Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

“Yeah,” Kaerion replied, a grin forming on his own face, “nodoubt from boredom.”

The elf’s almond-shaped eyes widened in a poor imitation ofinnocent shock, and he let out a sharp laugh before offering Kaerion his sword arm. “So,” he asked, “shall we still travel together as shield-mates?”

Kaerion regarded his companion’s outstretched arm. He wasstill a bit angry with Gerwyth, but only because the elf’s actions forced him todeal with things he had wished remained hidden. It was the way of friends to speak and act truthfully toward one another. He thought that in a strange way, by hiding the truth from him, Gerwyth might have been revealing an even deeper truth-a revelation that would not have been possible when the world existed inblack and white.

Finally, Kaerion grasped the elf’s forearm. “Always, myfriend,” he said. “Always.”

“Then come,” the elf said. “Let us lend our own considerablescholarship to the debate raging in this very room.” He slapped Kaerion once onthe shoulder and then rose, heading toward Vaxor and Phathas, who were now engaged in a heated exchange over the scroll’s meaning.

May the gods have mercy upon all of us, Kaerion thought as he joined the trio.

Outside, the winter wind whipped hard against the painted glass of the suite.

Death lurked in the shadows of the room.

Durgoth couldn’t quite see the cloaked figures skulking inthe dark beyond the pulsing light of the silver-wrought lamp, but he could sense their presence-crossbows poised, watching, waiting for a sudden movement or asilent signal. He knew that Jhagren detected their presence as well, for the monk sat completely and utterly still in his wide-backed chair, gazing calmly at the flickering shadows. The cleric had spent enough time with Jhagren to understand that this calm demeanor belied an almost unearthly focused mind and a body trained to uncoil like a serpent in an explosive attack at the first sign of violence.

Let them try. Durgoth was tired of dealing with this rabble. He had already warded himself with a quietly whispered spell. All it would take would be a swift command to his golem, hulking silently behind him, and blood would flow. Unfortunately, that would not get them any closer to their goal. The cleric expressed his disappointment with a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

They had arrived here nearly an hour ago. A quick conversation with their hostage had revealed that the simpering fool was far more interested in living than he was in protecting his guilds secrets, and so they navigated their way through the maze of sewers toward one of the guild’smain hideouts, using their captive as a key to bypass all manner of traps and checkpoints. News of their impending arrival must have preceded them, for when they reached their destination, they were ushered into a side passage by a hard-eyed woman with close-cropped hair. After making sure their prisoner was unharmed, their guide brought them to this room and instructed them to wait.

The room itself was sumptuously appointed, all out of place with the dank tunnels of the surrounding sewers. Thick red carpet covered the floor, and a mahogany desk sat in the center of the chamber. Another high-backed chair, a match to the ones that both Jhagren and Durgoth sat upon, stood behind the desk. The pungent scent of cloves filled the room, driving out the acrid stench of sewage.

Besides the graceful curves of the polished lantern that lay upon the desk, Durgoth could make out several jade figurines-nymphs, dancing andcavorting in typical abandon. A jeweled dagger lay next to the figurines, a palpable reminder of the violence that brooded behind the room’s elegantexterior.

Just as Durgoth’s temper began to fray once more, a figurestrode quietly out of the shadows and took a seat behind the desk. Gray eyes regarded the cleric coolly from a lupine face, its animal resemblance reinforced by close-cropped silver hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee. Deep lines radiated out from the sides of the man’s eyelids almost to the temples, as if he observedeverything with intense scrutiny. His lips drew back in a half-smile, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth-though Durgoth noted that the man’s apparent goodhumor never reached his eyes.

“Welcome,” his host said after a few more moments of silence.The man’s voice was low and resonant, with a smooth, cultured accent. “I am theGuildmaster, though you may call me Reynard. I trust that I have not kept you waiting too long. I had… pressing matters elsewhere.”

Without lifting his gaze from the cleric, the man drew heavily bejeweled hands from the folds of his purple cloak and absently traced deft fingers across the folds and curves of the jade nymphs. The half-smile never left his lips.

For one intolerable moment, Durgoth felt as if he were being sized up by a predator. Gray eyes bore into his with an almost hypnotic power. So, Durgoth thought, this is how the rabbit feels before it gives itself to death. He returned the gaze evenly, a slow smile creeping across his own face. Let others be cowed by such a display. He had met and destroyed far more powerful challengers than this ragged gutter-scum who paraded around in the finery of his betters like a child playing with her mother’s silks.

As if sensing his resolve, the thief turned his gaze away. Durgoth could see that the man truly smiled now, and he felt his own anger rise. “Your guildbetrayed me. I don’t deal with betrayal very well, Reynard.”

“Come now, Durgoth. Oh yes, don’t act so shocked, friend,”the Guildmaster replied at the look of surprise that flicked across the cleric’sface, “I take it upon myself to know the name of everyone who travels through mydomain.” He stopped, indicating the room and the sewers beyond with a wave ofhis hand. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, I believe we were talking aboutbetrayal. It is I who feel betrayed. Does that surprise you?”

“Surprise me?” Durgoth asked. What in the Nine Hells was thisman raving about? And then it hit him-the attack, the ease in which he and hisgroup bypassed the Guild’s traps and watch wards, the attitude of the seeminglycrazy Guildmaster-everything led to one inescapable conclusion.

“You planned this whole damned thing,” Durgoth said.

Reynard slapped his hands together sharply. “By Zilchus’Sacred Vault, he’s figured it out,” the thief said with a smile.

“Why?” the cleric asked. He was tired of being played for afool. If Reynard didn’t cease his prattle, Durgoth would show the damned thiefwhat it was like to antagonize a priest of the Imprisoned One.

“Simple,” the Guildmaster replied. “You have something Iwant-or rather, you will soon have something I want.” Durgoth shot him a venomedglance until he continued. “I have discovered, through no fault of your own, Iassure you, the ultimate destination of your journey.”

“Go on,” the cleric urged a hint of steel creeping into hisvoice.

“Like any good businessman, I want a piece of the action. Ioffer the services of my guild in exchange for a share of the gold, jewels, and other treasure you liberate from the… ahh… site.”

Durgoth stared at the thief in disgust. The man’s gray eyeswere alight with greed. He could almost hear Reynard counting the gold coins in his head. What were petty coins and useless treasure next to the dark glory of Tharizdun?

“If that’s what you were interested in, why didn’t you simplyoffer to meet instead of attacking my followers?” Durgoth asked.

Reynard gave the cleric a crooked smirk. “I needed to makesure that you were capable enough before I reassigned my best guild members. The loss of a few men is a small price to pay for a share in the riches that await beneath that tomb.”

“If we are capable enough-and I know that we are,”Durgoth replied with a wicked gleam in his eye, “what’s to stop us from killingyou and every one of your skulking guildsmen that are in this room right now?”The idea appealed to him greatly.