped it down. Suddenly, he burst into frenzied motion, vibrating with quickness. He moved so fast that his movements blurred. The dwarf’s eyes narrowed with understanding, and he fumbled for something at his belt. Aganon’s form began running around the periphery of the ring, completing a circuit in less than a second. With each circuit, he tightened his course, coming ever closer to the worried dwarf.