Oath of Nerull

12

After the festivities, which included a special feast held by the college for the winners (and their closest friends) in all the categories, Hennet, Nebin, and Ember returned to the Cuttlestone. Ember realized that her hearty congratulatory hug was the first overt sign she'd given the sorcerer that he was capable of winning her affection.

What effect might that have on him? she wondered.

Hennet, feeling gregarious and generous after his win, picked up the dinner tab in the common room. Thankfully, Brek Gorunn was not back from his fact-finding visit to the local temple of Moradin. Ember knew to beware the dwarf at table-his stomach was voluminous, and he would gladly take advantage of a free meal. When Brek Gorunn finally did appear, Hennet paid for the dwarf's meal all the same. The others had long since finished their meals. The menu was honey-braised duck slow roasted over cherry-wood embers.

When the dwarf finally sighed and pushed his plate away, he said, "I learned a few things at the dwarven temple today."

Ember sighed. She'd spent most of the day in a jovial and carefree mood, losing herself in watching the Duel Arcane. It was a nice break, but with the dwarf's words, she recalled her duty. It was time to get back to the matter at hand.

Ember asked the question on everyone's mind. "What of the revived temple of Nerull? "The words chilled the table.

The dwarf produced a leather case from his knapsack. Inside was a half-charred parchment-Ember realized it was a map. The dwarf laid it flat on the table, pinning down a curling edge with a handy tankard. Much of it was ruined by burn marks, but some lines remained visible, including a central area with many corridors leading outward.

"This map was made by a cleric of Moradin four hundred and sixty years ago, when the old temple of Nerull was discovered, and destroyed. Now, it's all history. This is the only document the clerics could unearth. The map reveals how the old sewers connect to the far older catacombs." The dwarf pointed to the nexus and said, "Here's where we found Kairoth."

"Catacombs? Are they part of the ancient city?" asked Nebin.

"Yes, pre-Koratia. Here before even the first wave of Nerull-worshipers appeared, but well suited to their needs. Anyway, the old temple of Nerull was based in the very center of the catacombs. The Father Superior at Moradin's Temple, who I spoke with at length today, warned that if Nerull's temple is revived, it likely lies where the old temple once hid-at the heart of the oldest catacombs."

All were silent, remembering their last trip to the mere edge of that lightless maze below New Koratia.

"Then, that is where we must go," said Hennet. Brek Gorunn nodded. Nebin put his head in his hands, sighing. Ember let Hennet have a brilliant smile.

"We should go soon," agreed Brek Gorunn.

"Soon!?" squalled Nebin. "Let's think about this. It would be so nice to simply relax. Let's say we order another round of wine? You can have ale, Brek, if wine doesn't suit you. No need to send us all off to the dungeons."

The dwarf chuckled, "Soon, not in ten minutes, Nebin. I learned a few more things about the catacombs today in Moradin's temple library. We need to make a few preparations, based on what I learned there, and I will have that mug of ale."

"Yes, let's purchase supplies at first light tomorrow," Ember concurred. "I'd like to head into the catacombs no later than noon."

Hennet pulled out his trophy from the Duel Arcane, inspected it, and said, "I'm eager to see if the Golden Wand's power will serve me. I'd like to see if it really can cage magical attacks thrown against me and return them back upon my attacker. What better test than in Nerull's catacombs?"

Nebin said, "How about not going into the catacombs and trying out the power right here in the Cuttlestone? Safer, I'd guess. I can fling a petty bolt at you."

"No, my friend, the wand's power is not unlimited. Better to use it only at need. I'd rather not squander it."

"Nebin, if you feel that a trip into the catacombs is not for you…" began Ember.

"Hold on, don't say it. Of course I'm coming with you. I'm just on the side of caution, that's all," said the gnome. "If not me, who will be the voice of reason?"

Hennet opened his eyes in mock surprise. "If not you? Let me recall to your mind a foray you and I shared last year. It was high summer-do you remember? We were summoned by the alchemist of Whitemore. You pulled that red lever in his laboratory. Oh, you recall that, I see! And do you remember what we went through because of that?"

