The Tomb of Horrors (35 page)

But that had been several hours ago, and now his exhausted
body demanded more sleep. Kaerion shook his head to stifle another yawn. The
others were stirring. There would be no time for rest until they had pushed
farther into the tomb. Surveying the surviving members of their expedition,
Kaerion felt his heart soften at the sight of Majandra rubbing sleep-encrusted
eyes. Both she and Phathas had risen earlier than the rest of the party and
poured over their spellbooks under the flickering light of a lantern. As he
watched the half-elf’s fingers deftly rework her thick, sleep-ruffled hair into
a manageable ponytail, Kaerion fought down the urge to work the knots out of her
neck and back with the palms of his own hand. Although he knew he was still
unworthy to use words like duty and honor, he had a purpose here, and he would
not compromise the group’s safety to yield to his own desires.

There were enough deadly things to contend with inside these
walls. He didn’t want to chance losing another person to carelessness—or
betrayal. He saw the cruel smile play across Adrys’ face as clearly as if the
lad was in front of him. He had been sorely misled by the boy’s act. There would
be a reckoning. Until then, Kaerion would stand his watch, vigilant as the
others ran through the rest of their morning preparations. About a half-hour had
passed, and he found himself wondering just what time it was on the surface.

“The sun has just peaked over the horizon,” Gerwyth informed
the group, as if reading Kaerion’s mind. The ranger finished his announcement
with a muted growl as he reached toward the ceiling and stretched out his
muscles.

Kaerion smiled at his friend, used to the elf’s accurate
predictions. The smile faded quickly as he watched Phathas push himself to his
feet. The mage, thin to begin with, had lost even more weight during the recent
weeks. Skin that was paper thin hung gaunt and tight to the wizard’s skull.
Kaerion could see new lines of grief and pain etched into the mazework of
creases already in existence. Wrapped in the dirt-stained expanse of his
gray-cowled cloak, the mage resembled nothing so much as one of the undead that
no doubt haunted the grim corridors of this dungeon.

Only his eyes showed signs of life. Like twin sapphires they
blazed with ferocious intensity. Whatever drove the mage, each step must surely
have been an act of indomitable will. It was clear that after their experiences
these past few months, the wizard would not tolerate any failure. Animated by
such implacable commitment, the wizened spellcaster rose unsteadily from his
resting place.

“It is time to continue,” Phathas said with a tired gasp. “We
are nearing the resting place of Acererak. I can feel it.”

Their preparations complete, the group assembled at the base
of the passage, before the secret door. Previously, the party had followed the
passage created by the sliding wall in the cursed chapel. Kaerion found himself
once again thanking the bard’s recollection of Acererak’s poem, for it had saved
them a great deal of time.
Two pits along the way will he found to lead to a
fortuitous fall so check the wall,
she had quoted to them as they made their
way down the stone passage. Sure enough, they had encountered a number of pits,
cleverly placed behind closed doors. Careful in their observation, they had
discovered a concealed door at the base of one of the pits. It had led them to a
descending stairway and yet another secret door. This one had been blocked by
powerful magic, and it had taken Phathas several tries to bypass the door’s
wards. Exhausted, the mage had walked through the door and signaled that the
party should rest.

Now, somewhat refreshed from their rough encampment, the
group set out. A brief look down the turning passageway had revealed a short
hallway ending in a door. Together, the party marched toward that door and, at
an all-clear signal from the bard, they threw it open.

From his vantage point at the front of the party, Kaerion saw
into a large room. The sting of dried herbs and dust assailed his nose and eyes
before he had even taken a single step. The others coughed as Kaerion took
several shallow breaths through his mouth and entered the room. In the light of
his torch, he could see lines of shelves covering every foot of the wall. Clay
pots, jars, and other containers cluttered each of the shelves, some of them
lying on their sides, broken or cracked. A large desk and four tables were
spaced evenly throughout the room. Carefully, Kaerion kicked aside the soiled
wrappings that lay strewn about the floor and made his way toward one of the
tables. In the center of the room stood three barrels, each filled with a dark
liquid that reflected the flickering torchlight like the eyes of a waiting
predator.

