Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Reynard leaned forward in his chair, fingers steepled together beneath his chin. “Because,” he said softly as he met the cleric’s gazeonce again, “I have some information that you would find exceptionally valuable.Information that you would have a difficult time retrieving from a corpse.”

Don’t be too sure, Durgoth thought viciously. But he remainedsilent, regarding the grizzled thief with a measuring look. He was intrigued by the man’s offer and, to be honest, his cunning. He might be little more thanscum, but he was smart and dangerous-a true predator whose weakness for goldwould make him a valuable tool.

“What information is this?” Durgoth asked, finally breakingthe silence.

“According to a few of my agents in Rel Mord, a group ofnobles is planning an expedition through the Vast Swamp-” Reynard paused beforecontinuing-“their ultimate destination: the ancient tomb of Acererak the mage. Ican provide you details and locations once we have agreed upon the deal.”

But Durgoth had ceased listening. Another expedition, he thought, and sat back in his chair. Another group making their way toward the ancient tomb. He knew this was not a coincidence. There were no coincidences where Tharizdun was concerned. Surely this was a sign. Even bound by the accursed will of the other gods, his master was reaching out to him, letting him know that he was on the right path.

“Blessed be your Dark Will,” he whispered, already plottinghis next move.

Reynard cleared his throat gently. “So Durgoth,” he asked,“do we have a deal?”

Let the thief have his useless treasure, if that would secure his aid. Once Durgoth had the key, he would free his master, and his magnificence would swallow the whole world. No amount of gold would be able to stop it from happening.

The cleric offered his hand to Reynard and smiled. “I acceptyour terms,” he said.

“Excellent,” Reynard replied, and rapped sharply upon thetable.

Two other figures emerged from the darkness, a man and a woman. Durgoth’s breath nearly caught in his throat as they approached the desk.The woman wore the flickering light like a garment of gold. It rippled across tanned skin stretched smooth across a full-figured body and reflected off of eyes the color of pure honey. Tight-fitting leather hose clung to long, muscular legs and ended in high-topped boots. Her corset laid her midriff bare and dung to the rounded swell of breasts. Two silver bracers lay strapped to her forearms, and she carried a black yew staff, inlaid with silver. Durgoth could see the polished glint of a small crossbow at her belt.

Her companion seemed made of shadow. Skin almost as black as obsidian absorbed the light, and a close-cropped black beard accented the man’spronounced jaw line. Long hair lay bound at the nape of the neck with a dark cord, and Durgoth was sure he saw the telltale glint of a fanged garrote along its edges. A form-fitting leather garment, sporting an amazing number of small pockets, covered his muscular frame. He carried a short sword on his left side and a number of body scabbards held daggers.

The woman tossed Reynard something as she entered and stood with her companion several paces away from the desk. With a shock, Durgoth saw the master thief holding a severed hand and was only slightly surprised to see a familiar ring. The hand belonged to the thief who had guided them here.

“This is Sydra and Eltanel,” Reynard said, indicating the twofigures. “Sydra is a practitioner of magic whose sorcerous powers willcomplement your own. Eltanel is the best lockpick and trap-springer in the Guild. They will both be valuable additions to your expedition.” Reynard rose tohis feet. “They will be able to give you the details on that other expedition. Iwill leave you to make your plans, but remember-” he threw the grisly hand ontothe desk, knocking over the jade figures-“I don’t take betrayal very welleither.”

Two nights before the expedition was set to leave, Majandrafound herself navigating the torchlit streets of Rel Mord with Bredeth. The blue-gray shadows of dusk had finally deepened into true darkness, and a heavy winter mist swirled across the ground like some undulating serpent. The city’swinding streets were mostly empty of traffic, as many citizens had retired to taprooms or the familiar comfort of home and hearth. A few, however, braved the chill air and the shadows, walking openly beneath the safety of torches and oil lamps, intent on their own business. Others slid in between the shifting shadows of old buildings and alleyways.

Majandra kept a constant watch for the footpads and cutpurses that made the night their home. Not for the first time she cursed the heavy sacks and packages both she and her companion practically had to drag through the street.

“What in the name of the Nine Hells are we going to do withall this clothing?” she complained. “We’re going to be spending months in aswamp for the gods’ sakes, not wintering with the Ice Barbarians.”

Bredeth, already several paces ahead of the half-elf, stopped and turned. “You know that Phathas tries to plan for any eventuality,” he said.“It does appear, however, that our dear mage may be planning a bit too hard,eh?” With that, the young noble shouldered his burden and staggered back on hiscourse.

Majandra stared after him, puzzled. For the past week, the two of them had spent a great deal of time purchasing provisions, haggling with caravan masters, and running errands for both Phathas and Vaxor. But in the last two days, she’d seen a decisive shift in the normally sour nobles attitude. Gonewere the tantrums and highborn disdain for physical labor, the refusal to carry anything without the aid of a servant, and all of the protestations of a pampered heir. Tonight, he’d labored hard, making several trips to the merchantswithout complaint, and he had even offered to go to the Royal University to pick up several scrolls that Phathas feared he might need on the road. Quite unlike the acid-tongued snob she usually dealt with. And the bard was almost certain that the noble’s last statement had been an attempt at levity. Unbelievable,Majandra thought, as she hurried to catch up to his rapidly retreating form.

The two traveled for quite some time in silence, and the bard listened with fascination at the nocturnal voice of the city. The deep-throated bark of a dog, the yowl of an upset alley cat, the cries of merriment and anger rising from inns and public houses, even the faintly threatening tread of feet in the shadows-all of it combined to form a rich symphony of sound thatsurrounded her, its powerful chords touching her with a profound sense of mystery and promise, hope and despair. She sighed and wondered idly if she’dever be able to capture the essence of this city in her own music. That would be a work worthy of a master bard.

A few more turns and the two arrived in the wealthier section of the city. Majandra noted, without surprise, that everything seemed muted here, dulled. There were fewer people on the streets, fewer taprooms. Looking into the windows and elaborate stained glass portals of the surrounding houses one saw mostly darkness. The half-elf knew that beneath this placid exterior there existed a vibrant and dangerous world-a world of lavishly appointeddrawing rooms, sumptuous parlors, and decadent boudoirs where noble and merchant alike gossiped, schemed, and seduced each other in a complex game of politics and survival. Outside, however, everything was quiet and still.

Majandra cast a glance at her companion and was surprised to see his normally pursed lips drawn back in a slight smile. He walked smoothly in the shadowed lane, despite the heavy burden slung over one shoulder, and the half-elf had the impression that if it weren’t for the cumbersome gear hecarried, Bredeth would have been skipping toward the Platinum Shield.