Nebin interrupted Hennet. "Yes, yes, no need to sift through the whole incident."

Ember's and Brek's expressions indicated they actually wouldn't mind hearing the story, but Nebin continued speaking. "Anyway, we learn from our mistakes."

"I'm glad," said Ember. And she really was. The gnome was competent, even though he enjoyed playing the clown.

Nebin turned back to the dwarf and said, "And you're sure there is no other entry into the revived temple except through the catacombs?"

"Of course there is! But, we're sneaking in. We have a map of the ancient entrance. Presumably, the red masks enter and leave using some entrance closer to the surface. Our way is longer, more dangerous, but should ultimately give us the element of surprise."

Nebin nodded, apparently satisfied.

Ember finished her drink, wondering about the red lever Nebin had pulled. It could wait, but she would like to hear that story someday.

She said, "Wonderful. Tonight we relax. In the morning we prepare for our expedition against the cult of the death god."

At dawn, after an early breakfast, the four companions headed to the market quarter.

Shops could be found pretty much anywhere in the city, but they were concentrated in the market quarter. More importantly, the market quarter was home of the Wizard's Hoard. It dealt strictly in magic and had a first-rate reputation.

Like the Floating Tower, the Hoard was run by the College of Wizardry, though it didn't float. It was a rambling building of luminescent stone resembling blocks of pearl. The main structure was covered by a dome that glittered even in moonlight. Inside, thousands of arcane items could be bought and sold for a fair price.

The group entered through a wide portico and found themselves in a broad, covered bazaar. The ceiling, the interior of the vast dome, sparkled with stars as convincing as the night sky. Below, tents and carts crowded together at the center of the open area. These belonged to the hedge wizards and witches who rented space, selling minor charms and ointments from their wagons. The "good stuff" was to be found along the broad, curving walls, where permanent shop fronts were situated and run directly by the College of Wizardry. No-nonsense advertising hung above many of the shops, scribed in Draconic and other magical languages: Potions, Wands, Staves, Impenetrable Armors, Enchanted Blades, and more.

They stood gazing in wonder. None had ever been to the Wizard's Hoard before. It was a little overwhelming.

First, the group sold the trinkets, documents, and minor items retrieved when they rescued Kairoth. No buyer asked intrusive questions. Everyone purchased a few vials of magical curative. They knew it would be foolhardy to rely solely on Brek Gorunn to save them all from injuries.

Nebin bought some spare, spell-grade parchment.

Ember found a shop called Ellen's Elixirs and Charms. The shop proprietor was a withered, human woman who wore dozens of charms on strands around her neck. Though she hawked many potential wonders, in the end, Ember bought a potion advertised to "make a hero" of the imbiber.

After purchasing a single curative, the dwarf made a beeline for the shop along the round called Smite Plus. Inside, a cornucopia of oils, charms, and scribed spells were available, each offering a temporary enhancement to a weapon. Brek used nearly his last gold imperial to purchase a magical oil that would briefly empower his warhammer. He grinned as he walked out. It was good to serve Moradin!

Hennet bought nothing besides curative vials. He had the Golden Wand, after all. Its powers would be a great help. A few people in the dome even recognized him from the Duel Arcane and congratulated him on his victory.

They met again near the entrance. It was time to move on. After leaving the Hoard they visited a few other shops-Hennet needed crossbow bolts, Ember desired a new pair of gloves, Brek wanted rope, and Nebin pointed out that they could be in the catacombs for quite some time-they had better purchase provisions enough to last for two or three days.

Finally all the supplies were bought, inventoried, and stowed. Each wore a small pack, a pouch, and a satchel. It was time to descend into the lightless halls beneath the city. That was adventure enough on its own, but they knew that getting through the catacombs was only half the challenge. Finding and dealing with the revived temple of Nerull in the heart of the catacombs was their true task.

"There it is," said Ember, pointing at the rune-inscribed double door.

