Ember looked up, startled. "But the last of Nerull's priests were unmasked and ejected from civilized lands years ago. How could this be?"
Brek nodded. "Nerull-worship was banned, yes, but banning something doesn't erase it. Especially Nerull. His is an evil that does not sleep. Nerull and those who revere him remain in the world, hidden, however much we comfort ourselves by thinking otherwise."
The dwarf squeezed the ring hard, and continued, "This ring proves that at least one of those who attacked the chapter, if not all, owe their allegiance to the Hater of Life. All the more reason to find out who they are and where they nest, so we can stamp them out."
"Very well," Ember sighed. "A banished cult has killed my chapter and looted the treasury. Still, there may be something they didn't get…something the order may need. It would do no good to leave anything of significance here."
So saying, Ember walked to the edge of the fountain.
The basin was carved from green-veined marble. In it stood a statue of a man carved from the same block of stone. He wore loose clothing, not unlike Ember's own dress, and stood in a ready stance, palms upward and slightly cupped. It was from his cupped hands that water spilled to splash into the wide basin.
Ember studied the fountain and said, "This is Loku, the founder of this chapter. He was a great warrior. The chapter honors him, as does the whole order. Did you know he once saved the Motherhouse from destruction? So say the histories. We keep no relics in the strict sense of the word, but we do treasure one of Loku's cast-off possessions. It was kept here, hidden in the fountain."
The monk walked into the basin. Bloody water splashed around her ankles. She knelt and reached into the murk, groping for a hidden mechanism.
"Ah, here it is."
Brek Gorunn, watching Ember, said, "Ember, there's something else you should know. It's about some of the monks' bodies I cleared away. A few were…melted. No, that's not the best word for it. They were dissolved, as if acid or some corrosive, alchemical mixture had been poured on them."
Ember did not pause in her activity, but her breath caught and her eyes narrowed. "Then, they shall pay all the more."
She didn't want to hear the dwarf's words, so she concentrated on finding the second catch to the secret vault in the fountain. A rush of bubbles marked her success. Ember extended her hand into the cavity below the waterline and yanked. With a click, two panels popped open in the arms of the sculpture. Inside each hidden recess lay a leather arm band. The bracers were pristine, and in fact seemed to glisten with a faint, golden light. The woman lifted the bracers out and held them up.
"These are Loku's Bracers. By taking them from this reliquary, I symbolically disperse the Volanth order of the Enabled Hand. And so it is done; Volanth chapter is no more."
"What are you going to do with them?"
"Wear them, of course. They are woven round with spells of defense. I expect I shall need their protection on the road to New Koratia." Ember strapped the bracers on and stepped across the basin's edge. "I don't think Loku will mind, since I'm the only member of the chapter remaining."
Wearing the bracers, Ember felt emboldened, magnified. The dwarf looked at her with admiration. Ember wondered whether the relics should have seen the light of day earlier. Perhaps if someone had worn them, instead of locking them away, the tragedy might have been averted. On her arms, the bracers felt as if they had been custom made for her.
Brek cautioned, "I know you want to get started immediately, but we both need rest, after all. Let's sleep for what remains of the night anyway, then leave at dawn."
"Agreed. New Koratia can wait those few hours."
3
"You think so? Then watch!" said the small man-or, more precisely, said the gnome.
These small-statured, nimble-fingered folk made up for their lack in size with enthusiasm. At least this gnome did. He wore an elaborate coat with many pockets, and goggles pushed up on his forehead. His name was Nebin Raulnor, and he was explaining the superiority of his craft to his friend, Hennet. Nebin and Hennet shared a table in a roadside tavern called the Fair Warrior.
Hennet was a young, human male from the distant east. His dress, barbaric by civilized standards, consisted of leather leggings, spiked bracers, a wide belt, and a suitably dramatic cloak. Two entwined dragons were tattooed on his chest. Hennet, like Nebin, was also a student of the craft, though he came at it from a far different direction than the gnome. Their differences, often enough rubbing both the wrong way, were in truth the bond that continually strengthened their easy camaraderie.
Nebin screwed up his face, as if recalling something complex. The gnome chanted a few unintelligible syllables, gesticulating with his hands. Called by his arcane manipulations, a ten-foot ball of red fire appeared in the center of the tavern. It burned like a piece of Hell itself, though it made no sound.
Hennet watched the display with a single, raised eyebrow. The other tavern patrons reacted less calmly. There was a stifled stream, many shouts, and the crashing of overturned chairs. Cries of "Fire!" brought the taverner from the kitchen, a bucket of water in one hand. He hurled the bucket, and the water passed through the globe of fire as if it wasn't there. And a second later, it wasn't.
"By Pelor's blinding eyes, who's working magic in my house?" bellowed the taverner. He glared around the room.
Someone in back murmured, "It was only shadow magic. Any fool could see that."
Another patron laughed, if a bit nervously. A few people hadn't even stood, including those at the table where Hennet and Nebin sat. The gnome ducked his head.
At still another table, a dwarf in a mail overcoat scowled. The dwarf's companion, a capable-looking human woman wearing a travel-stained cloak, returned to her meal as if the sudden appearance of balls of flame was commonplace. Hennet was struck by her easy manner. Soon enough, everyone returned to their seats, righting chairs and laughing at the prankster, whoever he was.
The taverner sighed and returned to the kitchen. As he moved from sight, he yelled, "the Fair Warrior is a tavern, not a carnival. No more magic, or you'll be out on your butts!"
Nebin peered after the retreating taverner and said, "Again, I've demonstrated the advantage of wizardry, Hennet. That was a minor spell, but with it I create the image of anything I can imagine. That's just one of the many wonders I have recorded here." Nebin patted a heavy, metal-bound book he carried on a shoulder strap.
The young man scratched his chin. "A wonder? More a spectacle. Of course I've seen you pull that one off before. You're lucky the taverner didn't see you. I doubt I'd have stood up for you. It is cold out tonight."
The sorcerer laughed, and Nebin sniffed.
"Him? I doubt he'd trifle with someone of my obvious talents."
Hennet smiled as they settled into one of their favorite arguments.
He said, "Besides, you've just admitted your weakness. Once you have expended your magic, you're no different from anyone else. You have to return to your book of spells to study, or be completely bereft of enchantment. But me? Once I master a particular piece of the craft, I never forget. It becomes part of me, and I, it."
Nebin chuckled. "So you say. True, you never consult a spellbook. But, be honest, it's no secret that raw workers of the craft, such as yourself, are limited to only a few spells. We've been together a long time now, and I can see it's true. Take me, on the other hand. I'm only limited by what I can scribe in this book."
Again, the gnome patted his metal-bound tome.
It was one of Nebin's favorite gestures. Hennet thought it was the most annoying in an extended list of habits, all of which were annoying to various degrees. Despite that, Hennet liked the gnome and considered him a friend. Trading barbs was one of their favorite pastimes, and on the road to attend the Duel Arcane, it was expected.