The Tomb of Horrors (30 page)

Much to his relief, Kaerion found Adrys standing in the
middle of the room, a torch held high in one hand. Running over to the lad,
Kaerion checked to see that no harm had come to him. Satisfied, he knelt before
the boy and cupped his thick hand beneath the boy’s chin.

“Adrys, why did you wander away from us?” Kaerion said,
trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Now that he had found the boy safe
and unharmed, his relief was giving way to irritation at the boy’s disregard for
his own safety.

Adrys’ face twisted into a worried frown, and Kaerion could
see tears welling up in his eyes. The boy stared at him, lower lip quavering.
“I’m sorry. I thought I heard someone calling my name,” he said simply. “It
sounded like my father.”

A wave of tenderness crept over Kaerion, cooling his growing
anger. The lad had been through a great deal and had lost much. It was possible
that the cursed power of the tomb had reached out to capitalize on the boy’s
grief and loss. He had no right to be angry with Adrys. He was simply a child
and had not meant any mischief.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “It’s all right, but I want
you to promise that you won’t go wandering off again. If you hear someone
calling your name, tell me. We’ll get to the bottom of it together. All right?”

The boy nodded once and gave Kaerion a brief smile, wiping at
his eyes. “I promise. If anything happens again I’ll come to you.”

Satisfied with the boy’s contrition, Kaerion turned to face
the rest of his companions, who had burst into the room with startled
exclamations. Each of them stared in wonder at the bright, familiar paintings.
They were about to spread out and search the room when Vaxor’s voice boomed,
“Hold! Remember the hidden pits. Before anyone moves, we should sweep the room.”

It was solid advice, and Kaerion was disappointed that he had
rushed in without thought. In his incautious haste to find the boy, he could
have put them both in deadly jeopardy. It took quite a while for the guards to
finish their check, sweeping and prodding the stone with the ten-foot poles, but
at last they proclaimed the floor pit free. Unfortunately, their search had also
turned up only a single entrance from the room—another mist-covered archway in
the center of the room’s southernmost wall.

“There may be other ways out of this hall,” Gerwyth said to
the group as they assembled near the tunnel’s entrance. “I suggest that we move
in pairs, keeping each other in sight, and check the walls for hidden doors.”

The expedition split up, and Kaerion found himself happily
partnered with Majandra. Despite their growing closeness and the experience they
had shared on the night of the bullywug attack, events since then had prevented
them from exploring their newfound bond. Although the peril that they currently
found themselves in did not lend itself to lowering their guard and sharing
intimacies, Kaerion had to admit that he felt a surge of emotions—all of them
pleasant—when the flame-haired bard was nearby.

They had not been searching long when one of the guards
posted to the western wall of the room shouted that she had discovered the
outlines of a door. Kaerion turned, the words “don’t touch anything” on his
lips, when he heard a loud click. Kaerion desperately ran toward the pair of
guards, diving the last few feet.

He was too late.

Moments before he reached the guard, her body shuddered. Twin
spears, their wicked blades covered in blood, erupted from the hapless soldier’s
back. She fell to her knees and then, with a single gurgling breath, toppled to
the floor. By the time Kaerion’s momentum carried him to the body, a line of
blood had pooled on the floor.

Vaxor was at the soldier’s side instantly, placing a hand
upon her throat. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, confirming what
Kaerion had already suspected—the woman was beyond the cleric’s help. Nodding
his own understanding, Kaerion rose to his feet as the priest began a softly
spoken prayer to protect the soul’s journey as it sped toward the Arch Paladin.
Kaerion wondered if there would be anyone who would pray in such a way for his
soul—not that someone who had betrayed their god so deeply would have any right
to expect mercy or reward in the afterlife.

The cleric bowed as he spoke the final words of the prayer
and rose slowly to his feet. “We must find a suitable resting place for the
body,” Kaerion heard him say to Phathas as the mage walked over, laying a heavy
hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Then, when we leave this accursed place, we will
take the bodies of the fallen back to the temple of Heironeous to see what can
be done for them.”

“You are most generous,” Phathas replied, motioning for two
guards to do as the priest bid. Once that gruesome work was finished, the party
returned once more to their search of the walls.