The sewers were behind them, the catacombs lay ahead. One of the stone doors remained open, as they'd left it. Inside, the chamber appeared unchanged. The pit trap gaped wide, opening onto a fall Ember remembered well.

Brek pushed into the room. Ember kept her eye on the far opening while Brek checked the pit.

"Seems clear," shrugged the dwarf. "Let's go."

With the dwarf ahead and Ember right behind, they entered the narrow, urn-lined corridor. As before, Hennet and Nebin brought up the rear. They avoided disturbing the urns, for fear they still held the remains of people long dead. Brek's lantern provided flickering and uncertain light, sending shadows chasing up and down the cemetery hallway.

The next chamber was also quiet. This is the room where we rescued Kairoth, reflected Ember. The room was circular, domed, and connected to six hallways. Each opening was shadowed with threat. During their last visit, greenish ghoul-light had lit the scene. Ember silently thanked providence that that foul radiance was gone, not to mention the animate, spellcasting corpse. Brek walked forward with his light and examined the floor around the altar.

He looked up and declared, "The mummy carcass is gone. Or it removed itself. Either way, something has been here since us."

"If you're suggesting we stay on our guard, don't worry," responded Hennet. "We are."

Brek grinned through his beard.

Hennet continued, "Which way does your map show now?"

Ember moved next to the dwarf as he set down his warhammer and lamp and pulled out the charred map. It indicated that of the six passages connected to this chamber, only one was marked-with a symbol of a skull and scythe.

Brek pointed at the corresponding passage across the room and said, "That way."

"How much farther to the temple?" asked Nebin.

The dwarf shook his head. "The map is only a fragment. If it ever had a scale, it's gone now. Pointing us down this corridor is the limit of its usefulness. I'll lead."

The dwarf held forth the lamp and plunged into the corridor. Ember walked to his right, and she heard Hennet and Nebin follow.

Like the last corridor, this one, too, was lined with elaborate urns. Unfamiliar glyphs on the sides of the urns winked below their ages-old blankets of dust. No one wanted to look at them too closely for fear of disturbing their contents. Almost immediately, the passage angled downward. After walking a long distance on the steep grade, the lantern revealed a mist in the air. The farther they pressed forward, the thicker the haze. Soon, it was a true fog. It smelled faintly of dank copper, or blood. Brek Gorunn's light was a glowing spot of blue in the darkness.

Ember put her hand on the dwarf's shoulder and murmured, "Slow down a bit. The mist could hide anything."

The dwarf grunted, but slowed. Ember thought all their footfalls sounded muffled, as if sound were strangled by the mist.

Eventually the grade leveled off and the passage issued into a room whose edges were obscured in fog. The vapors were acrid in Ember's mouth and nose and made her eyes water. Brek stopped short of entering, and she stopped with him.

Looking back, she said, "Stay close. It's impossible to say how big this room is, with the mist, and we don't want to lose anyone. We're going to follow the right-hand wall around the room. Keep your hand on the wall and you won't get lost. We'll follow it right around until we've come back to this entrance. That way, we won't miss any exits in this damnable fog."

Brek grunted his approval, and they moved out. The fog was thicker than ever.

The trip around the chamber proved a journey of only a minute, and they were moving cautiously. A single sealed exit opposite the entry was found during their circuit. A face, its mouth gaping wide, was carved in relief into the stone above the exit. Fell vapors issued from its mouth, constantly replenishing the haze in the chamber and the corridor leading to it.

"What sorcery is this?" wondered Ember, leaning close.

"Better ask, 'what wizardry,' " said Nebin.

Ember rolled her eyes, though she knew no one could see her.

Nebin continued, "I expect it is a relic of the ancient city. It's said that the ancient city housed a race of wizards. Well, best to fight wizardry with the same."

Ember saw Nebin melt out of the mist as he moved to stand next to her and the face. She couldn't decide what race the carving portrayed, if it was intended to portray any. Nebin frowned, then fumbled in his pockets. He pulled a kerchief from his coat, considered it for a moment, then handed it to Ember and instructed her to stuff it into the stone mouth. The spewing vapor ceased.

