Nebin felt enlivened after the rest, ready for anything.

He snapped his fingers, laughing, "I'm even ready for another flute-playing phantom."

He chuckled, waiting for Hennet's censuring look, disapproving of his over-exuberance. But Hennet and Ember were paying attention only to each other, not to him. He decided he could grandstand later, when his audience was ready to appreciate his wit.

When camp was struck, they again moved out on the narrow ledge. The vast cavern remained dark but for the emerald beacon. The black water was perfectly calm. They continued their interrupted journey on the ledge that seemed to circled the water. Nebin felt much better when they finally reached the green radiance.

The light gleamed from the mouth of a tunnel that opened on the lake. The gnome estimated the tunnel was roughly opposite from where they'd entered the cavern. Water from the lake encroached the corridor, but it was shallow enough for them to splash through.

The pale glow seeped from the very stone like condensation, beading the walls with motes of sick radiance. Black water lapped on the floor of the corridor, still and fetid. He could hardly bear the stagnant stink of it as they trooped forward. Thankfully, about thirty paces in they arrived at the tunnel's terminus. An iron door blocked the passage. Disturbing scenes were welded onto the door's face, which Nebin avoided looking at too closely. The skull and scythe symbol of Nerull was welded into the very center of the door in raised relief. A dark gemstone gleamed dully in one eye socket, but the other was hollow. No keyhole or pull ring was visible on the door. Nebin realized that this was probably the back entrance to the revived temple of Nerull, the Reaper of Flesh.

"No one has come this way in a long, long time," said Brek Gorunn. "I doubt this water has stirred in years. I think we've achieved the surprise we sought."

Nebin sloshed forward, sending small waves to ripple through the pool. He was glad to find the water shallower near the door. He pushed up his goggles and squinted at the relief-carved skull.

"Is the skull important?" wondered Ember.

Nebin wondered the same thing. "What kind of gem is that, do you think?"

He reached out, tapping it. Nothing happened.

Brek Gorunn said, "Nebin! Be careful, will you?"

Nebin nodded, half listening. "Sure...Say, maybe this is some sort of key."

He touched the empty socket, and the dwarf's intake of breath was audible. Again, nothing happened.

The gnome scratched his chin.

"Maybe pull the other one out?" ventured Hennet.

Brek Gorunn glared at Nebin, stroked the head of his warhammer, and said, "Or, if we're just going to poke and prod our way into every trap and alarm along the path anyway, I could save some time and just hammer the door off its hinges."

Ember shook her head and said, "Before we start getting on one another's nerves again, lets try a few simple ideas. For instance, why is one eye socket hollow, but the other filled?

"Try this," she continued. "Put something in the hollow socket. A small gem, like the other, perhaps." So saying, she reached into an inner pocket in her vest and drew out a small gemstone. "Agate. Not too valuable, but maybe worth a shot."

The monk tossed the stone to the gnome. Nebin caught the agate, examined it briefly, then pressed it into the hollow socket.

Nothing.

Brek Gorunn grumbled, "Is the beard-tangled door even locked?"

"That's a good question," admitted Nebin.

He pushed on the door.

A faint, emerald glitter woke in the skull's stone eye. They heard a click, and the door began swinging silently open. Ember and Brek both looked at Nebin in surprise. He realized he may have been premature. Slightly embarrassed, he snatched the agate back from the skull and slipped it into his coat pocket as the door opened wide.

 

 

"Be ready!" whispered Ember.

She fell into bahng ah jah se, the right guarding stance, and watched the opening widen. The time for subtlety was reaching an end. Nebin scuttled back from the door, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.

"Is everyone ready?" she whispered.

She looked to Hennet first. The sorcerer flicked his wrist, and the Golden Wand fell easily into it, promising potent electrical displays. Brek produced the oil he'd purchased at the Wizard's Hoard and poured it over the head of his warhammer. The weapon absorbed all the oil instantly, then glimmered with a dull, inner light.