“I sure hope we find something else here, Kaerion,” the bard
said as the two of them knelt below a lurid depiction of two hawk-headed humans.
“I’ve no wish to step through another teleporting archway. I still can’t think
straight from the last one.”

Kaerion tried to smile at Majandra’s words, but he succeeded
in no more than a grimace. “I understand completely,” he said, “though I’d
settle for a teleporting arch if it meant we could bypass all the tomb’s traps.”

The half-elf grunted her affirmative and then returned her
attention to the section of wall before her. The two sat there in silence for a
few moments more. Kaerion had just finished rapping on a block of stone with the
hilt of his dagger when Majandra spoke again. “Have you noticed anything strange
about Bredeth lately?” she asked.

Kaerion drew his attention away from the wall and looked at
his companion. Even now, hundreds of feet below ground, covered in sweat and
dirt, he admired the way the torchlight played in her eyes and among her hair.
It took a few more moments for him to register that she had repeated the
question.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he apologized, feeling his face flush
beneath the sudden heat there. He tried to avoid the bard’s eyes, but couldn’t
help see the sparkle of amusement glistening in them. “Something strange about
Bredeth?” he continued. “Well, he has been a bit subdued since the bullywugs
kidnapped him, but experiences like that can affect a person deeply. I’m not
sure I’d call that strange.”

“You’re right, of course,” the half-elf said. “He has been
subdued, but it’s more than that. He’s been too… agreeable lately. It’s not
like him.”

Kaerion nodded and followed her gaze to where the subject of
their conversation stood before another section of wall, dutifully searching. He
opened his mouth to reassure Majandra, but before he could speak, Gerwyth’s
voice echoed across the hall.

“I think I’ve found something!” the elf said excitedly. “It
looks like an illusion of some sort.”

Kaerion walked over to where his friend stood. On the wall
was a painting of a heavily muscled human with the head of a jackal holding a
sphere at his waist. Carefully, Gerwyth extended the shaft of an arrow and
touched the brightly painted sphere. To Kaerion’s surprise, the wooden shaft
disappeared as it pressed through the sphere. It was clear that Gerwyth
remembered their experience at the demonic mouth earlier, for the ranger
gingerly pulled the arrow shaft back out of the red circle.

It emerged unscathed.

By now, the rest of the expedition had gathered around.
Phathas moved forward and studied the illusory sphere intently. After a few
moments of soft muttering, he raised a single gnarled finger and pointed at the
vivid picture. There was a bright flash that nearly blinded Kaerion. He cried
out, throwing an arm across his face. The others must not have been as quick,
for he heard their cursing continue.

Blinking the last of the pulsing circles from his vision,
Kaerion peered at the wall once again—and was surprised to find that the
full-length painting of the jackal-headed human had disappeared, replaced by the
uneven expanse of a rocky tunnel. He could see that, like the tunnel that lead
from the gargoyle room to this one, the passage before them rapidly shrank down
to a crawlway.

Kaerion made sure his shield was securely fastened to his
back and then called for a torch. “Gerwyth and I will head down the passage
first,” he said to the group. “We’ll call back if it looks safe.” He nodded once
to the elf and then entered the passageway.

The walls here were rough and unadorned. In the light of his
torch, he could see tiny rivulets of water running down the sides. We must be
underneath the swamp, he thought, and wondered how long the tomb’s ancient
stonework had kept out the press of mud and water above their heads. Kaerion’s
morbid speculation was interrupted as both he and the ranger were brought up
short by a blank wall.

“Dead end,” he said unnecessarily and let out a sharp curse.
“We’ll have to go back and tell the others.”

“Not so fast, Kaer. Look here,” Gerwyth said, pointing to the
left side of the wall.

Kaerion peered into the flickering corner of the wall and saw
the faint outlines of a door, cleverly hidden in the stone. He’d forgotten how
much he counted on the rangers sharp elven eyes.

“Should be easy to open,” Gerwyth said. “Just press here
and—” the ranger’s words cut off as the floor space he was kneeling on cracked
and tilted forward wildly, spilling the elf through the now-opened door.

“Ger!” Kaerion shouted as his friend’s lithe form
disappeared. Crawling carefully to the edge of the unstable section of the
floor, Kaerion peered through the door, relieved to see the normally graceful
elf pulling himself slowly up from the floor where he had been dumped in an
unceremonious heap.