"A finer application of wizardry I've never seen," noted Hennet. "Perhaps with your next spell you can open the door?"

Nebin chuckled. He reached for the door ring and pulled. The door didn't budge, but a stony cough issued from the carved face. The kerchief popped from the mouth, propelled by a puff of greenish gas.

"Uh…" stammered the gnome, stumbling backward.

Ember grabbed Nebin around the waist and hauled him toward the entrance. Hennet followed, nearly as quickly. Brek Gorunn appeared a few moments later.

The dwarf sneezed and coughed a few times and said, "I got a whiff of it. Nasty. Poisonous, I expect. Best stay away until it clears."

"If it does," Nebin said darkly.

"It's an old trap," said the dwarf, "and spent, now that we've set it off. I'm sure the poison is weakened from the ages. Otherwise we would be short one gnome."

Nebin darted a look back into the hazy room. Ember could see the curl of greenish mist slowly expanding and diluting into the fog. Nebin shivered.

When Brek Gorunn decided all was clear, they cautiously returned to the door. As the dwarf said, there was no hint of the green gas. Better yet, the blue haze was lifting. The carved face seemed completely quiescent, as if some final bit of elan was now absent. Nebin gave it a tentative tap. Everyone breathed easier after a few seconds of no response.

This time, Ember and Brek tried the door together while Nebin hung back. The door still held fast.

"Put your shoulder into it, Ember," Brek Gorunn advised uselessly.

The tendons in her legs and back trembled, then with a snap! the door burst open.

Beyond, the lantern revealed a mist-free room. A mosaic of dark tile covered the floor and walls, though many tiles were cracked and broken. The faintest glitter of light edged the tiles, giving them a greenish tinge. Ember was pretty sure it wasn't a reflection cast by the lantern-it was a fell light all their own. Apart from the suspicious glow and scattered, broken tiles, the room was empty. Opposite their doorway stood a single, dark aperture. Bold runes were inscribed all around it.

Seeing the runes, Nebin tried to squeeze past the dwarf and enter the room. Brek Gorunn held him back.

"Hold on! Don't be foolish. Where there is one trap, there can be two, or more."

"I don't like the look of those tiles," Hennet concurred. "They have a cursed light about them, or I'm no mage."

Nebin seemed to restrain a comeback. Ember supposed it was because Hennet clutched the Golden Wand, proof positive that he knew a thing or two about magic.

Experimentally, Brek Gorunn closed the lantern's cover. A pale, green glow suffused the room, outlining each tile. Wordlessly he uncovered the lantern again.

"But we must go forward. W-we have no other route," sputtered Nebin.

Brek Gorunn paused on the threshold and squinted toward the far hallway.

"You can just read the runes from here," he said. "It looks to me like an archaic variant of the common tongue."

Nebin moved to stand next to Brek, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

The gnome said, "They state, 'Pass and Prosper if Ye be Reverent. Pass and Perish if Ye Profane Nerull.'"

Brek Gorunn spat. "How can you profane the blasphemous?"

Nebin shrugged.

Ember edged forward. She knew that of them all, she was the swiftest and most capable of escaping a purely mechanical trap, if indeed the tiles represented danger. The choice was hers to make. She entered the chamber, walking lightly, and passed unhindered across the tiled floor, right up to the rune-scribed archway. She looked back, allowing a smile to touch her lips.

"Seems safe enough."

Hennet let out a breath. He and the others entered without mishap, until they all stood by the archway. The corridor was visible beyond. Except for the ominous runes, nothing would have checked their passage into the innocuous walkway.

"Brek Gorunn asked a good question," mused Hennet. "Its counterpoint would be how do you revere a god of death?"

"I don't want to guess," said Ember.

The dwarf said, "I'll guess. Even without holy indoctrination, I could tell you that the act of murder is a reverent deed to this unholy deity of death." The dwarf spat once more.