Bright light spilled from the room beyond. Ember blinked as her eyes adjusted to the powerful illumination.

The chamber beyond the door was expansive. The ceiling rose smoothly into a dome high above the floor. Virulent emerald light pulsed through the mortared stone walls and played lewdly over the signs and figures carved on them. Lambent rivulets of radiance gathered and flowed down the walls, creating a shallow pool of brightness in the center of the floor. Within the pool of light, things moved—familiar, sluglike things. They lay in the light as if bathing, and perhaps they were. Their high, piping voices cried rhythmically to the cadence of the pulsing illumination. They were ghostly, however, insubstantial, as if they were not entirely real, or not entirely...there.

People stood silhouetted against the glowing pool, partly occluding the writhing forms. Two of the figures were covered in funerary wrappings—they were undead. Only one figure was female—a silvery-haired woman wearing a hooded, skull-encrusted cloak. Perhaps it was Sosfane, the mastermind behind all their recent woe. Several men stood nearby, dressed in loose robes and wearing red half-masks. Cultists, she realized, and probably all trained in the way of hand, foot, and fist.

One of the men wore no mask, and his face seemed familiar. The memory flooded back to Ember—it was Aganon, the man Hennet defeated in the final round of the Duel Arcane! She looked back and saw similar recognition come to Hennet and Nebin.

Brek Gorunn's plan to come upon the temple from the rear worked better than she could have imagined. Unless she missed her guess, they'd stumbled into the heart of the revived temple. Better yet, their arrival hadn't yet been noticed. She decided to wait. The worshipers would likely disperse after the ritual's conclusion, and it would be better to attack them separately, rather than all at once.

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, Emher 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."

Aganon sneered and brought up his weapon. The battle of wands was joined.

 

 

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.

He concentrated on the pattern, weaving it with new variations of color and complexity. The combinations thrilled him. A few greens, some purple. It was a sight to behold.

The red-mask who hadn't stopped hesitated when he found himself suddenly alone. Glancing around, he saw the gnome at the edge of the room. Nebin shrank back, frantically sputtering a spell of shielding as the cenobite charged him. The spell triggered just as a fist rocketed toward his face. Nebin squealed, his magical shield flared blue as it deflected the blow, and the red-mask yelped in pain over his broken knuckles.

"You know not who you face!" roared Nebin, trying to make himself sound intimidating as he groped for a scroll of staying, or his wand, or anything that could disable the attacker quickly.

The cenobite laughed grimly, then swept his leg out parallel to the floor, neatly tripping Nebin. The floor met the gnome's face with a sickening jolt. Nebin scrambled to roll over, and half succeeded before the red-mask struck again.

His hands whirled too quickly for the gnome to follow. Before Nebin really understood his peril, he was struck four times. For him, the battle was over.

 

 

Brek Gorunn swore. The damned slug was just looking at him. The dwarf gritted his teeth, anticipating anything.

It piped, "Flee, priest, unless you would die in a place where your pitiful god will not hear your screams."

As it spoke, the creature's eyes flared red. A compulsion washed over Brek Gorunn, pushing him to drop everything and flee to save his life. Gritting his teeth and groaning with the effort, he fought the urge. A cleric of the Dwarffather would not be bested by such a miserable trick! Brek had walked in many deep places of the world and faced real terrors unafraid; he would not run now, demon or no.

A red-mask hammered him from the side; the dwarf barely deflected the blows with his iron shield. Behind the cenobite lay Nebin's crumpled body. The dwarf looked away from the demon slug. There would be time enough to deal with the fiend after he showered the monk with the Dwarffather's "blessings."

The magical oil seemed almost to guide the hammer on its own and multiply the force of its blows. Instead of grasping the weapon by its handle, he gripped the stout leather thong and whirled it like a sling. The shrieking hammer was like a hurricane, threatening death at the slightest, glancing blow. Now it was Brek who advanced and his foe who was suddenly uncertain.

