The Tomb of Horrors (31 page)

Kaerion rolled off of the guard and helped the winded man to
his feet. He was relieved to note that Landra and a few of her charges had
pulled the wounded guard out of the battle and carried him over to Vaxor. The
cleric now knelt by the stricken man’s side and laid a hand upon the swollen
length of his arm. A blue glow suffused the priest’s hand, and wherever it
touched, the black puffy flesh returned to a more natural size and hue. In a few
moments, the wounded guard was completely healed. Though he was happy for the
man, Kaerion felt uncomfortable at the reminder of Heironeous’ power.

“The polite thing to do before you knock a lady over is to
warn her first,” Majandra’s smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.

“My apologies, lady,” he said in his most chivalric tones. “I
will endeavor to warn her ladyship whenever the need arises again to knock her
on her petticoats.”

Kaerion felt his mood lighten as the bard smiled, her eyes
twinkling with laughter and something else—something far deeper and sweeter than
amusement. Unbidden, something that Gerwyth had tried to tell him in all the
years they had traveled together flashed through his mind. Though he had
suffered through his own imperfection and weakness, there were still things for
which life was worth living. He would never have guessed that one of those
things would be an enchantingly beautiful daughter of a Nyrondese noble house.

The satisfaction of his newfound revelation lasted only a few
moments, for as soon as the expedition fully regrouped after the asp attack, the
bard returned to the gold chest. She examined it carefully, tapping its inner
walls, and then shook her head. “Nothing inside here at all,” she informed the
assembled group, “except some old asp scales.”

Kaerion could hear the disappointment in the collective sigh
that went through the group. Still, he knew that the setbacks they experienced
so far would not deter the Nyrondese from their goal. They had planned and
sacrificed so much for this journey. He could see in the set of every
shoulder—including Majandra’s—that giving up was not an option. He had to admire
that kind of conviction.

Although somewhere along the way he had come to view these
nobles as his companions and not merely his employers, he still felt that, for
the most part, their expedition was foolish. He had risked his life at first
because of the promised money, and then simply because that was what one did for
companions—even if at that time he felt like a complete outsider, in danger of
his secret guilt becoming exposed. Kaerion knew now that, with the probable
exception of the Heironean priest, whose faith and commitment to the ideals of
his god would not allow him such weakness, the rest of the nobles had accepted
him into their company as an equal, a valued companion, despite who he was.

Kaerion now stood at the brink of believing in their goal—the
resurrection of an entire kingdom—not simply because of his growing love (yes,
he had to admit it for what it was) for Majandra, but because there simply was
too much evil and destruction in the world to allow Nyrond, a once bright and
powerful nation, to die without a fight.

The click of another lock brought Kaerion back to his present
situation. Majandra had moved on to the silver chest, apparently disposing of
its lock as easily as she did the first one. He was relieved to see, however,
that the half-elf moved quickly away from the unlocked chest. She relieved a
long wooden pole from one of the guards. Carefully, she extended the pole toward
the silver chest, and with a deft move of her wrists, she lifted its hinged top
open with the awkward instrument.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, the half-elf walked toward the open chest, and with
her came several guards, including Landra, their swords drawn. “Nothing here but
a crystal box,” one of the guards said, sheathing her weapon and reaching into
the chest.

“No!” Majandra shouted and flung herself at the guard, but it
was too late. As the soldier withdrew the crystal box from the chest, Kaerion
heard the soft
snick
of a releasing catch. Small darts shot out of the
chest, buzzing in all directions. Kaerion heard several cries of pain from the
group standing before the chest. He raised his own shield just in time—

And nearly dropped it as he watched a sharp-tipped dart cut
easily through the air toward Adrys’ unprotected neck. To his amazement, the
boy stepped forward and brought his left hand up and at an angle before his
face, striking the wooden shaft of the flying needle and knocking it aside.

“Adrys, how did you do that?” he asked, running to the boy’s
side.

“Do what, sir?” Adrys asked with a bewildered look on his
face.

Kaerion stared at the boy for a moment, confusion stealing
over his own features. Perhaps the nearness of danger caused him to see
something that wasn’t there. Surely the untrained son of a merchant would be
unable to deflect a dart with his hands. There were few seasoned warriors he
knew who could do such a thing, unless…

Unbidden, flashes of a pockmarked man in a blood-red robe,
hands weaving deadly arcs in a shadowed alley, appeared in Kaerion’s mind, but
they were quickly replaced by concern as he heard Majandra shout his name.

Running toward the sound of her voice, the events of the last
few moments forgotten in his haste to reach the half-elf, Kaerion never saw the
look of cruel satisfaction that passed over Adrys’ face.

Majandra held the ring up to the torchlight. A clear jewel
set delicately along the ring’s onyx band caught the light, reflecting sparkles
like brilliant pixies along the plain stone walls of the room. She concentrated
briefly and hummed a single low note. With her now magically enhanced senses,
she could see the telltale nimbus of power surrounding the ring—it gleamed
golden, albeit weakly. The years of Phathas’ lecturing came back to her in a
flash, and she quickly identified the type of spellcraft. It was protective
magic, imbued into the ring with consummate skill.

The half-elf was still holding the ring up to the light when
Kaerion appeared amid the press of bodies surrounding the opened chest.
“Majandra, what’s wrong?” he asked, casting careful glances at the surrounding
area with what the bard identified as his professional soldier look. She would
never have thought that she’d find such a cold glance appealing, but Majandra
had to admit that Kaerion’s concern for her was quite comforting.