"We're not going to kill someone just to get past the archway," exclaimed Ember.

She was prepared to sacrifice a lot, but not an innocent life.

Hennet nodded. "There has to be another way to the temple. How are all the cultists getting in and out?"

Brek shook his head. "If we wanted to come in the front door, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

"I have an idea," said Nebin, still studying the runes. He pulled a small dagger from his belt and looked at the others. "A violent death, of the sort we can assume this nasty death god prefers, produces blood. Maybe a drop would do as well as a bucket."

Nebin winced as he pricked a finger with his dagger. Blood beaded on his fingertip. The gnome flicked the drop, painting a copper-size portion on the glowing tiles red. The blood trembled, then was sucked into the stone, leaving not a trace.

The glimmer in the tiles faded. Something clicked, muffled by the walls. All was quiet once more.

"Well, I've either deactivated, or activated something. Who wants to go first?" asked Nebin.

Ember advanced, ready to jump back at the first sign of trouble. Again, she came to no harm. She motioned the others to follow, but not before giving the gnome a grateful look.

"You are wise beyond your size, Nebin."

The gnome nodded, accepting the compliment as his due. She shrugged and turned back to face front. Ember enjoyed giving the wizard compliments, if only to see him preen after each one.

They passed down the corridor, and the trap, if any, failed to materialize. On they traveled, descending farther as they went. The subterranean dark weighed on Ember. She sensed a similar depression in Hennet and Nebin, but not Brek Gorunn. She supposed the dwarf preferred the bosom of the earth to the open skies.

Soon Ember noticed that the stone walls of the passage were cracked. Seeping moisture widened some of the cracks over the years, forming gaping holes. They passed skull-carved balusters, looming in the swaying lantern's light. Their footsteps echoed as they walked, leaping ahead, then following behind. Again the corridor emptied into a chamber, much larger than the others. Shapes were revealed in the vast room; pale domes, biers, and carved sarcophagi with images of men long dead. Ember couldn't begin to estimate the size of the room, but the absolute stillness of the air and the hollow echoes from their small movements revealed that it was at least several hundred feet wide, if not more.

"This doesn't seem a particularly safe route," quavered Nebin. "Those are sarcophagi. You know, with dead people in them."

His words echoed with ominous portent. Quiet followed.

Ember realized the gnome was right. This was a sort of mausoleum. And it was old, probably older than any structure she had ever been inside.

She said, "Stay alert. I expect that those who have lain here so long have no more interest in the living, if they ever did."

Even as she spoke words of confidence, she debated internally. Stories and her own experience told her that it was always wise to expect to find undead prowling near tombs, even those considered safe.

Brek Gorunn motioned them ahead. The dwarf gripped his warhammer.

They passed into the chamber between tables and buildings carved from marble. The darkness was complete, sealing them inside the circle of Brek's light. They passed the ominous mouths of tombs carved with faces, bodies, skulls, and darker symbols. Maybe the old cult of Nerull once claimed the spaces beneath New Koratia, but Ember could see the tombs here were far older than a few hundred years, older than the founding of the city, stretching into the past even beyond the knowledge of the cultists who briefly claimed it.

The strains of a flute playing alone in the distance stopped Ember. The notes were placid and deep, as if a dirge.

"Do you hear that?" she asked.

Everyone stopped, straining their ears, but the ghost-music was silent.

"I think I heard it, for a second," said Hennet. "Pipes, maybe, or a fife?"

"It reminded me of a flute," said Ember.

Brek said, "I heard it, and did not like it, whatever its source. Best we press ahead swiftly, lest we meet the musician."

Passing deeper into the vast underground graveyard, they were stopped again. A mighty crevice lay across their path, splintered and jagged. Some ancient movement of the earth bisected the chamber. Many of the tombs that lay along the crack were half toppled into the chasm, broken and splintered. Though the crevice spoke of a violent convulsion, it was diluted across a gulf of time. The lantern's light could just reach the far portion of the chamber across the divide.

