The Tomb of Horrors (36 page)

The hiss of angered snakes brought his attention back to his
own danger. Hastily, Kaerion scrambled to his feet and was surprised to find
that the floor had stopped shaking. Landra and the remaining guard were hemmed
in by a rapidly closing serpentine circle. Without hesitation, Kaerion launched
himself at the attacking snakes, calling out to Bredeth for help. The two
fighters cut a swath of death in their wake as gleaming swords bit deeply into
scales. Though he had little time to spare for the other members of their group,
Kaerion could see that Gerwyth, Majandra, and Phathas stood just outside the
reach of the now-advancing slime. A moment later, a wave of light and heat burst
over the room, as both the mage and the half-elf finished shouting words to
their spells.

Kaerion ignored the blast, confident that his three
companions had their situation under control. Two asps whipped their head
around, striking out at his arm. Both sets of fangs rebounded sharply off of his
mail shirt. Thankful that he had taken the time to adjust his armor this
morning, Kaerion sent both heads whipping across the room with a single downward
slice of his sword.

The next few moments became a rhythmic exchange of sword
blows as Bredeth, Kaerion, Landra, and the last guard dispatched the asps with
their blades. Silence descended upon the room once the last serpent had been
killed. Kaerion looked over to the corner, breathing heavily, and saw that
Majandra and Phathas stood near a smoldering lump of green slime. Gerwyth had
maneuvered near the stone wall that the tapestry had previously covered. The elf
was running his fingers lightly over the area.

“There’s something here,” the ranger said. “I think it’s the
outline of a door.” He pressed the stone, and a door swung open. “There’s a
passage here! I think we better—”

Kaerion couldn’t make out the rest, as another loud groaning
reverberated throughout the room.

“Run!” he shouted, not waiting to see if anyone listened, and
bolted for the door. Tripping and stumbling as the floor of the chamber once
again trembled, Kaerion made it out of the room behind Majandra and Phathas.
They stumbled into a small curved passage. Kaerion turned to help the rest of
the group escape the trapped room and let out a relieved sigh as the last of the
party emerged from the quaking chamber.

He closed the door and leaned heavily against it while his
companions caught their breath. “It… was right… there,” he heard Majandra
say through deep lungfuls of air.

“What was there?” Bredeth asked.

The bard held out her hand for a moment while she struggled
to regain her composure. Kaerion could see more tears brimming in her
almond-shaped eyes. “The warning,” she said at last. “‘Beware of trembling
hands’… It was right there for us in the poem. If only I had—”

“Don’t,” Phathas scolded the elf in a sharp tone. “There was
no way you could have known what ‘trembling hands’ meant. Remember: despite the
help we’re receiving from Acererak’s little riddle, its meanings are
intentionally left clouded. We’re not supposed to survive this expedition.”

“I agree,” Kaerion added with a sympathetic squeeze of her
shoulder. “You’re being too hard on yourself. And I should know,” he continued
with a rueful smile, “I’m an expert on such matters.”

Kaerion was rewarded with a half smile. Gently, he wiped the
tears from the bard’s eyes and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Peace,
Majandra. We’re almost finished.”

“Or we will be if you two would stop mooning over each
other,” said Gerwyth, who softened his tone with an exaggerated raising of his
pointed eyebrows. “Now let’s get moving. We have a job to do.”

The group moved out, this time at a slower pace. Though not
injured in the trapped chamber, Phathas had still not quite recovered his
breath. As a result, it took the party quite a bit of time to navigate the next
set of descending stairs.

The passageway eventually reached a four-way crossroads, and
Kaerion soon found himself thankful for the slow pace. Taking one step into the
intersection, he turned to check on Phathas’ progress, and the simple maneuver
saved his life. The floor beneath his extended foot gave way, opening up into a
deep pit. Not quite overbalanced, he hung suspended on the lip of the hole,
windmilling his arms before Gerwyth pulled him from the precipice.

