Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

Suddenly the lantern’s light fell on a closed stone door blocking their passage ahead. Ember moved up, motioning the others to silence. She placed one ear to the door, listening, and heard nothing but her own heartbeat.

Pulling away, she told the others, “Be ready,” and she opened the door.

A noise as of stone on stone echoed down the hall.

“Oh, shards!” she gasped as the entire length of the passage where they stood swung down beneath them.

For the second time that day, Brek Gorunn felt himself falling. What had been a slick, muddy, but level corridor was transformed into a slick, muddy chute. He and his companions helplessly slid, one after another, and dropped onto a slimy, muddy floor. Brek didn’t know how far he’d fallen, but it was a hard landing even with the mud as a cushion. It hadn’t been so bad for Hennet, Brek guessed, because the human had the advantage of landing on the dwarf.

Lying on his back while the others groaned and struggled to regain their footing on the treacherous floor, Brek surveyed his surroundings. They were in a pit, about twenty feet on a side. The ceiling was just visible in the lantern’s light, placing it about thirty feet up, Brek estimated. The chute above snapped back up into its former position high above the floor, trapping them all in a tight box of stone. He scanned the walls; no exit was visible on any surface. He checked himself for injuries, found none, then rose to help the others who weren’t as durable as dwarves.

“Oh, perfect!” grumbled Nebin, as Brek helped him up from a facedown position in the mud.

His elaborate coat was sopped and soiled. The others were back on their feet already. The lantern revealed bones of small creatures, cave vermin most likely, mixed in with the mud and water puddles filling the bottom of their prison. Besides the bones of vermin, a lone humanoid skull sat half submerged in the shallow muck. Its presence spoke volumes about the position they had tumbled into.

“We’re lucky this shaft is not half-filled with water,” the dwarf noted. “There must be drainage of some sort.”

Brek nudged the skull with his boot.

“Drainage?” said Nebin. “Who cares? What a useless thing to say…hello!”

The gnome’s rant was derailed, apparently when he noticed large runes on one wall. Brek Gorunn frowned, beginning to feel downright testy. He decided that Nebin was lucky he’d stopped speaking when he did; this was no time to test anyone’s temper. Me gave the skull another kick, splashing it across the chamber. He hoped they wouldn’t all end up the same as the skull: lost, trapped, starved, and finally dead.

“What do the runes say, Nebin?” asked Ember.

“I can’t make them out. But I will.” The gnome gestured, releasing a pinch of salt into the air from his pouch, and incanted a few arcane syllables. His eyes gleamed with ethereal luminance, and he read:” ‘You have chosen the Testing Pit of Lo-Riao. Your arrival here indicates your agreement to be tested. Choose your measure: Test by Strife, or Test by Wit.’”

The gnome scratched his head and said, “Lo-Riao? Must have something to do with the ancient city.”

The others shook their heads, indicating that they were equally unfamiliar with the name.

The gnome continued, “There is a miniature hand print under the word ‘Strife’ and the same under the word ‘Wit’.”

The dwarf, beginning to feel herded in a direction he did not care for, said, “Choice? What are you going on about? I choose to get out of this pit, not engage in some ancient guessing game!”

Hennet noted, “It is unfortunate we left the rope in the crevice of the flute player.”

His timing was bad. The dwarf shot Hennet a lethal look while he formulated a heated retort.

Ember stepped between them and said, “I’d like the rope, and a dry suit of clothes, and some decent boots, but we have none of those things. The only way we will get out of here is by working together, and by ‘here’ I don’t mean just this pit. Now is not the time to fall on one another with bared teeth.”

“Tell that to the sorcerer,” mumbled Brek Gorunn.

“That’s enough, Brek,” Ember shot back. “We need your help and your strength, here more than anywhere.”

She was right, Brek knew. Underground, the others were in an alien environment, but it felt like home to him. Not his home, exactly, with slime and fluting monstrosities, but it was a delving just the same.

“I’m fine, Ember,” Brek replied. “It’s just that he did fall on me, when we tumbled down that chute.”

Nebin giggled. “You mean Hennet landed on you? I wish 1 had,” he added, rubbing his shoulder.

“I guess I did,” Hennet admitted. “Sorry about that. It was unintentional. I grabbed for anything to hang onto as we slid down the chute and got hold of you.”

He looked intently at his feet smothered in the mud. Brek Gorunn coughed, feeling warm under his armor. Apologies, coming from anyone, made him uncomfortable.

“Forget it.”

“That’s better,” said Ember. “Now, I am going to try climbing out of the shaft. I’d rather not activate some ancient test about which we know nothing, and trust it to provide our exit.”

Nebin looked defiant but offered no counterargument.

Ember approached the wall, and Brek sorted through his pack, hoping to find a useful piece of equipment.

“Too bad I don’t have a lifting spell,” lamented Nebin. “Once, I had a scroll that granted spiderlike climbing ability, but no more.”

Ember nodded, then shot a glance at Hennet. The sorcerer just shook his head.

Brek watched Ember trying to find a finger- or toe-hold on the slick wall, but she had little success. The masonry was too well fitted, despite its age. He had been afraid of that—the chamber was well made with strength and solidity. She tried a few running leaps, attempting to reach a higher point along the wall.

After a few fruitless attempts, she paused, breathing hard, and said, “All right, if we’re forced to activate a test, which one?”

Brek said, “The test by strife,” just as Nebin said, “Test by wit, of course.”

Brek paused and glared at the gnome, who had a similar look on his face.

“I feel we could pass either test,” said Ember. “Hennet, your vote decides the issue. What will it be?”

Hennet mused, “Strife would be the most straightforward.”

Brek smiled, and he reached for the shaft of his warhammer. The sorcerer had a keen head on his shoulders.

“But,” continued Hennet, “we can expect strife and then some when we finally break into the temple. Perhaps we should preserve our strength for that encounter. For that reason, I choose ‘wit’.”

Brek Gorunn reevaluated his opinion of the sorcerer’s instincts, but stayed silent.

“Fine,” said Ember. “Be ready, everyone. Nebin, please activate the test. Let’s hope it still works.”

“And let’s hope it is not part of some more elaborate trap,” worried Brek.

Nebin studied the small hand prints, shrugged, and touched one of them, presumably the one below the rune for ‘wit,’ though of course Brek couldn’t read it.

The skull, the very one Brek Gorunn earlier kicked, spoke. It lay on its side, fetched up in a corner of the shaft. Its voice was harsh, grating, if a bit muffled from its new position.

“Answer me; be free,” spoke the skull. “Fail; remain with me.

“A novitiate of dread Lo-Riao seeks to enter the Door of Midnight ahead of his time and without knowledge of the secret password. The novitiate observes a master of Lo-Riao pass the door freely. When he knocked, a dread voice behind the Door of Midnight thundered, ‘Twelve.’ The master answered, ‘Six,’ and was allowed to pass. When another master approached and knocked, the voice screamed, ‘Six.’ The second master answered, ‘Three,’ and was allowed to pass. The novitiate, emboldened by the pattern he thought he saw, approached the Door of Midnight and knocked. The voice behind the door intoned, ‘Ten!’ The novitiate answered, ‘Five.’ For his failure, the novitiate’s essence was absorbed by the flautist who guards the Door of Midnight.