Brek Gorunn inched forward and held his lamp over the edge.

"No bottom in sight," he said.

Ember joined Brek on the lip. She saw bits of crumbled stone and broken statuary fetched up on rough ledges farther down. One sarcophagus lay cracked completely open on a narrow ledge. It was empty, its former contents swallowed by the chasm.

The dwarf said, "The crevice looks to be about twenty or twenty five feet across. Too far to jump, at least for anyone but Ember."

Ember gathered her legs for the leap, eager to put it behind her. She felt a touch on her shoulder.

"Ember, hold on," Brek said. He pointed to the left. She could see a slender shaft of white stone jutting out over the chasm. "See that column? It bridges the chasm. Let's look at that before you risk jumping across."

"Don't think I can make it?" she asked.

"I am certain that you will make it," explained Brek Gorunn. "Then, there you'll be on the other side, vulnerable to any creature hiding over there in the gloom. You could be attacked while the rest of us are still stuck over here."

"Perhaps," conceded Ember.

Of course the dwarf was right. It wasn't like her to be impetuous, but the unrelieved darkness preyed on her mind.

The group moved to the fallen column. It bridged the crevice at an angle, and was visibly cracked. Brek ran his fingers across the stone, considering. He unlimbered his pack and rummaged through it, then produced the rope he'd purchased earlier in the city.

He said, "I don't trust this span. In case it gives out, a little insurance is best."

"Nebin, you're the lightest, you should cross first," Ember said.

When Brek didn't disagree, Nebin stepped up to the edge of the chasm. The dwarf tied the rope around the gnome's waist and secured the other end to a jutting piece of masonry.

"Make sure it's tight!" warned Nebin. "And leave plenty of slack, I don't want to be thrown off-balance by a snag on the rope."

The gnome peered across the chasm, then briskly stepped across the column, not looking down, his arms held out for balance. Ember smiled when he reached the far side. The gnome waved and undid the rope from around his waist.

Next went Hennet, then Ember carrying the lantern. She watched Brek Gorunn closely as he prepared to cross. He was the heaviest, and she worried. The dwarf undid the knot anchoring the rope to his side of the chasm. Once loose, he tied the free end around his waist and waved to her. She nodded, wrapped the rope twice around another marble obelisk on her side of the chasm, then tied the end to the same, heavy column. Holding the rope with both hands, she prepared to take up slack as the dwarf crossed by pulling the rope around the column.

Balance wasn't a problem. The dwarf's center of gravity was low enough that he could stroll across the bridge if he chose to. He decided instead that moving quickly would be best, as quickly as Ember could take in the rope. It took him only a few moments to reach the point where the crack was worst.

Ember saw Brek's eyes widen a heartbeat before the column snapped and he tumbled into darkness. The rope jerked in her hands like a living thing. She would have lost her grip completely if it hadn't been wound around the obelisk.

The sound of the broken stone thundering into the chasm mingled with incoherent yells from everyone. The anchored rope was taut and vibrating, and Ember could feel that it was swaying below the lip of the floor. She tied her end quickly around the tightened length of rope, then sped to the edge where Hennet knelt with the lantern. Brek swung on the end of the rope, twenty or so feet below them. The dwarf groaned.

As the ringing echoes of the crashing column finally abated, they were replaced by the sinister fluting, seductively light for all its dread melody. It emanated up from the night-haunted chasm. A miasma of fear rose with the sound and gripped Ember.

She heard the dwarf mutter a brief prayer. Then he said, straining his eyes below him, "I see…a blot of darkness. It's moving upward."

The fluting, too, was growing close. Ember realized then that it wasn't an instrument at all but the unearthly, terrible voice of whatever lurked below in the darkness. It was a sound long ago bereft of life and hope. Ember's mind became suddenly frantic.

It's coming for all of us, she realized. And Brek is hanging down there like bait!

The dwarf struggled to pull himself up. Ember saw a black, snakelike tendril slither up from the depths to touch Brek's boot.