The red-mask impressed Brek with his bravery by deflecting the first three hammer blows, but deflecting a whirling hammer with a hand or elbow has its price. The cenobite tried to regain the initiative with a flurry of counterattacks, only to learn too late that his wrist and elbow were already shattered.

The dwarf growled from beneath his beard, "Your death god is weak!"

He pounded the sentiment home by bashing the man's face with his shield. Its clang against his skull was the last sound the cenobite ever heard.

Brek spun around, wondering where the abyssal child had gone.

 

 

Three cenobites lay senseless at Ember's feet. Three more maneuvered to renew their attack against her, calling out instructions to each other as they circled. Behind them, Sosfane watched, her eyes glittering. Ember had no time to wonder why Sosfane waited. The three cenobites rushed her with perfect timing.

Defiantly yelling, "For the Hand!" Ember pivoted on her heel and thrust her palm into the first red-mask's neck.

Cartilage parted under her ferocious blow. Someone clubbed her but she feinted away, drawing her attackers on with her movement. Doubling back with a cartwheel kick, she caught a second under the chin. The impact was enough to hurl him backward, unconscious.

The last monk paused, taking stock, as Ember completed her cartwheel. More cautious with his own safety than his former compatriots had been, this one adopted a defensive posture. As Ember advanced, the cenobite retreated, step for step. Reluctant to expend time she might not have, Ember coiled her body, then thrust herself forward with both her fists out and together. Her full-body blow caught the last cenobite squarely on the chest. Ribs snapped, and the man fled, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

Then there was only Sosfane. Ember knew that her friends still fought all around her, but it was the cult leader who represented the real threat.

She called out, "Are you afraid to face me, witch?"

The silver-haired woman smiled as she said, "You are a prodigy of my old Order and Kairoth's student. I'll enjoy killing you."

The sentence was barely complete when Sosfane leaped a dozen feet through the air like a bolt launched from a crossbow. A lethal high kick was aimed directly at Ember's chest. It would have struck her down if not for Loku's Bracers, which of their own accord, lifted Ember's arm and deflected the attack! Ember looked into her foe's eyes from a distance of barely a pace.

"Your order? The Enabled Hand never trained a foul creature like you!"

Ember kicked twice; both attacks were met by the woman's flashing wrists.

Sosfane lauughed and said, "I was a star pupil! Kairoth himself taught me the Order's most guarded techniques. The old fool didn't know I was also learning the secrets of the death god, Nerull! I reopened this temple years ago. Since then, I've been bending members of the Hand to Nerull's will, a few at a time. Some had to be forced, but not all. You would be surprised at how many were keen to join."

As she spoke, her hand crept into her sash. It lashed forth holding a small kama, its daggerlike blade tipped with a reddish liquid.

She jabbed at Ember, but the monk flipped back and kicked the kama from the tattooed woman's hand. It clattered to the ground, far out of reach.

Breathing hard, Ember exclaimed, "No one by the name of Sosfane was ever trained in the Order!"

"Adeva Silverhair was the name I used," said the woman, raining a flurry of blows on Ember. "But I am Sosfane, a disciple of the death god. "And when I've killed you," she gloated, "I shall feast on your flesh, in Nerull's name!"

They were upon each other again, trading blows, kicks, blocks, and throws too swiftly for any eye to follow. Training and instinct guided their hands and feet.

Ember stood toe to toe with her nemesis, and she knew Sosfane was beating her. Despite all her skill and noble purpose, Sosfane was simply more excellent. She was not really hurting Ember, yet.

Both knew the forms, the attacks, and the defenses. When Ember struck with shi kune, the stunning fist, Sosfane countered with makee, the blocking fist. Ember's yup ju mok, the hammer fist, was defeated by Sosfane's pal moke makeei, the outer forearm block. Ember could find no way past Sosfane's defenses, and her own were likewise impenetrable. But Ember was growing tired. She had already fought seven men before facing Sosfane.

