Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

The pulsating circle remained open a few more moments. A sound like thunder filled the room, causing those members of the crowd who were still alive to dive on the floor with their heads covered. Kaerion cast a glance at Vaxor and knew, by the look of complete devotion that crossed the priest’sface, that the phenomenon had nothing to do with the activities of a normal thundercloud. It was clear that Heironeous had spoken-words that only thefaithful could hear.

The circle irised closed and then disappeared, plunging the room into stunned silence. Kaerion watched as Vaxor fell to his knees, whether from his wounds or from some movement of faith Kaerion could not be sure. Panting, he picked up Majandra’s sword and moved toward Gerwyth, who still stoodfrozen at the stairs landing.

Before he could offer any assistance, an explosion from somewhere upstairs caused the already damaged building to buckle. Kaerion spun around and saw Majandra helping the priest to his feet. She looked back at him, eyes wide. “Phathas!” she shouted. “He’s still upstairs!”

“Vaxor, see to Gerwyth. Majandra and I will head up to thesuite. Follow as soon as you can.”

In the heat of battle, Kaerion’s voice had assumed a ring ofcommand, carrying easily over the worried shouts and murmurings of the crowd In his haste to aid the old mage, he did not see Vaxor’s raised eyebrow before thecleric moved toward the frozen elf.

Turning, Kaerion launched himself up the carpeted stairs, conscious of Majandra’s worried breathing behind him. A few moments later, theyplunged through the doorway of their suite and into the heart of chaos. Tables and chairs lay smashed or overturned in various parts of the rooms, and several tapestries were pulled from their hangings. One entire wall of the suite had disappeared, replaced by a flaming wreck of blackened wood and cinders. A chill wind blew threw the room, stirring ash and fanning small flames that flickered across the carpet and licked at the wood ceiling.

Phathas leaned feebly against the frame of a door, surrounded by a nimbus of red light. Three figures closed him in, each hacking at him with short swords that gleamed in the mystic light. The swords rebounded harmlessly every time they struck the red glow, but Kaerion could clearly see that the magewas weakening. One gnarled hand gripped a silver-shod brown staff, while the other supported the mage’s weight against the frame.

Another figure stood slightly back from the main battle, directly across from where the mage was making his stand. From his vantage point, Kaerion could make out the face of a woman that was as beautiful as it was cruel. Icy features were stretched taut in concentration as her lithe form undulated to an unheard tempo. Silver lines streaked out from a pair of gleaming bracers as she reached into the air with slender arms. Between the smooth curves of her palms, the fighter could see a crackling ball of light growing brighter, as if she pulled the energy from the very air itself. Kaerion had no doubt that she intended to launch this magic at the struggling mage.

Just then, he heard Majandra cry out a single, unintelligible word. Three bluish bolts of energy flew over his shoulder to strike the gesticulating sorceress. The woman screamed and recoiled as the bolts spattered against her flesh. The ball of energy between her hands dissipated, and she turned a hateful eye upon Majandra.

“Kaerion, look out!” he heard a male voice cry out.

Spinning, he caught a glimpse of Bredeth, holding his own against two cloaked figures, before a shadow launched itself at him from the side. Kaerion met the attack with the full face of his shield and slid his own blade between the ribs of his opponent with an absent thrust.

Pulling his blade from the dying figure, Kaerion ran toward Phathas, whose spell was collapsing. With a shout, Kaerion lashed out with his boot and caught one of the assassins hard in the knee. The man cried out and hit the floor. Without breaking his rhythm, Kaerion stepped forward and ran his sword through a second cloaked figure, careful not to get too entangled in the treacherous maze of debris and bodies on the floor.

The third assassin turned away from the mage and launched three silver edged disks at Kaerion. He brought his shield up, blocking one of the missiles with a metallic clang. The other two sank painfully into his arm and shoulder.

Kaerion grunted once as the figure drew another short sword and pressed the attack. Unable to pull out the blades that penetrated his skin, Kaerion’s attempts at parrying these attacks pushed the pointed barbs of themetal deeper into his flesh.

Fatigue made Kaerion’s sword seem as heavy as a suit of mail,but he raised it again and again to beat back the assassin’s attack. It was onlyafter he failed to parry an easy thrust with his shield that he suspected he had been poisoned. His limbs simply wouldn’t respond with their normal speed. It wasas if he were submerged in water. Desperate now, for he knew he wouldn’t lasttoo much longer, Kaerion raised his own sword and aimed a vicious sideways swipe at his opponent. When the man brought one of his swords down to parry it, Kaerion spun and bashed his shield into the assassins head. Stunned, his hapless opponent could not block the steel that imbedded itself into his chest. With a wet gurgle, he fell to the floor.

Kaerion quickly surveyed the battle as he removed the sharp metal discs from his arm and shoulder. Freed from his attackers, Phathas had regained his footing and now launched spell after spell at the leather-clad sorceress. He watched for a moment in awe at the speed and grace of the elderly mage. Bleeding and bruised from several wounds, the sorceress had erected her own shield against the attacks. It spattered and sparked as Phathas’ spellsslammed against it. Already it showed signs of collapsing.

With a cry, Bredeth finished off his last opponent, and Kaerion could see him slowly advancing with Majandra. Both were intent on killing the beleaguered sorceress. It looked to Kaerion’s trained eye that thisbattle was nearly ended.

A slight scuffling sound caught his attention. Turning, he peered into the shadowy expanse of Phathas’ room. The sound came again, andthis time Kaerion saw a deeper shadow, a figure skulking within the darkness.

“Intruder!” he shouted and ran as fast as his sluggish limbswould carry him into the mage’s chambers.

The well-muscled, black-skinned figure rifling through the mage’s scrolls regarded him with obvious surprise. Kaerion raised his shield,expecting an attack. The thief, however, grabbed a handful of the scrolls lying on the desk before him and launched himself out the open window to his left.

Kaerion ran to the window and watched in amazement as the thief floated gracefully down to the street, already running before his feet touched the ground. He regarded the fleeing thief for just a moment before running out of the room and through the suite, ready to give chase.

“Where’s the sorceress?” he asked Majandra, who was guidingthe wounded Phathas to the only remaining chair in the suite.

“She fled,” the bard replied. “Stepped through a portal anddisappeared.”

“I’m going after them,” he said, halfway out of the door tothe suite. “When you’re done there, take Bredeth and make sure the area issecure.”

He didn’t wait for the half-elf to respond, but took thestairs two at a time in his haste to reach the street. As he ran through the common area, he saw Vaxor and Gerwyth. The elf was no longer immobilized, but it looked as if he needed a few minutes to compose himself.

“It seems we had visitors,” Kaerion said. “They fled and nowI’d like to pay them a visit. Come when you can.”

With that, he ran out the main door to the inn and checked the street. The night air was crisp, washing away the copper tang of blood and rent flesh, but Kaerion could spare no time to enjoy it. He cast several long looks down either direction of the street that ran parallel to the inn, hoping to find some clue as to the direction the thief had taken.