"There's something down here!" bellowed the dwarf. "Pull me up, by Moradin's shaggy beard! Get me up!"

Ember, Hennet, and Nebin hauled madly on the rope. Fear lent a wild strength to their limbs, and with all three of them pulling, the dwarf shot up the side of the crevice. Seconds later, Brek's groping fingers reached the crumbling edge of the floor. Ember grabbed one hand and pulled the dwarf bodily over the lip.

Something followed after him.

A sinuous arm writhed its way up from the darkness. It was dead black and coated with oily mucous. It seemed a tentacle of living night, waking from some age-long communion with the subterranean void. Three more tendrils, identical to the first, flopped up to writhe across the floor like eyeless snakes seeking prey.

Behind the tendrils came the creature, dragging itself up and out of the crevice with inhuman strength. It was a blot of oily darkness where movement never ceased, a gargantuan mass of living, constantly slithering tentacles. Half hidden by the sliding tendrils, a sac of fluid sloshed at the core, emitting a crescendo of triumphant notes.

Brek Gorunn's massive hands pushed Ember back from the crevice. He was running, and she was running, too. They fled blindly away from the hideous piping sound. The awful music drove them in a mad dash without regard for their surroundings. The rope was left behind, along with anything else they had set down. None of that mattered. There was only death and terror behind them. By running they might hope to live.

Ember felt those things with dread certainty. She ran to save her own life. But as she caught up to Hennet and Nebin, she regained the presence of mind to match their slower pace.

Hennet still held the lantern. Shadows danced like imps across (heir path, making an ungainly pantomime with magnified arms and pumping legs. Sarcophagi and tombstones, crumbling with age, retreated on either side. Another hundred feet, and they plunged out of the vast mausoleum into a narrow tunnel.

The dread fluting ceased. Without its mental pressure, they checked their headlong flight. Ember felt as if a black fist released its hold on her stomach.

Nebin panted, "I hope we don't have to return this way."

Brek Gorunn, his skin uncharacteristically pale, responded, "Even if it proves the only possible escape, we'd do better to languish here. Moradin grant me strength, we woke something better left sleeping. If we leave it be, perhaps it will return to its evil slumber."

Hennet stated, "Forewarned is forearmed. We were startled, no more. Other than fear itself, it didn't do us any harm."

He gripped his Golden Wand. Ember wondered if the sorcerer wasn't drawing too much confidence from his Duel Arcane trophy.

"It didn't hurt us because we ran too fast, genius," said Nebin. "As my master often said, 'It's the tentacle you don't see that you should fear the most.'"

Hennet frowned.

"Regardless of the creature's true nature," broke in Ember, "we don't have to come back this way. We'll deal with Sosfane and her cult in the revived temple. After that we can leave through the temple's front door." Nor will we be coming back this way if we lose the fight, she concluded to herself.

"Did you hear that?" interrupted Brek Gorunn.

He looked back toward the tunnel mouth that opened into the subterranean mortuary. A second of silence was followed by a distant, fluting melody. Though faint, it sent a shiver up her spine.

Brek continued, "Perhaps we should move farther along this tunnel. No need to lure that cursed thing after us with chatter."

Ember nodded. She took the lantern back and handed it to the dwarf. Cautiously they advanced down the corridor.

Unlike the previous urn-lined corridors, this one was plain and carved directly from the surrounding stones without additional decoration. The drip of ages painted small mineral-rich stalagmites on the ceiling and long, colorful smears down the walls. The smell of damp and rot grew, and pools of water lay at their feet.

After many minutes of slow trudging through the unremarkable tunnel, Ember ventured, "What do you suppose all this was, before New Koratia was built, and before Nerull's priests claimed it?"

"Could have been the under-portions of a ruined surface city, I suppose," Brek offered. "The 'Ancient City' Nebin is so enraptured with."

"Or the upper-portions of a subterranean city?" questioned Hennet. "I've heard legends about evil elves who congregate far from the sun's reach."