Phathas moved toward one of the tables and poked his staff
through the cloth wrappings, broken pots, and bits of cracked and powdered bones
that littered its scarred wooden top.

“A preparation room of some sort,” the mage said, and Kaerion
found himself straining to listen to the wizard’s rheumy voice. “No doubt where
Acererak’s servants prepared the dead who were to be buried with their evil
master.”

“Looks like dirty water to me,” said one of the guards who
had moved quietly toward the first barrel and now leaned over its top. “Smells
like someone’s been using it as a middens,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Gerwyth’s twisted expression confirmed the guard’s opinion.
“Smells like Kaerion after an all-day binge,” he quipped. Ignoring the fighter’s
growl of protest, the elf continued, “Well, only one way to find out what’s in
it.”

With a quick word of warning, the ranger kicked over the
barrel. It spun twice, overbalanced by the moving liquid within it. With a
crash, the wooden container tipped over, spilling rank liquid on the floor.

“Empty,” Majandra said, as she peered into the fallen barrel.

“This one’s too full to tip over,” Landra said, eyeing the
second barrel distastefully.

One of her guards came forward, carrying the splintered end
of a pole that had been cut in half by the swinging door of a pit. Gently, he
dipped the pole into the barrel and began to stir. Kaerion watched
apprehensively as the man continued his experimentation.

“Hey,” the guard said, “I think something’s in here.”

Hand easing toward his scabbard in case of trouble, Kaerion
approached the barrel. Bredeth did the same. After several tries, the guard
managed to ease whatever the barrel was hiding up along its side and, with a
deft twist of his wrist, knocked it out of the barrel.

The object hit the floor with a metallic clatter. Golden
metal flashed in the light. Kaerion was relieved to see what looked like a
section of a gold-wrought key lying on the floor. He was about to bend down and
pick it up when he heard Majandra’s cry of warning.

Straightening quickly, he managed to see the guard
withdrawing the pole from the barrel. Thin smoke writhed off of the pole’s edge.
Faintly, Kaerion could hear a sizzling sound, as whatever fluid was in the
container started eating away at the wooden implement.

“Acid,” Bredeth said, and Kaerion could hear the man’s
distaste for the gruesome trap. “I bet whatever’s in the third barrel is equally
as dangerous.”

“Indeed,” Phathas said, moving slowly toward the object in
question. “I suggest that the rest of you stand back.”

Kaerion obeyed the mage and took several steps backward. The
others did likewise, until the mage stood alone before the third barrel.
Grasping his staff in one hand, the spellcaster raised his other hand, palm up.
A faint hum filled the room, and Kaerion watched in amazement as the thick,
gelatinlike substance floated toward the ceiling. When the floating mass hung
safely in the shadows of the room, Majandra moved forward and looked into the
now-empty barrel.

“Here is the other section of the key,” she said as she bent
over and scooped up the golden mass.

Quickly, she brought her section of the key over to where the
first piece lay. Standing over her, Kaerion watched as she placed both sections
together. With a single bright flash of light, the two sections fused together.
Smiling, the bard stood up, holding the remade key in her hands.

“We’ve stumbled onto the next section of Acererak’s poem,”
she declared, as Phathas lowered the floating jelly back into the barrel.
“‘These keys and those are most important of all,’” the bard intoned. “That
means there are probably a number of keys we’ll find hidden in various places
before we get to Acererak’s crypt.”

“But what do we do once we’ve collected them?” asked Bredeth,
as he gazed in distaste at the gruesome remnants of the preparation room.

“I have no idea,” Majandra admitted. “But the poem has
steered us straight so far.”

“Unless Acererak’s words have been guiding us just to lead us
to a gruesome end,” Bredeth said.

“A possibility,” Kaerion broke in, unwilling to have the
party’s energy and focus distracted by another argument, “but so far following
the ancient poem has kept us safe. It’s only when we explore areas of the tomb
not written of by that mad wizard that we encounter danger. Given a choice
between a passage earmarked in the poem and one not, I would take the one called
out by Acererak.”

“Agreed, friend Kaerion,” Phathas said, as he drew closer.
“Let us follow the mage’s twisted words as we’ve done, and deal with the
consequences as they come.”

