That gave Nebin an idea. He tucked the second scroll into his belt, also. Even if there wasn't enough time to scribe the complex spell into his book, he could cast it directly from the scroll. That would destroy the scroll, unfortunately, but it could well be worth it.
Brek, who still sat at the table, said, "You look happy. Has merciful Moradin blessed you?"
Nebin laughed. "Yes, I believe he has, Brek Gorunn. If Moradin wasn't called the Dwarffather, I might consider taking up your religion."
From across the room, Kairoth said, "Moradin is a worthy god, and we in the Enabled Hand have a long-standing relationship with the clerics of his order. You could do worse, Master Nebin."
"I suppose you're right," said the gnome, realizing he had a larger audience than just Brek. "So…Elder Kairoth, did you look through these other documents? They are not magical, but I can't read the writing on them. Perhaps they contain additional clues about what's befallen your Order."
"No, pass them over, I'll take a look."
Brek Gorunn, sighing, removed the lot from his satchel and walked them over to the elder. Despite his position, Kairoth's color already seemed better than when Nebin and Hennet returned from the duel.
Kairoth studied the manuscripts. He put aside several, saying, "I recognize the alphabet. It is Infernal, and creatures of Hell itself are said to use these characters in their terrible language."
"By Moradin's Hoary Axe!" exclaimed the dwarf.
Nebin's hair rose on the back of his neck. What were they involved in?
Kairoth looked up and said, "But the alphabet is also used by earthly creatures of ill will, seeking to emulate their masters. I suspect these were penned by a mortal cleric and not a demon. At least, I hope so. I can't read this script, it is too foul a study to take up, but this one is written in Common."
The page he held up was really only a fragment of parchment, its edges lost to time, its script nearly faded to illegibility.
Kairoth read from the parchment,"'…and so every soul to fall like chaff to the blade of the Reaper of Flesh. He that sits in eternal darkness waits at the end of every life, calling back to himself that which he has allowed, for a brief time, to frolic in the light. But the light is fleeting, and darkness eternal…' "
The dwarf glowered and said, "This 'Reaper of Flesh' claims too much. Moradin holds sway over the dwarves and their eternal destiny. This is lying propaganda."
Kairoth shrugged and said, "The text goes on in the same vein. This is a religious tract. Unless I misremember, the Reaper is one of Nerull's appellations. Another clue, but we already guessed Nerull might be involved. We need to find out who is attempting to revive Nerull worship, and why. Most importantly, we need to find out why the Order is involved at all."
"To gain a secret foothold?" ventured Nebin.
Kairoth's eyes widened slightly and he said, "It could be so. Who knows how far their reach already extends, with no one the wiser. We must put down this dark revival, and soon."
The dwarf clapped Kairoth on the shoulder. "Moradin willing, we shall," he said. "We are wise to their scheme, but they know nothing about us. Surely, the floors of the sacred Order groan under their sinful feet, but our footsteps will go unmarked. Tonight, we purge the evil from the halls of the Enabled Hand or die in the attempt. So say I, Brek Gorunn, Cleric of Moradin."
10
"Wake up, sleepyhead," said the voice.
Hennet opened one eye. Ember regarded the waking sorcerer with a smile. He returned her smile, groping for her hand, but she turned to wake the others. His hand fell back to his side.
She moved from cot to cot, waking everyone with a quick shake of the shoulder. She wasn't blind; she could see that the sorcerer was smitten with her, but his timing was not good. The loss of her chapter was too recent and weighed too heavily. Perhaps after the cult was dealt with, she could reach closure. Then she would consider the possibility of a deeper friendship with the sorcerer. But for now, she could not entertain distractions.
Though he is striking, she thought, with those tattoos and his eastern mannerisms….
The streets of New Koratia at that late hour were still active. The five adventurers on their way to the Motherhouse of the Enabled Hand were just five more late revelers, among the many dozens still out late, seeking some last bit of entertainment before the dawn, only four hours away. They spoke little. The hard, bright stars looked down from on high, indifferent to the antics of the living.
Soon enough they stood in an alley near the Motherhouse. Ember felt a breath of danger on her neck and looked around cautiously. It reminded her of the night-darkened alley where she and Brek Gorunn had been ambushed. It wasn't a memory she was likely to lose. Judging by the way the dwarf clutched his warhammer, Ember concluded that Brek was recalling the same scene.
Kairoth rubbed his hands together as he approached one brick wall.
"A secret passage is here," he said, "but it is mostly forgotten. The younger elders do not know of it. It provided my escape when the Order was beset."
The older monk slowly walked along the wall, one hand trailing across the brick. The dim light from a street lantern threw his shadow along the wall before him.
"Ah, here it is."
A press, a twist, and a section of the wall whispered open.
Brek Gorunn noted in a professional tone, "Fine stonework."
Kairoth pressed a finger to his lips, motioning them to follow with his other hand. The elder stepped through the door into a narrow, dusty corridor. Ember followed him, then Brek and Hennet, and Nebin brought up the rear.
In the darkness of the passage, someone whispered, "Shall I summon light?" Ember recognized Hennet's voice.
The gruff voice of Brek Gorunn uttered a terse, "No." There were a few more seconds of darkness, then light blossomed from a lantern held by the dwarf. "Save your magic for the fighting, if it comes to it."
The narrow corridor ran parallel to the outer brick wall, then made a sudden turn, becoming even narrower, if possible. Ember felt sorry for the dwarf, who was barely able to squeeze along with bis broad shoulders and mail overcoat. Kairoth led them to a small door.
The monk opened the door, revealing a small meditation cubicle. It held a single, flickering candle. Ember realized the door they had just opened into the cubicle was also secret.
She murmured back to the others, "This is a meditation chamber; we must be in the Hall of Meditation. Good news; we are close to the Elders' Sanctum."
Brek nodded, whispering, "The more of the Motherhouse we can bypass completely, the more likely we are to succeed."
"If we can avoid raising a general alarm, all the better. I do not want to fight innocent students," Kairoth agreed.
So saying, the older monk moved into the cubicle and opened the far door. Beyond was a broad hallway lit with golden lanterns, though all were burning on low wicks. Ember and the others followed, one after the other, passing out of the meditation cubicle, which was normally considered large enough for only a single student. Nebin followed Brek into the hallway, and Hennet followed after, closing the door with a tiny click.
Ember scanned the hallway, relieved to see that their entry was unmarked. Sometimes those who couldn't sleep visited the Hall of Meditation late at night to calm their thoughts.
Kairoth looked around and grimaced. "The Elders' Sanctum lies at the end of the hall."
They moved as a group in the direction the elder indicated. Ember recalled walking that very hall when she and Brek first visited the order two days before. A definite air of threat suffused the air, or at least she imagined so. A richly carved set of oak doors stood closed at the end of the hallway. The doors were framed in a matching oak lintel. The last time Ember and Brek passed that way, the doors were open.