Though not quite as imposing as the pit they had traveled
over earlier, this obstacle slowed the party’s progress even more. After a brief
consultation as to the direction they should move, they decided that Majandra,
easily the lightest member of the expedition, would jump over the corner of the
trap into the passageway. Bredeth would follow, and the two would function as
anchors for a safety line of rope tied to the other, less deft members of the
party. All in all, the crossing took several minutes.

Once across, Kaerion paused to light a new torch and surveyed
the passageway. Although the tunnel continued off into the darkness, he thought
he could see a door at the extreme limit of his vision. Calling the group
together, he led the way. As expected, the passage ended in a thick stone door.
Used to this procedure by now, Majandra walked toward the door without any
prompting and gave it a careful examination.

“It’s free from any traps I can see,” she said when she had
completed her search.

“That’s comforting,” Bredeth said. “What about the traps you
can’t see?”

Kaerion could see that the dour noble’s tongue was beginning
to erode the bard’s temper. The half-elf’s lips puckered in a sour expression,
and Kaerion could almost see the stinging retort forming behind her lips. “If
Majandra hasn’t discovered any traps, that’s good enough for me,” Kaerion said
simply and opened the door—

Only to find himself staring at a blank wall.

The curses that followed took the form of several different
languages, and Kaerion was surprised to hear the old mage mumble something
indignant under his breath. It didn’t make any sense. They had been following
Acererak’s riddle and it had led them true so far. Perhaps they were supposed to
have taken another passage at the intersection. It seemed like the most logical
thing to do, but something nagged at the back of his mind.

The others had already started to head back toward the
intersection when he called out. “Hey! Didn’t the riddle say something about a
false door?” he asked.

As one, the group turned and cast expectant glances at
Majandra. Kaerion watched as the bard’s face assumed the slightly distant look
he had come to associate with her ability to memorize words and information.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice rising with excitement. “‘If
you find the false, you’ll find the true.’ Quick, Gerwyth!” she said in a voice
worthy of a battlefield commander. “Take a look at the wall beyond the false
door. You have the sharpest eyes among us.”

Kaerion watched as the elf gave Majandra an abbreviated bow
and walked toward the dead end. The ranger ran his fingers along the surface for
a few minutes, peering deeply at the stonework.

“Sure enough,” he said finally, “there’s a door here.”

The party let out a sigh of relief. Once more the riddle was
guiding them true. Quickly they formed up as Majandra declared the door free
from traps and pulled it open. The door grated heavily upon the raised stone of
the floor, sending deep echoes down the corridor. Despite the chill, Kaerion
felt sweat trickling down the small of his back. With an unconscious movement,
he shrugged away the discomfort. They were closer than they had ever been to
piercing the heart of this devilish crypt.

Shouldering his shield, Kaerion raised a flickering torch and
walked through the doorway.

Majandra stared at the room in awe. Around her, to the limits
of the groups torches, stone columns reached up into the darkness, a forest of
stonework as far as the eye could see. The party gathered in a knot by the
entrance, their combined breathing echoing softly in the shadowy chamber. It had
taken several minutes and the loss of three sword blades to gain entrance to
this room, but the half-elf was sure they were heading in the right direction.

This must be the columned hall, she thought, before relaying
her surmise to the rest of the group. Around her, she could feel her companions
tension like a palpable itch at the base of her neck.

“If this is the chamber Acererak spoke of, then where is the
throne?” Bredeth asked from somewhere behind her.

Her response was cut off by the sound of the adamantite door
they had walked through only a few minutes ago slamming closed. Majandra spun
around at the noise, ready to offer whatever assistance she could, but by the
sound of Kaerion’s cursing, she doubted that there was much she could do.

“It’s jammed shut,” Kaerion said, confirming her fears.

It took a few moments for Gerwyth and the mage to investigate
the sealed portal. After several attempts, both magical and mundane, at prying
the door open, they gave up.