With that decision, the group assembled into their regular
order, with Kaerion and Gerwyth in the front, and proceeded out of the arched
opening. The dark passage quickly turned and the party descended a long set of
stone stairs. Their passage disturbed centuries of dust, kicking up clouds of
moldering particles that stung Kaerion’s nose.

Beyond the stairs, the passage turned once again, and Kaerion
brought the group to a sudden halt. Before them, soaking up the light of their
torches, loomed a wide pit. Kaerion moved to the edge and looked down. Thick
spikes jutted up from the floor of the pit, glinting in the illumination like
the razor sharp jaws of a predator.

Gerwyth moved up beside him and whistled appreciatively at
the sight of the trap. “This will take some doing to get around,” he said.

“Not really, Gerwyth,” the bard said. “I can easily levitate
over to the other side and rig a rope that the rest of you can use to avoid the
pit.”

“There is another solution, my dear,” Phathas said smiling.
“Rather than risk triggering any other traps Acererak built into the pit, why
not simply walk?”

Kaerion saw the bard’s lips turn up in an answering smile.
“That is an altogether satisfactory solution,” she said, and then beckoned the
others away from the pit.

Once again the mage made his way forward. Leaning upon his
staff, he thrust one hand forward, fist closed, while the words of his spell
tumbled forth in a torrent of rhythm and twisted cadence. Phathas whispered the
final word of the incantation and opened his fist, palm facing down.
Immediately, the area directly above the pit shimmered. Gradually, the energy
coalesced into a solid stone block that completely covered the pit.

Kaerion took a tentative step forward. Satisfied that the new
stone would hold, he walked forward, head shaking in amazement. For all of the
mage’s physical frailty, Kaerion was completely in awe of the amount of power
the wizard had at his disposal. Without Phathas’ assistance, the whole
expedition might have met a gruesome end long ago. It was a testament to the
wizard’s commitment and skill that they had made it this far.

With the others following, the group made its way over the
pit and walked another hundred or so feet before the passageway ended abruptly.
Confident that this wasn’t simply a dead end, Kaerion asked the others to break
up and search for any hidden exits. This time, it was Majandra who spotted the
secret door in the north wall of the passage. A quick twist of a loose stone in
the wall, and the door swung open, revealing a small antechamber—and another
door opposite.

Motioning Majandra up to check on the door, Kaerion drew his
sword and was relieved to find that Gerwyth had already fixed an arrow to his
bow. The half-elf’s search revealed nothing unusual about this portal. Conveying
her discovery with a simple sign, the bard opened the door.

Kaerion could see that the room beyond was simply appointed
with tapestries along the walls. As the party moved in for a better look, it
soon became clear that the room had been used mainly for storage. Dented urns
and chipped vases littered the floor of the room, while four rotting sofas and
several garish, throne-like chairs lay in a heap in the room’s center. Motioning
for the others to join him, Kaerion moved to a collection of trunks and coffers
that lay strewn about a small area of the room.

Within minutes, the entire party had fanned out. Unwilling to
turn a blind eye to the potential hidden dangers lurking in this room, Kaerion
kept a watchful eye on everyone, even as he opened trunk after trunk—each
containing only air.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Landra and another guard
investigating one of the coffers, while a third one gazed at the tapestries
hanging from the walls. Even from his vantage point, Kaerion could see that the
tapestries depicted underwater scenes. Dyed with rich greens and blues, the
kelp-covered rocks and coral beds stood out in stark relief to the gray stone of
the room’s floor.

He was about to call over to Majandra and enlist the
half-elf’s aid in opening another of the trunks when a dull groaning sound
filled the room. The floor of the chamber rocked violently, throwing Kaerion to
his knees. As the room continued to tremble, several of the others lost their
balance as well. Kaerion watched in horror as a few of the coffers tipped on
their sides, disgorging asps.

A cry of pain distracted him from the advancing snakes.
Looking toward the source of the cry, he saw that the guard investigating the
tapestry had grabbed hold of the thick cloth to try and remain upright. The top
of the tapestry had torn and, as the material fell to the floor, it transformed
into a thick mass of green slime. Kaerion nearly disgorged his morning repast as
the guards skin bubbled and melted beneath the viscous slime, adding to the
creatures prodigious size.