Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

“Good,” Kairoth said. “We will rouse three hours into the middle night. I will lead us into the Order via a secret route. The Order’s traitors are not the only ones who know the ways of guile.”

If the red masks or traitor monks somehow detected the intruders, Hennet argued, they could mount a stronger defense by concentrating in a single room, not by spreading into several rooms. As usual, Nebin disagreed and put forward his own theories. When Hennet and Ember left the room to see about getting more cots, Nebin approached the dwarf cleric. Brek Gorunn still sat at the room’s one small table, sorting through a small collection of interesting items that included several closed leather cases of the kind traditionally used to protect spell scrolls. The dwarf was cataloging each item in the pile.

“Anything interesting?” asked the gnome.

“Yes,” Brek replied. “These are the items we salvaged from the catacomb. As far as I can tell, they bear no taint of evil. We might find them useful. Some bear the imprint of spells arcane. Have a look. They’ll do me little good—my power flows from Moradin.”

The gnome was delighted. He shuffled through the documents. Many were nonmagical, or at least imprinted with a power he couldn’t identify, and covered in an alphabet he couldn’t decipher.

“I have no idea what these are.”

He handed them back to Brek Gorunn, who rolled and stuffed the parchments into his satchel.

The gnome turned to the other documents. His fingers twitched in anticipation as he picked up the remaining two scrolls. One of his chief pleasures in life was the discovery of new spells that he could pen into his spellbook. He was a collector, and his collection was magic itself. He spread the scrolls wide open, gazing intently at the dancing glyphs. The inscriptions slowly ceased their movement, resolving into an arcane alphabet that was intimately familiar. The first was a spell that would allow one to fall from a great height without taking harm. That, Nebin thought, could be useful, in the right situation. He stuck that scroll in his belt, intending to inscribe it into his spellbook later.

The second spell would cause a creature to grow larger. Though it seemed disappointingly dull, he hated to waste any magical formula. Nebin read through the spell of enlargement again. It was fairly complex, and the more he studied it, the more he realized how much power was subtly woven into the spell. If he called on that power, he could be a giant! Nebin chuckled, imagining casting it on Hennet while he was sleeping, then watching his friend grow so large that he crushed his cot.

That gave Nebin an idea. He tucked the second scroll into his belt, also. Even if there wasn’t enough time to scribe the complex spell into his book, he could cast it directly from the scroll. That would destroy the scroll, unfortunately, but it could well be worth it.

Brek, who still sat at the table, said, “You look happy. Has merciful Moradin blessed you?”

Nebin laughed. “Yes, I believe he has, Brek Gorunn. If Moradin wasn’t called the Dwarffather, I might consider taking up your religion.”

From across the room, Kairoth said, “Moradin is a worthy god, and we in the Enabled Hand have a long-standing relationship with the clerics of his order. You could do worse, Master Nebin.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said the gnome, realizing he had a larger audience than just Brek. “So…Elder Kairoth, did you look through these other documents? They are not magical, but I can’t read the writing on them. Perhaps they contain additional clues about what’s befallen your Order.”

“No, pass them over, I’ll take a look.”

Brek Gorunn, sighing, removed the lot from his satchel and walked them over to the elder. Despite his position, Kairoth’s color already seemed better than when Nebin and Hennet returned from the duel.

Kairoth studied the manuscripts. He put aside several, saying, “I recognize the alphabet. It is Infernal, and creatures of Hell itself are said to use these characters in their terrible language.”

“By Moradin’s Hoary Axe!” exclaimed the dwarf.

Nebin’s hair rose on the back of his neck. What were they involved in?

Kairoth looked up and said, “But the alphabet is also used by earthly creatures of ill will, seeking to emulate their masters. I suspect these were penned by a mortal cleric and not a demon. At least, I hope so. I can’t read this script, it is too foul a study to take up, but this one is written in Common.”

The page he held up was really only a fragment of parchment, its edges lost to time, its script nearly faded to illegibility.

Kairoth read from the parchment, “‘…and so every soul to fall like chaff to the blade of the Reaper of Flesh. He that sits in eternal darkness waits at the end of every life, calling back to himself that which he has allowed, for a brief time, to frolic in the light. But the light is fleeting, and darkness eternal…’ ”

The dwarf glowered and said, “This ‘Reaper of Flesh’ claims too much. Moradin holds sway over the dwarves and their eternal destiny. This is lying propaganda.”

Kairoth shrugged and said, “The text goes on in the same vein. This is a religious tract. Unless I misremember, the Reaper is one of Nerull’s appellations. Another clue, but we already guessed Nerull might be involved. We need to find out who is attempting to revive Nerull worship, and why. Most importantly, we need to find out why the Order is involved at all.”

“To gain a secret foothold?” ventured Nebin.

Kairoth’s eyes widened slightly and he said, “It could be so. Who knows how far their reach already extends, with no one the wiser. We must put down this dark revival, and soon.”

The dwarf clapped Kairoth on the shoulder. “Moradin willing, we shall,” he said. “We are wise to their scheme, but they know nothing about us. Surely, the floors of the sacred Order groan under their sinful feet, but our footsteps will go unmarked. Tonight, we purge the evil from the halls of the Enabled Hand or die in the attempt. So say I, Brek Gorunn, Cleric of Moradin.”

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” said the voice.

Hennet opened one eye. Ember regarded the waking sorcerer with a smile. He returned her smile, groping for her hand, but she turned to wake the others. His hand fell back to his side.

She moved from cot to cot, waking everyone with a quick shake of the shoulder. She wasn’t blind; she could see that the sorcerer was smitten with her, but his timing was not good. The loss of her chapter was too recent and weighed too heavily. Perhaps after the cult was dealt with, she could reach closure. Then she would consider the possibility of a deeper friendship with the sorcerer. But for now, she could not entertain distractions.

Though he is striking, she thought, with those tattoos and his eastern mannerisms….

The streets of New Koratia at that late hour were still active. The five adventurers on their way to the Motherhouse of the Enabled Hand were just five more late revelers, among the many dozens still out late, seeking some last bit of entertainment before the dawn, only four hours away. They spoke little. The hard, bright stars looked down from on high, indifferent to the antics of the living.

Soon enough they stood in an alley near the Motherhouse. Ember felt a breath of danger on her neck and looked around cautiously. It reminded her of the night-darkened alley where she and Brek Gorunn had been ambushed. It wasn’t a memory she was likely to lose. Judging by the way the dwarf clutched his warhammer, Ember concluded that Brek was recalling the same scene.

Kairoth rubbed his hands together as he approached one brick wall.

“A secret passage is here,” he said, “but it is mostly forgotten. The younger elders do not know of it. It provided my escape when the Order was beset.”