Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

The woman in the hooded cloak spoke, raising her voice as she chanted, “By your beneficence Great Lord of the Night, Reaper of all Flesh, Foe of Light, Hater of Life, and King of Death Renewed, accept this sacrifice. Send us your voice to walk among us again, so that we might know your will fully and act with your grim blessing.”

The mummies groaned their agreement, while Aganon and the red-masked monks repeated, “With your grim blessing.”

The piping of the creatures caught in the light intensified. One of the half-slugs began shaking. Its ululations reached an ear-splitting pitch. As if flicked by an unseen giant’s finger, it tumbled out of the pool of light, leaving a slick trail of slime along the stone floor. Unlike the shadowy forms left behind, this one was now all too real. The death god had sent its gift in the form of an abyssal child. And unless Ember’s eyes were deceived, the abyssal child was larger than the one they had barely beaten on the road to New Koratia.

The creature sniffed with its horrible infantlike head, then swiveled its body. Its eyes locked onto Ember’s and she knew their secret was discovered.

The creature screeched in a demented little girl’s voice, “Nerull commands the death of those who look upon these proceedings. They defile this unholy temple, who have refused his oath, who have not received the sacrament of Nerull.”

The time of waiting and watching was past. It was time for battle.

The silver-haired woman called loudly, “Intruders in the shrine! To me, my loyal monks!”

With a flick of her hand, she discarded her cloak. Beneath it, she wore a belted half-robe, loose pants, and sandals. Terrible figures were tattooed into her skin. Her eyes shone with vicious intent, fixing on Ember.

“Sosfane?” asked Ember.

The woman slowly smiled in acknowledgement.

“Ah, another monk from my old Order, come to take the Oath? Too late! You should have joined earlier. Now I can offer you only death.”

“We rooted out your influence in the Enabled Hand with Vobod’s defeat,” replied Ember. “We’re here to finish the job at the source. Your minutes are numbered, evil one.”

Sosfane scoffed. “Your meddling has cost us time, nothing more. Soon enough, the Enabled Hand will return to the fold. This time, they will do Nerull’s bidding forevermore.” She motioned to the red-masked monks and cloth-wrapped mummies around her. “Kill her, my cenobites. Kill them all.”

The undead grunted and lumbered forward, their hands extended and grasping. The red-masked monks grinned and fanned out as they advanced.

Brek Gorunn dashed past Ember into the chamber. He should have charged seconds earlier, before the summoning was complete, but it was too late for should-have-dones. Once in, he stopped short, holding his warhammer over his head.

He called out, “Give way, husks of the once-living! Turn your faces and be destroyed!”

His hammer blazed with golden light, temporarily washing out the greenish glow all around him. One of the creatures barely noticed the holy command and moved in to batter the advancing dwarf with fingers stiffened into a permanent claw. The other mummy, however, puffed into a thousand motes of dust, instantly obliterated by Moradin’s holy influence. The dwarf yelled triumphantly, even as the remaining mummy swiped at him with a withered hand.

Brek fell back—he knew that the touch of these animated monsters carried a foul, rotting disease. He saw the corpse’s face, partly hidden beneath centuries-old funeral wrappings, open its mouth and exhale a puff of rotten air into his face. He stumbled back another step, but as he did so he raised his warhammer with both hands.

“Be dead, damn you!” screamed the dwarf.

His hammer crashed down on the creature’s head. The mummy’s empty, dried skull shattered to pieces, leaving only tattered wrappings above its shoulders. But the corpse kept clawing at him, groping for chinks in his armor. Brek knew that the fight could only end with either him or the mummy truly and completely dead.

As its dead hand blindly reached for him again, Brek swiped the warhammer sideways against the desiccated creature’s elbow. The forearm broke away and hung by the wrappings. A succession of quick blows reduced the stumbling creature to a heap of feebly twitching bones and wrappings.

Ember zipped after Brek. She was glad for the dwarf’s influence over the undead, but she wanted to deal with the monks herself. Without thinking about it, she selected an advancing red mask and ran at him full speed. Even among those of equal talent in the Order, Ember was known for her speed. Before her enemy quite knew where she was, she was hammering him with shi kune. He gasped and collapsed, but his friends were already drawing their net around Ember.

She jumped away from the first monk and whirled on the others, slipping between the sweeping hands of a scythelike strike. A back-kick tapped that man’s head, sending him reeling. Two others closed in, spinning their own lethal kicks, but she rolled between them. A second later she was up and outside the broken ring. Two out of seven were dazed and stumbling.

Ember was barely set in her stance, bahng ah jah se, before three of the monks were on her. They tumbled forward in an impressive display of martial threat. She did not retreat; instead she leaped straight in the air at the last moment, scissoring her feet in a sharp arc that connected with the heads of two men. Using their heads as steps, she launched a spectacular flying elbow-strike against the third. The crack of her hardened joint against his skull dropped him instantly.

Two of the seven remained on their feet. The man she had attacked first with shi kune also was struggling back to his feet, but the others were clearly done.

From behind them, Sosfane yelled, “Get her, or your ineptitude will doom your souls before Nerull!”

Steeling themselves, they advanced. Ember smiled and crooked a finger.

Hennet stood half in the chamber, gazing in awe at Ember’s martial display. At this rate, he thought, they’ll all be dead before Nebin gets up his nerve! Then he noticed Aganon. As Sosfane angrily ordered her monks forward, Aganon’s gaze narrowed on Hennet, and the sorcerer glared back.

Aganon smirked and said, “Small world, no? I told you I would have my revenge. Now, I can simply kill you. Rules won’t protect you here. I’ll have the Duel Arcane trophy in the end.”

He drew a pale wand from his shirt. It was thin but jagged, like a stylized bolt of lightning.

Hennet said nothing, but held forth his own wand. It was golden, and its light was not tainted by the evil illumination of the chamber.

“Another duel, then,” the sorcerer said. “It will end the same way, except today you’ll be losing your life along with the match.”

Nebin decided that Hennet could deal with Aganon; he had once before, after all. Brek was the one who needed aid. As he demolished the second mummy, the abyssal slug was already bearing down on the dwarf. Nebin raised his hands to fling a spell at the slug when three more red-masks sprinted into the chamber. All bore themselves like monks and moved to join those menacing Ember. She was already outnumbered, so Nebin turned to face them instead. He had to neutralize all three of them somehow. The gnome reviewed his magical arsenal.

When in doubt, stick with what you know, he decided.

Nebin gestured and uttered arcane syllables, manifesting a twisting pattern of subtle, shifting color directly in front of the red-masked men. One cenobite ran through it without noticing, but the other two stumbled to a stop, staring in complete fascination at the pattern.

I’ve snared you, you bastards! Nebin exulted.