Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

A drawn-out, grating scream reverberated through the chamber where Ember stood triumphant. It came from the sick pool of light where demonic slugs swam in filth. Never clear, the vision faded completely, until only bare stone remained. With the passing of the window to the Abyss, the unclean illumination springing from every stone also dimmed, then failed. The chamber was quickly pulled into darkness, but wholesome, clean darkness was a great improvement.

From his position on the ground, Hennet groaned, “Are we victorious?”

All was hidden, without the light of evil illuminating the room. The sorcerer mumbled a simple spell of light—a flickering ghost-flame as bright as a candle answered his summons.

Ember, revealed in Hennet’s light, smiled and said, “We are. Let’s see to our companions.”

Grimacing from the pain in his arm, Hennet stood. The small circle of light revealed Aganon, Sosfane, and just at the edge, Nebin’s boot. None moved. Hennet and Ember rushed to where Nebin lay sprawled on his side.

Hennet checked for a pulse and was relieved to find it. He quickly retrieved one of his curative vials. Popping the cork, he dabbed the gnomes lips. Nebin’s eyes slowly opened.

Hennet gave the gnome the rest to drink, saying, “You had me worried for a moment. I should have realized you’re too ornery to die.”

The magic was quick to work on Nebin, and he sat up, his bruises fading as Hennet watched.

The gnome said, “Did we win?”

Ember and Hennet laughed and Ember replied, “You and Hennet sound as if you have practice with that question. Come, we must see to Brek Gorunn.”

Nebin climbed to his feet. Brushing off his coat, the gnome said, “One of the red masks knocked me senseless, but I could still make out what was going on. Brek knocked the cultist down, but the abyssal child was going to dissolve me! Thankfully, Brek pulled it away, right before I lost consciousness. He saved my life.”

“I’ll look,” said Ember, and she moved off into the dark.

A few dozen feet away in the gloom Ember halted, looking at something on the floor ahead. Her body prevented the gnome from getting a clear view.

In a quiet voice, Ember said, “He died saving you, then.”

“No, it can’t be…” Nebin mumbled, stumbling forward. Hennet followed and saw that Ember spoke the truth. Brek had fallen. After his ferocious, grappling struggle with the abyssal child and its flesh-dissolving acids, little of the dwarf remained but bits of metal and hair. The demon, too, was slain, strangled by the dwarf’s mighty sinews. But the creature’s death came at too dear a price.

Nebin was speechless. Hennet put a hand on Ember’s arm, tying to think of something he could say, some condolence he could offer. He had nothing. Ember cast a hand over her face. Though she made no sound, tears of terrible grief rolled down her cheek.

Brilliant sunlight did not allay the solemn mood in the courtyard. The Elders of the Enabled Hand stood assembled, their heads respectfully bowed. The courtyard, one of many contained in the Motherhouse, was reserved for monuments to heroes of the Order. And so it was offered to accept Brek Gorunn’s remains.

Ember knelt before the small monument to the dwarf raised just that morning.

“Goodbye, Brek,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She rested her hand for a moment on the cold stone, then rose to her feet. Behind her, Hennet stood, his face downturned. Nebin wept openly, clutching Brek’s warhammer to his chest. Beyond the courtyard the banner of the Order flew at half mast. A deep bell tolled its grief.

Elder Kairoth stepped forward and spoke.

“Brek Gorunn returns to the halls of his fathers. He goes where gold, silver, and acclaim are of little worth, yet here his name shall long be spoken with hushed tones of respect. He died saving his friends from the fury of a beast most fell and the servitors of an evil god. His sacrifice ensured victory and life for his friends. Through their victory, our Order was rescued from a dark influence of secret evil; the death god’s plans are laid bare and dissolved. Therefore, forevermore let the name of Brek Gorunn be remembered. He shall be entered in the sacred lists of the Order, and he will stand equal to Bezoar, Loku, and the other sacred heroes of the Enabled Hand. So let it be written; so let it be done!”

Nebin stepped forward and laid Brek’s beloved warhammer across the monument.

“Well done,” murmured Hennet. Ember nodded her agreement, holding the sorcerer’s hand. Nebin stepped back, and all assembled regarded the monument until the bell tolled again.

After the ceremony was concluded, the companions followed the elders into the Motherhouse. They were ushered past lines of respectful novices into the elder’s inner dojo. There, each was given a commendation for his part in saving the Order from Sosfane’s machinations. Each was also awarded a small ribbon of silk. Elder Kairoth explained that each length of silk contained the strength of the Order woven into it. At need, the bearer could call on that strength in a desperate situation, or when grief grew too burdensome to bear alone.

All murmured their thanks, knowing the Order was doing them a great honor. But no honor, no matter how magnificent, could fill the hollow they felt in the centers of their chests. Their friend was dead.

Though the body of Brek Gorunn was gone, his memory remained anchored to the monument. His warhammer was his fiercest weapon and his tool of piety. In it, the dwarf invested much of his thought and purpose. In the years following, it was said that the hammer rang with the clamor of battle if danger threatened the Order, and the Motherhouse of the Enabled Hand was thus always forewarned of the approach of enemies.

Twelve days later, the three friends met one last time. They sat in the common room of the Cuttlestone, as they had often since Brek’s memorial. They discussed many things sitting at this table, including what the future held for each of them. Hennet and Ember had also spoken privately of themselves. Heaping loss on grief, it became clear that he and Ember were destined to part. She wished to remain at the order, seeing to its renewal. Hennet couldn’t fault her, but he wished with all his heart that she would join him on the road. Mostly, however, they spoke of their lost friend.

As the days of the season grew shorter, it was time for leave-taking.

“Ember, want to reconsider?” he joked, half-seriously. “On the morrow we must go. If you decide against remaining in New Koratia, you know I…” He couldn’t continue. She already knew. She reached for his hand, saying nothing.

Hennet continued, “Nebin and I have long traveled together…he would welcome you as a companion, too. We could look out for each other. There are dangers in the world worse even than Sosfane, I imagine. And there is loneliness.”

Ember shook her head.

“Dear Hennet,” she said, gripping his hand harder, “I would come with you if I could—you know that—but there is much to do in the Order, to rebuild the damage done by Sosfane. I cannot leave now. I have made the only decision I can. I will stay with the Order until it is healed.”

Hennet sighed, nodding glumly. With all their talk, he hadn’t expected anything less. When he spoke of Nebin and himself as a team, he suspected that wouldn’t last much longer, either. The College of Wizardry in New Koratia held a strong fascination for the gnome. Nebin spent many hours every night, after their talks in the Cuttlestone, reading in the college libraries.

As if in answer to Hennet’s thought, the gnome cleared his throat. Nebin said, a plaintive note in his voice, “Hennet—I, too, must take my leave from your side for a while. I value your friendship more than gold, but I am summoned. The College of Wizardry here in New Koratia offered me a seat in a two-month course of study, ‘The Metamagical Principle.’ I have to accept, if I wish to advance in my craft. I should have spoken before.”