“I’m all right,” the ranger said as he adjusted the straps of
his pack. The elf gave a slow whistle a few moments later. “I think you should
bring the others, Kaer. They’re going to want to see this.”

Kaerion nodded. “I’ll be right back, Ger. Be safe.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” the ranger said, a
crooked smile forming on his face. “Now use that human penchant for haste and
gather the others, you orc-brained lummox.”

By the time Kaerion informed the others of their discovery
and the entire group had navigated the trapped door, the ranger had set torches
into several empty iron sconces that dotted the walls of this room. It wasn’t
the sconces’ ancient craftsmanship, however, that currently captured the
attention of everyone in the large chamber. Kaerion made his way through the
press of bodies that gathered in the center of the room. In the now-bright
light, he could see three large chests, one made of gold, another of silver, and
the third of sturdy oak bound with thick iron bands. Majandra had already
declared the area around the chests free from traps, and several guards had
tried to lift them—but to no avail. Each of the chests was inexplicably bound to
the floor.

Kaerion watched as the half-elf walked over to the gold
chest, intent on bypassing its ancient lock. A premonitory warning, or perhaps
it was merely a surge of overprotectedness, sent a frisson of warning up his
spine. Quickly, he motioned for two of the guards to flank Majandra as she bent
her skills toward opening the chest. He also placed himself in front of Adrys,
who, he was unhappy to note, had moved to a position far too close to the only
objects of interest in this room.

“A few moments more,” the half-elf said as she manipulated
two small metal tools inside the chest’s metal lock. True to her word, a few
moments later, Kaerion heard the lock click.

Majandra gave the assembled group a wink. “See,” she said as
she deftly placed the tools back into a hidden fold of her cloak. “Nothing to
it. Now all we have to do is lift the lid, and we’ll see what this chest has
been hiding from—”

The rest of the bard’s words were cut off by the piercing
shriek she let out as the top of the chest flew open, disgorging a tumble of
black, serpentine shapes.

“Asps!” Vaxor shouted above the din of angry hissing coming
from the released snakes.

Kaerion watched in horror as the writhing mass of scales and
fangs struck out at Majandra and the two flanking guards. In desperation, one of
the guards drew forth his sword and stabbed in to the attacking asps, while the
other fell to the floor holding his hand, which already looked black and swollen
with venom.

As Kaerion rushed forward, bringing his shield from its
resting place and drawing his own blade, he could see that Gerwyth had already
drawn his bow. It was clear to Kaerion that the elf’s firing line was hampered
by the press of bodies that stumbled away from the mass of snakes.

“Kaerion,” he heard Phathas shout, “clear Majandra and the
others away! I can deal with the asps myself.”

The mage’s words were all the impetus he needed. Concern for
the guards and, more importantly, his fear for Majandra, had already drawn him
close to the battle. Sheathing his sword, Kaerion leapt toward the half-elf, who
was quickly stumbling back from the snapping fangs of the asps. He slammed his
shield into the press of snakes just as his forward momentum knocked Majandra
away from danger. Rolling quickly to his feet, Kaerion was forced to bring his
shield up again and again to parry the enraged asps as their mouths darted in at
amazing speeds, seeking the soft flesh of his arm or shoulder. One snake,
untangling itself from the others, had managed to crawl underneath Kaerion’s
guard. He felt a slight pressure against his abdomen as the asp’s fangs met the
coiled steel rings of his mail. Realizing he had become as much of an obstacle
as Majandra had to whatever Phathas had planned, Kaerion kicked at the snake
with his boot, and then shouldered the unwounded guard out of the way.

As he collapsed in a heap on top of the beleaguered soldier,
Kaerion saw Phathas step forward and spread both his hands, joining them at his
thumbs. The mage shouted another eldritch phrase, and a sheet of crackling
flames erupted from his outstretched hands, engulfing the asps. Their angry
hissing grew even louder as the barrage of flame continued, until Kaerion
couldn’t distinguish between the asps’ sounds and the sizzle of burning flesh.
When Phathas finally withdrew his hands, only a pile of ash remained where the
snakes had been.