Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

Splashes echoed again across the lake. A quick check behind confirmed that all her friends were accounted for.

From the rear, Nebin whispered, “Now don’t tell me you all didn’t hear that?”

Ember cocked her head and heard another series of splashes. A sad melody sounding like a flute wafted out from the cold darkness behind them.

“Oh, shards!” yelled Nebin. “It’s been following us. Go, go, go!”

So saying, the gnome tried to worm his way around Hennet and nearly knocked both of them into the still water.

“Nebin, if you push me in so help me…,” began Hennet.

“Quickly!” hissed Ember from the lead.

Following her own command, she turned and redoubled her earlier pace, praying the dwarf suffered no misstep. If he fell, he’d be lost. Now was not the time to mount a water rescue. She didn’t want to meet that hideous, tentacled thing again, and especially not while trapped on a ledge.

They all followed her, and so, too, did the fluting. Ripples, as of something moving out on the lake, began washing against the foot of the ledge. The fear she remembered so clearly from the nightmare at the crevice clawed anew at the edges of her mind.

The path opened into a larger space, and Ember rushed forward from the ledge, gasping, looking for any avenue of escape. The others were close on her heels and had the same thoughts in mind. But the space seemed only a cubbyhole, a room-sized niche in the side of the cavern.

Somehow they all spied the alcove at the back of the landing at the same time and rushed forward. To their horror, it was not a pathway but only a small, dead-end hollow space. The only way out was to continue around the lake on the ledge, and that meant more of the horrid fluting.

Besides the horror of the tentacled thing, Ember had been keeping one eye on the green light. They were noticeably closer to it now. In fact, it was close enough that she could see its glow reflected off the damp stone walls of the cavern.

Suddenly the light dimmed to nothing. Ember realized that something must have blocked the entrance to the niche, trapping them inside.

Tentacles wavered toward them in the small chamber, twitching in time to that hideous, unnatural fluting. The sound was utterly devoid of life, like the voice of death calling in the night. It seemed to come from a void, and it beckoned them to its realm beyond terror.

Ember believed her last, desperate hour had arrived. She moved forward, uncertain what she could do against such a creature, but preferring death to torment. Beside her, Brek Gorunn held forth his warhammer, praying aloud to Moradin for the strength to prevail against such unholy might. Nebin pointed his trusty wand at the blot of evil, his face set and grim. Hennet drew the Golden Wand, his eyes steely.

Ember inched forward.

Interlaced with the ghastly music, she suddenly heard a voice.

It was an inhuman sound created by the lilting tones, and it said, “Give back what you have stolen.” Ember hesitated, confused.

Nebin squeaked out, “We haven’t stolen anything! Leave us be!”

The mass filled all the opening and bulged inward. The music swelled, and with it the voice.

It said again, “Give back. Give back what you have stolen. The Door of Midnight swings wide, unless the thief returns the key.”

Her voice shaking, Ember asked, “What did the thief take?”

A dozen tentacles wormed across the cramped space as the voice said, “The horn blade.”

“The unicorn dagger!” cried Hennet as he yanked the gleaming blade from his belt. He flipped it through the air toward the monstrosity. “Take it!”

Darkness converged on the dagger, hiding it from view. The moment the weapon disappeared, the music died.

A final note whispered, “You may go,” then silence returned.

The darkness receded from the lantern’s glow like a physical creature. Perhaps it was. When it was gone, so was the dagger.

Ember breathed heavily. Perhaps her last battle wasn’t upon her after all.

She smiled tentatively and said, “Was that a good omen?”

Everyone laughed, the tension broken. Nebin cast himself on the floor in relief.

“Perhaps we were wrong about that fellow we found lying near the door,” said Hennet. “I guess that dagger wasn’t his, though we found it near his remains. He must have taken it from some tomb or reliquary. Perhaps from beyond that door—could it be the Door of Midnight? If it wasn’t his, it wasn’t mine to take, either. I hope we returned it to its rightful owner.”

Ember placed a hand on both of Hennet’s shoulders, facing him. “I’d say you saved us.”

Hennet took one of her hands in both of his and held it. His touch was firm, dry, and she treasured it.

“Not to interrupt this moment,” said the dwarf, “but we’re close to the center.” Brek Gorunn stood at the edge of the niche where the creature had so recently been. He looked out across the water and the faint, green trail glimmering like a path to the nearby glow. “The green glow just ahead could well mark the porch of the revived temple.”

“Whether it does or doesn’t, I need to rest,” said Nebin. “I’ve had as much as I can take in one day. If we’re so close, let’s rest a while, then go on at full strength afterward.”

Brek nodded. “I can barely think, for memory of that fluting sound. That music will haunt me for years.”

He looked at Ember, who mentally recounted the hours that had passed since they entered the catacombs. Everyone had sustained bruises and cuts in the fall down the chute. The mages had nearly exhausted their spells along the way and needed time to rest if only to refocus their energy. Ember was tired simply from so many hours of walking through darkness at high alert. Their narrow escape from the tentacled monstrosity had earned them a rest.

“Set camp,” she said.

Their narrow sanctuary was bare of any adornment, debris, or other clues to its original purpose. For now, it served as the perfect shelter. Bedrolls and provisions were retrieved them from packs. Ember’s mat had seen better days, but she still found it comfortable; she’d slept on much worse. Brek set the lantern in the corner, refilled the oil, and turned the wick low. Ember realized that she had come to regard the lantern and its welcome light almost as another member of their group.

Brek Gorunn volunteered for the first watch. He sat on the floor, near the alcove opening, humming dwarven chants under his breath. Ember tried to sleep, lulled by the dwarf’s murmuring, the glimmering shadows thrown by the lamp, Nebin’s snores, and Hennet’s deep, easy breathing.

Hennet started suddenly awake—had someone tapped him? It was Ember, waking him for his turn on watch. The dwarf and the gnome were bundled in their bedrolls along one wall, turned away from the light of the lantern. Ember sat near him. The sorcerer sat up and yawned.

“All quiet?” asked Hennet sleepily.

“All quiet,” confirmed Ember.

She watched him, her eyes hidden in shadow, but with a small smile touching her lips.

“Great. I’m good. I’ll wake Nebin in a few hours. Get some sleep.”

Ember nodded, but said, “I’m not sleepy. I’ve been meditating as I sat here, so I’m rested. I’ll keep you company during your watch, if you like.”

“I’d like nothing better!”

“Good. Perhaps you and I can talk a little.”

“About what?”

Ember mused, then said, “I thought perhaps you could tell me more of your past journeys. I’m still curious about Nebin and the ‘red lever’ you referred to last night in the Cuttlestone.”

Hennet laughed quietly, absurdly pleased she remembered his words. It seemed as if he had spoken them weeks ago. He pulled a wine skin from his pack and shared some with Ember. The stone where they sat was cold, and the wine helped warm their backsides, or at least it seemed so.