Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

He looked up and declared, “The mummy carcass is gone. Or it removed itself. Either way, something has been here since us.”

“If you’re suggesting we stay on our guard, don’t worry,” responded Hennet. “We are.”

Brek grinned through his beard.

Hennet continued, “Which way does your map show now?”

Ember moved next to the dwarf as he set down his warhammer and lamp and pulled out the charred map. It indicated that of the six passages connected to this chamber, only one was marked—with a symbol of a skull and scythe.

Brek pointed at the corresponding passage across the room and said, “That way.”

“How much farther to the temple?” asked Nebin.

The dwarf shook his head. “The map is only a fragment. If it ever had a scale, it’s gone now. Pointing us down this corridor is the limit of its usefulness. I’ll lead.”

The dwarf held forth the lamp and plunged into the corridor. Ember walked to his right, and she heard Hennet and Nebin follow.

Like the last corridor, this one, too, was lined with elaborate urns. Unfamiliar glyphs on the sides of the urns winked below their ages-old blankets of dust. No one wanted to look at them too closely for fear of disturbing their contents. Almost immediately, the passage angled downward. After walking a long distance on the steep grade, the lantern revealed a mist in the air. The farther they pressed forward, the thicker the haze. Soon, it was a true fog. It smelled faintly of dank copper, or blood. Brek Gorunn’s light was a glowing spot of blue in the darkness.

Ember put her hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and murmured, “Slow down a bit. The mist could hide anything.”

The dwarf grunted, but slowed. Ember thought all their footfalls sounded muffled, as if sound were strangled by the mist.

Eventually the grade leveled off and the passage issued into a room whose edges were obscured in fog. The vapors were acrid in Ember’s mouth and nose and made her eyes water. Brek stopped short of entering, and she stopped with him.

Looking back, she said, “Stay close. It’s impossible to say how big this room is, with the mist, and we don’t want to lose anyone. We’re going to follow the right-hand wall around the room. Keep your hand on the wall and you won’t get lost. We’ll follow it right around until we’ve come back to this entrance. That way, we won’t miss any exits in this damnable fog.”

Brek grunted his approval, and they moved out. The fog was thicker than ever.

The trip around the chamber proved a journey of only a minute, and they were moving cautiously. A single sealed exit opposite the entry was found during their circuit. A face, its mouth gaping wide, was carved in relief into the stone above the exit. Fell vapors issued from its mouth, constantly replenishing the haze in the chamber and the corridor leading to it.

“What sorcery is this?” wondered Ember, leaning close.

“Better ask, ‘what wizardry,’ ” said Nebin.

Ember rolled her eyes, though she knew no one could see her.

Nebin continued, “I expect it is a relic of the ancient city. It’s said that the ancient city housed a race of wizards. Well, best to fight wizardry with the same.”

Ember saw Nebin melt out of the mist as he moved to stand next to her and the face. She couldn’t decide what race the carving portrayed, if it was intended to portray any. Nebin frowned, then fumbled in his pockets. He pulled a kerchief from his coat, considered it for a moment, then handed it to Ember and instructed her to stuff it into the stone mouth. The spewing vapor ceased.

“A finer application of wizardry I’ve never seen,” noted Hennet. “Perhaps with your next spell you can open the door?”

Nebin chuckled. He reached for the door ring and pulled. The door didn’t budge, but a stony cough issued from the carved face. The kerchief popped from the mouth, propelled by a puff of greenish gas.

“Uh…” stammered the gnome, stumbling backward.

Ember grabbed Nebin around the waist and hauled him toward the entrance. Hennet followed, nearly as quickly. Brek Gorunn appeared a few moments later.

The dwarf sneezed and coughed a few times and said, “I got a whiff of it. Nasty. Poisonous, I expect. Best stay away until it clears.”

“If it does,” Nebin said darkly.

“It’s an old trap,” said the dwarf, “and spent, now that we’ve set it off. I’m sure the poison is weakened from the ages. Otherwise we would be short one gnome.”

Nebin darted a look back into the hazy room. Ember could see the curl of greenish mist slowly expanding and diluting into the fog. Nebin shivered.

When Brek Gorunn decided all was clear, they cautiously returned to the door. As the dwarf said, there was no hint of the green gas. Better yet, the blue haze was lifting. The carved face seemed completely quiescent, as if some final bit of elan was now absent. Nebin gave it a tentative tap. Everyone breathed easier after a few seconds of no response.

This time, Ember and Brek tried the door together while Nebin hung back. The door still held fast.

“Put your shoulder into it, Ember,” Brek Gorunn advised uselessly.

The tendons in her legs and back trembled, then with a snap! the door burst open.

Beyond, the lantern revealed a mist-free room. A mosaic of dark tile covered the floor and walls, though many tiles were cracked and broken. The faintest glitter of light edged the tiles, giving them a greenish tinge. Ember was pretty sure it wasn’t a reflection cast by the lantern—it was a fell light all their own. Apart from the suspicious glow and scattered, broken tiles, the room was empty. Opposite their doorway stood a single, dark aperture. Bold runes were inscribed all around it.

Seeing the runes, Nebin tried to squeeze past the dwarf and enter the room. Brek Gorunn held him back.

“Hold on! Don’t be foolish. Where there is one trap, there can be two, or more.”

“I don’t like the look of those tiles,” Hennet concurred. “They have a cursed light about them, or I’m no mage.”

Nebin seemed to restrain a comeback. Ember supposed it was because Hennet clutched the Golden Wand, proof positive that he knew a thing or two about magic.

Experimentally, Brek Gorunn closed the lantern’s cover. A pale, green glow suffused the room, outlining each tile. Wordlessly he uncovered the lantern again.

“But we must go forward. W-we have no other route,” sputtered Nebin.

Brek Gorunn paused on the threshold and squinted toward the far hallway.

“You can just read the runes from here,” he said. “It looks to me like an archaic variant of the common tongue.”

Nebin moved to stand next to Brek, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

The gnome said, “They state, ‘Pass and Prosper if Ye be Reverent. Pass and Perish if Ye Profane Nerull.’”

Brek Gorunn spat. “How can you profane the blasphemous?”

Nebin shrugged.

Ember edged forward. She knew that of them all, she was the swiftest and most capable of escaping a purely mechanical trap, if indeed the tiles represented danger. The choice was hers to make. She entered the chamber, walking lightly, and passed unhindered across the tiled floor, right up to the rune-scribed archway. She looked back, allowing a smile to touch her lips.

“Seems safe enough.”

Hennet let out a breath. He and the others entered without mishap, until they all stood by the archway. The corridor was visible beyond. Except for the ominous runes, nothing would have checked their passage into the innocuous walkway.

“Brek Gorunn asked a good question,” mused Hennet. “Its counterpoint would be how do you revere a god of death?”

“I don’t want to guess,” said Ember.

The dwarf said, “I’ll guess. Even without holy indoctrination, I could tell you that the act of murder is a reverent deed to this unholy deity of death.” The dwarf spat once more.