“The door only opens one way,” Phathas informed the group.
“It appears that our path has been decided for us.”

Unwilling to waste energy cursing a situation about which she
could do nothing, the bard gave the vast hall another look. Bredeth was right.
If they had stumbled upon the columned hall, then they should be within bowshot
of Acererak’s throne. Majandra shook her head in frustration as the chamber’s
shadows defeated even the sensitivity of her half-elven eyes.

Gently, she hummed a succession of notes and sent a trio of
bluish-green lights dancing about the hall. Around her, Majandra heard startled
exclamations of wonder as her arcane illumination shredded the hall’s stubborn
shadows as easily as a vorpal blade cut through bone. Beneath the pulsing glow
of her lights, the columned hall’s true scope was revealed. Larger even than the
royal throne room in Rel Mord, Acererak’s hall would have dwarfed even the
tallest giant. Row upon row of columns rose up into the chamber’s vaulted
heights, each one engraved with symbols and decorative stonework set off with
colorful accents and bright jewels that would have made a master artisan cry out
in pure delight. From where she stood, Majandra could also make out three simple
stone doors spaced evenly across the north wall. The farther corners of the room
also contained duplicates of the horrifying devil-face that had been carved into
the stone of the tomb’s entrance chamber.

But it was the silver throne sitting atop a flawless ebony
dais in the center of the southern wall that truly captured her attention.
Moving carefully toward the object of her interest, she could see that the
throne was composed of the same obsidian as the dais itself. Silver inlay
glinted masterfully from every possible angle of the throne, and upon the edge
of its back and along its wide armrests, ivory-carved skulls leered back at her.

It was Gerwyth who first saw the crown and scepter lying
crosswise on the seat of the throne. Majandra caught sight of the glinting,
jewel-encrusted crown after the elf’s exclamation. The others had spread out to
search the rest of the room, but she called them back with a shout. “The throne
is the key!” she explained as her companions drew closer to the throne.

Phathas waved a single hand before the throne and Majandra
was forced to step back at the blast of bright light that pulsated from the
crown and scepter. “Magic,” he warned as the group drew closer. Carefully
checking the steps up to the dais for traps, the half-elf was relieved to signal
that all was clear.

Kaerion and Bredeth had begun to ascend the ebony steps when
Majandra heard a muffled curse behind her. Turning, she saw that the last
remaining guard, a brown-haired woman named Keeryn, had brushed against one of
the hall’s columns as she was approaching the throne, and now hung suspended in
the air about ten feet off of the ground. As Majandra rushed to her, the guard
floated higher into the air.

“Phathas!” the half-elf called to the mage. “Help!”

By the time the mage, Landra, and Gerwyth joined her, Keeryn
had floated nearly thirty feet into the air. By now, the guard’s concerned look
had transformed to one of alarm, and Majandra could see the color draining from
her face.

“Try and hold on to something!” she called out to the
unfortunate woman, but as the guard hastened to obey her, she began to drift
toward the far corner of the room.

“She’s heading for the devil mouth!” Landra cried out as
Keeryn, clearly frantic now, reached wildly at every column she passed.

“Gerwyth, I need your help!” the half-elf said, trying hard
to keep herself beneath the trapped guard, but Keeryn had begun to pick up speed
and was only about fifteen feet from the devil’s stone mouth.

To her relief, Majandra saw that the ranger had strung a thin
rope to the shaft of one of his arrows and now aimed carefully for the wall near
Keeryn. The shaft impacted hard against the thick stone, sending up a sharp
cloud of dust as its glowing head bit deeply into the rock. Keeryn was close to
the carved stone face when she reached out and grabbed the rope, stopping her
forward motion. Majandra’s relief was shortlived, however, as the guard gave a
strangled cry. A deep blue glow emanated from the devil face, surrounding the
trapped woman. The half-elf watched in horror as the glow deepened, suddenly
exploding into cobalt brilliance, and when Majandra could see once more, Keeryn
was gone.