Nebin, not to be outdone, said, "A treatise I read in my master's library hinted that these and other ruins represent some translocation of time-somewhere in the future, some terrible event destroys all life, and the ruins of civilization are buried in the deepest past."

"That's a thinker," replied Hennet.

Brek gave the gnome a bemused look.

Ember smiled and said, "That sounds a little far-fetched. What treatise was this, and what learned scholar was its author, Nebin?"

The gnome harrumphed and said nothing. Hennet and Ember shared a smile.

The advancing light of the lantern revealed a branch in the tunnel ahead, a Y leading to left and right.

"Which way?" inquired Ember.

The dwarf stood quiet, looking and sniffing into each dark opening, neither of which seemed particularly different from the other in Ember's estimation. The dwarf puzzled, pulling thoughtfully on his beard, and looked for some sign or telltale rune.

Finally, Brek Gorunn said, "We should go right. If we have to retrace our route, it pays to be consistent-we should go right at every branch. Plus, I don't like the smell to the left. It somehow puts me in mind of that flute player."

That was enough for Ember. They took the right-hand passage. By this time, the damp was so extreme that a thin layer of pooled, stagnant water formed a continuous slurry on the muddy floor, limber promised to buy herself boots to keep in her pack for just such occasions-her order preferred open-toed sandals. Sandals are not suited for catacomb trekking, she thought.

"I hope the water doesn't keep rising," commented Nebin.

Ember realized that because of his stature, he would be affected more than the others. Still, she'd rather be short than feel the muddy sludge squeezing between her toes with every step.

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.

"How should the novitiate have answered?" concluded the skull.

After it finished speaking, it lay inert in the corner, empty sockets staring blindly ahead.

Nebin coughed and said, "I hope all this business about Lo-Riao and the Door of Midnight is secondary to the real answer, otherwise we're in trouble, my friends. I've never heard of either."

Hennet said, "It is some sort of mathematical trick."

The sorcerer furrowed his brow as he looked at the inert skull.

Brek Gorunn mentally ran through the skull's speech. He'd have made the same choice as the novitiate-it seemed clear that the first two masters had simply responded with a countersign equal to half of the number given out by the door. But, when the novitiate did responded with half of ten, the pattern was broken.

He said aloud, "The pattern isn't half the first number, that's clear."

Hennet nodded. "Yes, too simple. All this talk of midnight and dread voices makes me wonder whether magic isn't involved?"

Nebin said, "Maybe Lo-Riao is a god of the ancient city. What if the formula is part of a ritual lost to time? We won't hit upon it by chance."

"This is a test of wit, not memory," said Ember. "If that's true, we should not look to old rituals and secret numbers, arbitrarily applied, for our answer. There must be a pattern we can puzzle out."

Brek silently agreed. They sat silent for a while, each trying to work the puzzle according to their own predispositions. Brek wondered if it was simpler than he was trying to make it.

How many letters are there in six? he wondered. Three, of course…

"Wait, I see another pattern!" he burst out. "It is mathematical, as Hennet said first, but it's even simpler than we first supposed. See? How many letters are in the word twelve? Six! And in the word six there are three letters. Those were the countersigns given by the masters."

"So, if the Door of Midnight gives the sign 'ten'," said Hennet, "the counter-sign must be three; there are three letters in the word ten."

Ember grinned at the dwarf.

"Is your answer 'three'?" broke in the skull, suddenly attentive.

Ember looked around, then said, "Three is our answer."

The skull said nothing, and the silence stretched.

The floor below them lurched, then began rising. A haze of dust, loosened from the walls and ceiling, filled the air. The pools of liquid on the floor drained away. The floor lifted thirty feet or more than stopped, just as they all began to worry about the approaching ceiling. At that height, they could see an exit that was hidden from below. It was situated on the side of the shaft opposite from where they had entered.

"Brek Gorunn, old dog, who would have guessed you're a first rate riddle master?" exclaimed Nebin. "We're out!"