Again they drew apart for a heartbeat.

Sosfane said, "You are a high student of the Order, but your skills are stagnant. Nerull could teach you more...as he taught me."

Sosfane seemed to levitate into the air for a moment. Ember gasped—it was soo jik so gee, the vertical stance! This was far beyond her own skill—maybe even beyond Elder Kairoth's.

Sosfane unfolded from her superior aerial position, striking out with the side of her foot like a tornado brushing the ground. Unable to block, Ember took the full force of the blow. She tumbled and fell, feeling crippling pain shoot through her.

If there was ever a time for a hero, she thought, that time was now. Ember slipped a hand into her tunic and pulled out the vial she purchased at the Wizard's Hoard. She pulled the stopper with her teeth and gulped down the magical elixir.

At the liquid's first touch on her tongue, confidence coursed through her limbs and renewed strength pulsed in her hands. The sensation of power exceeded anything she could have imagined! She noticed that even Loku's Bracers pulsed with white light, in tune to her heartbeat. Somehow, the bracers were enhancing the effect of the elixir, and vice versa.

She slowly stood, and said, "Let's begin again."

Sosfane obliged.

 

 

Aganon was faster than Hennet. A blast of jagged light issued from the tip of his wand, searing toward Hennet with electrical fingers. Hennet held forth the Golden Wand. Its yellow glow intensified. With a clap like thunder, the golden light absorbed Aganon's electrical bolt. The wand sizzled and sparked in Hennet's hand, filled to capacity with its meal—tiny jolts of electricity discharged, stinging the sorcerer's hand. Hennet was thrilled.

He bore the pain from the sparks with a smile. After all, without his trophy, Aganon's first bolt might have simply killed him. Hennet could feel the force of the lightning bolt trapped within his wand. It raged like a caged beast, straining to break free.

Hennet mentally grasped that energy, molding and shaping it. This was not something he could normally do, he knew, but a power granted by the wand. When it was ready seconds later, he flicked it back at Aganon. This time, a golden beam of energy flowed between the two mages. Aganon tried to dodge, but a splash of golden fire enveloped him. He cried out in pain. Smoke rose from his clothing and his skin was charred, but he stood.

Hennet said, "Yield, or I'll burn you to a cinder!"

 

 

Brek looked wildly around for the abyssal child. Had it fled? He couldn't find it. Then his eyes fell on Nebin's body. When his attention was focused on the monk, the creature had decided to indulge its hunger on Nebin's defenseless form. Brek could easily see the slug's trail of slime on the floor. It pulled itself upright over Nebin and prepared to douse him with its digestive slime.

That's when Brek Gorunn threw himself bodily on the fiend, screaming, "Back to the Abyss with you, demon!"

The weight of the dwarf's body slammed the slug down and immediately dislodged it from the gnome. Brek grappled the rubbery flesh that burned his skin wherever they touched. The pair rolled away from the gnome, over and over. The creature screamed and spat its acid, but not a drop touched Nebin.

Brek Gorunn had saved Nebin's life. The dwarf took consolation in that knowledge as he rolled the demon farther from the gnome, as its acid burned away one of his hands, leaving a smoldering stump of liquid agony. With the one hand that remained to him, Brek strangled the horrid life from the demon's retching, shrieking, child's face—a life for a life, he grimaced.

Let Moradin be merciful when we meet.

 

 

Like all disciples of Sosfane, Aganon was accustomed to pain, but the blast from the Golden Wand hurt! He brought up his wand once more with shaking hands, then thought better of it. Up to that point he'd imagined the Golden Wand to be little more than a trinket. The realization that it was an item of real power unnerved him and left him badly hurt in the bargain.

He looked to Sosfane—she hammered Ember to the floor with an incredible aerial kick. It was only a matter of time before Sosfane crushed the Enabled Hand monk. If he ran from the conflict, Sosfane would find him and he would pay for his cowardice. That thought decided him; death here would be easier to endure.

