Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Gently, she helped Kaerion out of his tunic, wincing at the sight of fresh bruises and old scars that marred the sweeping cut of his massive chest and broad back. By the time she tucked silk sheets around his girth, he was half asleep, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

“Didn’t answer… question,” he mumbled as she made toleave. “Why… help… me?”

When the answer came, it surprised even her. “Because youhave a tale to tell, and I’m a sucker for a tale. Especially,” she said, half toherself, “when it comes wrapped in a gorgeous frame like yours.”

But Kaerion hadn’t heard. Sleep had finally claimed him.

The days passed with a quiet hum of intensity as Phathas andhis companions met with a seemingly endless array of merchants, provisioners, caravan masters, and even a few of the old wizards colleagues from the Royal University. The group checked and rechecked their calculations, measuring the distance against their available stores and trying to plan for most emergencies. Nights were spent poring over old maps and the notes from Phathas’ research,verifying the probable location of the ancient tomb and the safest possible route toward it.

Kaerion watched the preparations from a distance, trying hard not to remember spending his time similarly in the years when he commanded battalions of armed men. For that’s what the activities of the last few daysfelt like-preparations for a war. He just couldn’t shake the unsettling feelingthat they had already lost.

Why then, he asked himself several times, am I staying?

Ever since he had woken up the morning after his ill-fated altercation at the Men O’Steel, he knew that he would accompany Gerwyth and therest of the group on their journey. Perhaps it was the perverse desire to confound and antagonize the hot-headed Bredeth, who had spent a good portion of that morning arguing with Majandra, Gerwyth, and Vaxor once he had learned about Kaerion’s activities of the previous evening. Or perhaps it was the fact that,despite his protestations to the contrary, a part of him still believed in the power of friendship and honor. Perhaps it was even the desire to remain close to the fiery-haired bard, the only person besides Gerwyth who, in the last decade, had ever shown him a measure of true kindness. In the din and tumult surrounding the last few days, it was difficult for him to identify his motivations. He only knew that he had woken up that morning with a blazing hangover and a commitment to the upcoming journey. Only one of those two things had eventually faded away.

Now, he watched and waited, not quite sulking, but definitely anxious to keep his distance from the Nyrondese party-especially Vaxor. A fewtimes, he had caught the priest of Heironeous casting a stern gaze his way, and though he was able to meet the clerics eyes, he found himself shrinking inside, trying to hide his shame from that penetrating countenance. If the cleric had discovered anything, he did not, thankfully, confront him.

As time passed, Kaerion’s head began to ache and he found hismuscles trembling, as much from the onslaught of nightmares and sleepless nights as from an absence of ale. Kaerion gritted his teeth and bore the pain. There would be time for indulgences soon enough. He just hoped he had the strength to survive until then.

A few nights before the group was supposed to leave the city, Gerwyth tapped Kaerion lightly upon the shoulder and pointed to a secluded corner of the suite. Phathas and Vaxor were engaged in a long discussion regarding the implications of a verse on some ancient scroll, and both Majandra and Bredeth were doing some final negotiations with one of the merchants who was providing the draft animals for their expedition. Alone and, truth be told, anxious for some company, Kaerion shrugged and followed Gerwyth. For once, the elf’s face did not bear a mocking smile. His demeanor was uncharacteristicallyserious.

Kaerion stared at his friend. The silence and hurt of the last few days stretched out between them like a yawning chasm. There had been several attempts at normal conversation between the two of them the day after their arrival in Rel Mord, but each one had ended with shouting and the same bitter feelings of hurt, anger, and betrayal. It took more than a few moments for the silence to break.

When it did, it was the elf who spoke first. “I hate seeingyou like this, Kaer.”

His friend’s words were spoken softly, carefully, and try ashe might to deny it, Kaerion could hear the concern in the ranger’s voice.

“You should have told me who we were supposed to meet,Gerwyth,” he replied. “You should have told me everything.”

The elf nodded and waited a bit before speaking. “You’reright, of course. I should have. It was wrong of me to hold back on you like that.”

Kaerion sat stunned for just a moment. In all the years that he had traveled with Gerwyth, this was the first time the free-spirited elf had ever apologized for anything.

“It’s just that I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you allabout this job, and I knew I would really need you on this one.”

“There’s a reason why I wouldn’t have come, Ger,” Kaerionreplied, heat building in his voice. “All of this,” he indicated the lavish roomand the two nobles who dickered on oblivious of the two guides, “reminds me ofthe life I left behind, the life that my own mistakes destroyed. It’s likeGaladorn….”

He paused for a moment after he spoke the holy sword’sname-even now, after everything he’d forsworn, he couldn’t speak about the bladewithout experiencing a frisson of awe and reverence.

“That sword reminds me of everything that I’ve lost. It’s adamned curse. The last and final punishment meted out by the god I betrayed. Only now, I have to spend months pretending to be nothing more than a hired sword while traveling with a pack of nobles and their Heironean cleric.” Kaerionpitched his voice even softer before continuing. “Do you know what Vaxor will doif he uncovers my sin?”

Gerwyth nodded and placed a hand upon Kaerion’s shoulder,giving it a companionable squeeze. “I do understand, Kaer. Truly I do. We havetraveled many leagues together, my friend, and I have watched you suffer from the mistakes you’ve made. You have rebuilt a part of yourself from the ashes ofyour defeat, and that takes great strength and courage, whatever you may think. But a half-life is no life at all. I’ve seen the way you drink, hoping that itwill fill the part of you that is still missing, the part that died over ten years ago. The time has come for you to stop running and face that darkness inside.”

Kaerion shrugged the elf’s hands off of his shoulder. “Thatis my decision to make, Ger, not yours. When I’m ready for such a journey, I’lltake it.”

“Perhaps,” Gerwyth replied, “if you were an elf, such asentiment would hold true. But the life-flame of your kind burns fast, and I would not see you carry such pain to the grave. You are a true friend, Kaerion, and I will bend every ounce of my power to help you.”

“Like you’re doing with Phathas?” Kaerion said Bitternessburned like a hot coal on his tongue.

Gerwyth raised an eyebrow at his response. “Phathas is an oldfriend. And yes, I would do anything I could to help him-even brave your wrath.”A trace of that familiar mocking smile crept upon the elf’s face.

Despite himself, Kaerion found his anger abating somewhat. “You could have told me about Phathas,” he said with just a trace of pettiness.

“That was another lifetime, Kaer,” Gerwyth responded. “Andtruth be told, I didn’t think you’d be that interested. Besides, if I regaledyou with all of the details of my life, you’d be half-dead before I finished.”His smile grew even wider.