“Nothing is wrong, Kaer,” she replied. “I just wanted you to
see what I’d found inside the chest. It’s quite exquisite, really.” She held the
ring so that he could have a closer look.

Relaxing, Kaerion peered at the piece of jewelry she held
within her hand and whistled appreciatively. “I’m no gem crafter, but I’d say
that the stone is a diamond of uncommon quality.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but it’s also magical and will help
protect its wearer from harm—” she paused, looking around. “Where’s Adrys? This
would be perfect for him.”

Intrigued by the ring, the others pressed in to have a look.
Thus, it took her a few seconds to locate the boy in the midst of the confusion.
“Adrys,” she called out to where he sat, lounging idly against a wall and
talking softly with Bredeth, “come here.”

“Majandra,” Kaerion broke in, “I think we should have a talk
about Adrys. I’m concerned.”

“I agree,” she replied, shooing away the last of the curious.
“Which is why I think that giving him the ring makes the most sense, given our
current circumstances.”

“Yes, but maybe we should wait until we’ve had a chance to
talk with the others before you do this?” he suggested.

“Nonsense,” Majandra said as she turned to the subject of
their conversation, who stood before her with a questioning look upon his face.
Though nearly five times his age, the half-elf stood only a hand taller than the
boy. She smiled at the lad before holding out her hand, the ring gleaming
brilliantly in the center of her palm. “This is for you,” she said, and brought
her hand closer when it appeared that the boy would be too shy to take it. “It
will help protect you while we’re in the tomb.”

After a few more moments of steady prodding, the boy took the
ring. Slowly, he placed the item on his finger and flexed his hand. At last, a
smile beamed on his face. “Thank you,” he said, and Majandra was sure she caught
the gleam of a tear in his eye. “My pa was supposed to give me a lifeday gift
when we made it back to Pitchfield, only…” he paused, “only we never got
there.”

Majandra ran an affectionate hand through the lad’s hair.
What had happened to the boy was tragic, and she cursed the ill luck that
stranded him here—crawling through the dusty corridors of an evil wizard’s tomb.

The bard gave Adrys’ shoulder a squeeze before she let him
go back to where he had sat quietly, out of the way of danger. She watched him
go for just a moment before turning back to Kaerion. The fighter wore a frown
upon his face.

“What is your problem with Adrys?” she asked, unable to
fathom his sudden concern. Hadn’t he been one of the few people who had argued
for allowing the boy to accompany them into the tomb? “Can’t you see he has been
through enough without having you looming about him with a dark cloud of
disapproval?”

“It’s not that, Majandra,” Kaerion replied. “Really it
isn’t.”

“Then what is it? Tell me.” She was frustrated and let the
emotion bleed into her voice.

Kaerion opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was cut off
as someone nearby cleared his throat quite loudly.

“We must not dally here any longer, Majandra. There is still
another chest to be opened, and we must continue on our way.”

She recognized Vaxor’s low voice. Despite its commanding
words, the bard could hear worry and concern coloring the cleric’s deep timbre.
She spun to face him.

“The chill of this dank place is taking its toll on Phathas,”
the priest said, pointing a rough-skinned finger at the mage, who huddled
against his staff in the corner of the room, coughing. “I’d like to explore some
more before we have to rest for the day.”

Concern for her old teacher filled her—and guilt for
forgetting to consider how he might be faring in this accursed place. “Clear
away from the last chest,” she said, “and prepare the group to head back up the
crawlway.”

She didn’t wait to see if anyone followed her orders, but
moved quickly to the chest and, running practiced hands across its length,
checked for any traps.

Satisfied that the chest itself was trap free, she withdrew
the picks she used for sensitive locks and began to coax the steel catch that
held the chest closed. By the time the half-elf had counted to one hundred, the
lock gave a soft click and fell open. Not taking the time to bask in her
success, she retrieved the long pole that she had used to flip open the previous
chest. Standing against the far wall beneath the crawlway that had led to this
treasure room, she carefully lifted up the lid of the chest.

A bright flash of red light almost blinded her, but before
she could throw up her arms to protect her eyes, the floor of the room rocked
wildly—and then just as suddenly stopped.

That was when she heard the first scream.

Before her, standing amid the crushed remains of the wooden
chest, loomed a horrifying creature devoid of skin. Nearly twice the size of
Kaerion, the skeletal monster held two large scimitars, one in each bony hand.
The beast’s eyeless sockets regarded her with uncanny perception, tracking her
every move. She could see that one of the skeleton’s scimitars was already
stained with blood, and her own blood ran so cold at the sight that she feared
it might stop altogether. Below the beast’s arm, Kaerion’s sword waved
unsteadily, as he desperately tried to recover from the force of the monster’s
initial attack.

The notes of a spell rose from Majandra’s lips, and she
cupped her hands, waiting for the release of mystical energy. Absently, she
noted that Phathas had moved out from where he had been resting and moved his
own hands in the familiar rhythmic gestures of spellcasting. Thus, she was not
surprised when the pulsing blue length of her arcane missiles met the blinding
electrical force of the mage’s lightning bolt as they reached the creature
simultaneously—

Only to wash over it as if they had never existed.

“’Ware the monster!” Phathas yelled. “It’s impervious to
magic!”

Majandra cursed as the arch-mage confirmed her fear.
Something protected the beast from arcane attack. Most likely this was another
of Acererak’s tests.

“Protect the boy!” she heard Kaerion shout to the three
guards who rushed forward to assist him. “I’ll distract the creature from here.”

As Majandra moved to assist Phathas in retreating from the
center of battle, she was pleased to note that the soldiers had obeyed instantly
and now surrounded the boy in a ring of steel.