Again Aganon discharged his wand. Searing lightning struck at Hennet. The sorcerer stood unflinching, as a mountain's summit weathers an electrical storm. This time, however, Hennet swung his wand like a club. When the wand struck Aganon's sizzling bolt, it reversed and streaked back at its caster.

This isn't fair, Aganon thought as the electricity tore into him.

His teeth sparked and his eyes burst. Through the pain, a vision of a skeletal hand appeared in his mind, reaching for him. He would have screamed, but the Reaper had his soul.

Ember launched herself from the ground at Sosfane, eschewing the time it would take to stand. Sosfane blocked the kick and Ember landed on her feet. The cultist thrust one hand forward attempting to clamp it around Ember's neck, but Ember ducked.

Charged with the combination of the elixir and Loku's Bracers, Ember launched four variations on standard kicks. She solidly struck her foe with bitro cha gee, the twisting kick, then again with naeryo cha gee, the downward kick. She had found a weakness in Sosfane's technique: too much reliance on the hand and fist, and too little on the foot!

"I have your measure, now. You won't knock me down again, Sosfane," promised Ember.

"We'll see."

Sosfane leaped into the air, out of Ember's reach, once more using the dreaded vertical stance.

She hovered, studying Ember, and said, "Now, it ends."

Sosfane prepared to descend on her foe like a falling star. Ember remembered the first kick and wondered whether she really could take another.

She braced for Sosfane's overwhelming kick, but it didn't come.

Sosfane floated, a dark angel surveying the carnage of the chamber, and screamed, "Where did you run to, rabbit!?"

Have her eyes failed her? wondered Ember. Then a memory flashed into her mind—Hennet during the final Duel Arcane had bested Aganon with a newly awakened spell of invisibility. She darted a glance over to Hennet. There was the sorcerer, standing over the smoking body of Aganon. He was looking at Sosfane, but met Ember's gaze for a heartbeat. He winked.

Ember knew the fight was hers. Hennet had turned her invisible.

Fuming and without a target, Sosfane alighted on the stone floor. Ember crept closer as Sosfane searched the chamber. The silver-haired fiend gasped aloud when she saw Aganon's smoking corpse.

Sosfane screamed at Hennet, "You should have fled with the rest. That error will cost you, as it has your companions."

Slowly she advanced on Hennet, still on guard lest the sorcerer cast some spell her way. Ember followed behind, unseen and unnoticed. She knew she could not allow Sosfane to reach the sorcerer—at close quarters, he would be helpless against her martial skill. And Hennet looked drained. Using the Golden Wand required a supreme effort of will. She saw him fumble for his crossbow. Sosfane continued advancing, taunting him.

"Soon, you'll keep Aganon company, a servant to usher Aganon into the deathless realm of Nerull."

Sosfane broke into a charge. Hennet got off a single bolt—it went wide—before the evil monk was upon him. He backed up and raised an arm. It was only luck that Sosfane's first kick broke his arm and not his neck. The sound of the crunching bone brought Ember's heart to her mouth.

Silently, she positioned herself behind Sosfane. Channeling all the remaining power from the magical potion into her hand, she struck a single blow. The strength of the potion and the desperate straits of herself and her friends combined and fueled her strength beyond any force she had known, and maybe ever would again. The sound of her open hand striking Sosfane's spine was thunderous. The black-hearted, rotten core at the center of the Order's disruption snapped backward soundlessly.

Sosfane was received directly into the kingdom of her evil god.

 

 

With Sosfane's passing, the shadow of her influence departed the temple. Where the shadow fled, those forced to take the Oath of Nerull were suddenly freed. They were left blinking and confused, as if suddenly wakened from an evil dream. In the city above, the vestige of Sosfane's influence melted like ice in the sun. Those who were only lightly touched, such as Elder Kairoth and some few others, suddenly walked easier, as if some burden, carried so long it was forgotten, was suddenly set aside.

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.