Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

“Ember, you can count on me to help,” declared Hennet.

“By the beard of my father, she can count on all of us, of course,” agreed Brek Gorunn.

Nebin nodded. “Right. But lest we forget, tomorrow Hennet and I have one final obligation to fulfill in the coliseum.”

Ember smiled. “Don’t worry, wizard. It will take a day or longer to track down the whereabouts of this Revived Temple. Brek has other contacts in town, at the Temple of Moradin. Perhaps they can tell him where to start looking.”

Ember turned to the dwarf, who said, “I will pay a visit to the Dwarffather’s temple tomorrow morning, first thing. If there is any activity below the city, temple or not, my kindred here should know of it.”

“Very well,” concluded the elder. “I and Cestra will restore order in the Motherhouse as much as we are able. We will also question Vobod when he wakes—under strict guard, of course. Perhaps we can persuade him to tell us where the Revived Temple is located.”

“Revived Temple of Nerull,” Nebin pondered aloud. “I don’t believe I like the sound of that.”

It was good to be back in the coliseum. Screaming and cheering spectators crammed the stands. They “oohed” and “aahed” at flashy exhibition spells cast by the College of Wizardry staffers to entertain between events. The duel had gone on during Nebin and Hennet’s absence, though not for novice casters. The intermediate, name, and grandmaster casters competed, and the stories from some of the individual duels were extraordinary. In fact, Nebin and Hennet arrived in time to watch the final round of the Grandmaster class.

Nebin sidled up to a judge and asked, “Who’s dueling?”

Without moving her eyes away from the duel, the woman responded, “It’s Incanus versus Ronassic. Incanus is a pyromancer from around here. Everyone knows he’s started more fires than he’s admitted to. Now, they say Ronassic is from a place so far away that miles can’t be used as a measure—a fancy way of saying ‘extraplanar,’ I suppose.”

Nebin nodded, suitably impressed. He turned his eyes to the duel, watching as Incanus hurled three balls of roaring fire at Ronassic. The fury of his attack lapped out of the dueling area, starting secondary fires. Nebin and Hennet were pushed back as the ready crowd shuffled backward several feet.

Ronassic stood unharmed and apparently unconcerned. Incanus growled out an oath, then called burning magma like rain from the sky. The magma sent the crowd scuffling back even farther, but Ronassic only smiled as the fiery gobs of burning earth splattered down, always missing him. Ronassic screamed in apoplectic fury. A flurry of words poured from his mouth, and where he had been standing now stood a twenty-foot-tall creature of roaring flame!

Ronassic weathered the attack of the fiery creature without harm, still affecting a lackadaisical, waiting posture. Finally, he raised one eyebrow as if making a comment on Incanus’ provincial ways. The crowd murmured loudly in response, and a cheer went up, “Ronassic!”

The mage shrugged and walked toward the hulking creature of fire. Incanus, suddenly realizing he might be on the wrong track with all the fire, shrank back to his normal size and form. Before he could do more than say, “Oh-oh,” Ronassic reached out and touched the cringing wizard. As finger touched sleeve, a sphere of force enveloped Incanus like an eyelid closing. Then, as easily as a stone sinking in water, the sphere fell into the earth, leaving behind only a simple crater.

Silence reigned for seconds as Ronassic stood looking around as if unconcerned with his display of incredible power.

Hennet poked Nebin and whispered, “We have a lot to learn.”

When Ronassic was declared the winner, the crowd cheered. Ronassic waved, accepting his accolades with easy grace.

“Wow. Have you ever seen magic wielded so well? I wish we could have seen the others,” complained Nebin.

He and Hennet were jostled by the press of novices waiting to begin their final round, now that the grandmaster competitions were complete. “Press” was the wrong word—there were only eight novice casters who qualified for the finals. Looking at that small group, Nebin realized how exceptional it was that he and Hennet both qualified.

Hennet interrupted his thoughts. “Nebin, had we stayed yesterday, Ember would have been without our help. Surely, doing good in the world and helping those in need is worth more than your entertainment?”

The gnome cocked his head toward his friend. “I want to watch the duel, you want to watch the monk. I don’t see a big difference.”

Hennet flushed, embarrassed. “There is a difference.”

Nebin waited for the sorcerer to continue, but Hennet’s gaze strayed to the stands. Ember was sitting somewhere out there—Hennet had asked her to attend, and wonder of wonders, she’d said yes. Nebin scanned the crowd, too, but couldn’t locate her within the yelling throng.

Nebin suddenly felt a hand clasping his shoulder—a similar hand clasped Hennet’s shoulder. It was Aganon, who had strolled up from behind them.

Aganon said, “Look at them! All those people in the stands, all of them ready to see who wins or loses today. Really, what they want to see is a little blood, unless I miss my mark. We shouldn’t disappoint them, eh Nebin?”

Nebin shrugged and said, “I suppose if it comes down to it.”

Hennet studied the hand on his shoulder. Nebin shrugged out of Aganon’s clasp, wishing he’d been a little less friendly to the human when they first met. Something about Aganon didn’t strike him as quite right. Nebin tried to put his finger on it, but all he could come up with was that the man’s bravado seemed overshadowed by…insincerity.

“ ‘If it comes down to it?’” repeated Aganon. “The crowd demands a show, and I for one am up to that challenge. Those who win the Golden Wand are expected to possess a certain showmanship—a sense of entitlement. And I excel in both areas, as you may have noticed.” Aganon chuckled.

“Well, may the best man win,” replied the gnome. “Though you should know that I intend the Golden Wand for myself.”

Aganon’s usually jovial facade faded for an instant as he said, “Yes, let the best man win, Nebin, but a word to the wise: Don’t hinder me, and things will continue to go well for you. I’m not someone you’d care to upset.”

Nebin’s witty response failed to find his mouth. Aganon’s quick anger was like lightning out of a cloudless sky and just as disconcerting. The gnome frowned, understanding he’d just been threatened.

Aganon smiled, the threat wiped away as easily as a hostler wipes crumbs from a table. “But I’m sure it won’t come to that. Good luck!”

He laughed jovially, and moved to stand closer to the edge of the arena, watching as another exhibition spell display wound down.

Nebin turned to Hennet and said, “Now, I call that downright odd. For a second, he seemed about to bite my head off. The next, he was as happy as a cat in a milk barn.”

Hennet, who had watched the entire encounter, said, “He’s a snake ready to shed its skin if ever I saw one. Watch him, I say.”

Nebin said, “Don’t worry. If luck is with us, he’ll lose in the first round.”

“If such comes to pass, then the gods indeed are looking out for us, Nebin,” said the sorcerer.

Hennet suddenly cocked ear and said, “Listen! We’re up. Luck to you, Nebin.”

The crowd quieted slightly when the novice final rounds were announced. The first four rounds were called simultaneously. Nebin watched as Hennet was called to face a portly human man in too-tight-fitting orange robes, named Semeel Schniedly. Aganon squared off against a halfling woman in gray who had several short wands strapped to each forearm. Nebin hoped he wouldn’t face her wands in the future, but hoped all the same that she would overcome Aganon. Two other mages faced each other, but Nebin didn’t catch their names; he’d worry about that if he met one later. He had his own opponent to size up.