Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Despite herself, the half-elf was impressed that the young warrior had acquitted himself well during the battle. Perhaps, she thought, he won’t be a complete liability on the journey.

“How could those damnable assassins have found out about ourplans?” the young noble asked in a slightly softer voice. “And why would theytake such an interest in us?”

“The Brotherhood has its eyes and ears in every major city,”Phathas replied from his chair in the corner of the room, “and we have madelittle secret about our intentions. In that, we may have been a bit foolish. As for their interest, well, I believe that a united and healthy Nyrond would be a severe impediment to whatever dark schemes they are hatching.”

Majandra listened to the old mage’s words, trying to lookattentive, but concern for her mentor kept clouding her thoughts. Despite the healing prayers of Vaxor, dark circles ringed the deep hollows of the wizards eyes, and his face seemed shrunken, almost ghoul-like in the firelight-weatheredflesh stretched taut across the skull, like the cracked skin of an ancient drum.

Tonight’s attack had drained them all, but it seemed as ifthe battle had taken something permanent from the old mage. Vaxor had dealt with the sentinels and the hysterical rambling of the Platinum Shields proprietor. Even after leading the weary group to the spell-sealed chambers of the Royal University, Phathas seemed strangely silent, bent beneath burdens only he could identify. Now, as they sat within the relative comfort and safety of the university walls, the bard watched in dismay as those burdens continued to consume the flesh of her beloved teacher.

“Something just isn’t right,” interjected Gerwyth, as he drewhimself out of the shadow-spun corner of the chamber. His lilting accent caught Majandra’s attention, turning her mind away from dark thoughts. She wassurprised to find that despite the evening’s exertions, the elf appearedunruffled. Though he had discarded his usual cloak and wore his studded leather armor openly, the elf would not have drawn comment had he been attending a banquet, such was the effect of his still-immaculate waves of golden hair and unearthly beauty. His eyes reflected back the golden light of the fire, shining like emeralds in the small room, and if not for the grim set of jaw, one would have never known the ranger had fought a pitched battle just hours ago.

“Despite the fact that the attack was well planned,” hecontinued after a nod from Phathas, “it did not feel like the Brotherhood’shandiwork. It was too… straightforward, if you ask me.”

“I agree,” Vaxor’s deep voice resonated in the chamber. Heturned to the silent figure of Kaerion, staring idly into the fire. “Are yousure that you encountered a member of the Scarlet Brotherhood? Perhaps it was someone else-a different group trying to shift blame onto the Brotherhood?”

The fire crackled and hissed within the stone hearth for several long moments before the burly fighter answered. Majandra listened with great interest. Unlike the rest of their group, Kaerion had refused Vaxor’soffer of healing, instead popping the wax seal on a clear flask and drawing a few swallows. After that, he’d bound his remaining wounds and stalked oft.Beyond recounting the events that had transpired, he’d hardly said two wordssince entering the University grounds.

“No,” Kaerion said in an even tone, “I’m sure it was theBrotherhood. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

This last was said with a rueful smile, one of the few Majandra had seen the fighter allow himself. The effect was devastating-evenwith the deep scratches that cut across his chin-and the half-elf found herselfdreaming up a hundred different ways she could bring such a smile to his lips.

“Well then, if the Scarlet Brotherhood is behind the attack,what should we do?” asked Bredeth.

The young noble paced restlessly about the confines of the chamber, anxiety present in every move. The group looked at Phathas, but it was Vaxor who responded.

“What we do next is get some rest. We’ve been up almost allday and night, and we have plenty to do in the coming hours. Because of tonight’s events, it’s clear that the city is no longer safe. We must push upour scheduled departure. Bredeth, you and Majandra should contact the caravan masters after you’ve had a chance to sleep. Tell them to be prepared to leave bytomorrow morning. Phathas, Gerwyth, Kaerion, and I will make sure that all of our provisions are stocked and ready to load on the wagons. Agreed?”

Majandra found herself nodding tiredly along with the rest of the group. Lack of sleep and fatigue had begun to take their toll. She smiled wryly at the probable reaction of the caravan masters, who would no doubt shriek and complain until more gold was thrown their way, but that experience would have to wait until she’d closed her eyes for just a few hours.

Stifling a yawn, she shuffled past Phathas, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and was rewarded with a tired smile. Despite the old man’s kindness, she found herself wondering, not for the first time, if he hadthe strength to complete the journey.

How much will this expedition cost us?

“Unforgivable!” Durgoth shouted into the dimly lit room,noting with smug satisfaction the faces that flinched before the sound of his voice included those of the two thieves’ guild members. In truth, he wasn’t allthat angry-anymore. Anger had long-since given way to pragmatic cunning, yet hestill raked the assembled cultists and their newfound allies with the fiery edge of his gaze. Fear was a useful tool, and one he wielded like a master.

“But lord,” Sydra replied in an uneven voice, “our targetspossessed considerable strength. Rarely have I encountered such power as when I battled the old mage. He was exceptionally skilled-even for a master wizard.”

He listened to the sorceress’ pathetic excuses with animpassive mien. The fact that she addressed him with a noble honorific amused him greatly, but she needed to understand what the rest of his followers already knew: He wouldn’t tolerate failure.

“I was under the impression,” Durgoth said, his voice lashingout like a whip, “that the Guildmaster offered me his very best. Apparently, hewas mistaken.”

“Not so, blessed one,” a voice spoke from the shadows.

It took Durgoth a few moments to locate Eltanel’sblack-cloaked form. The thief moved confidently forward, pushing past several cultists who stared wide-eyed at the man who so brazenly challenged their master.

Durgoth couldn’t help but smile at their reaction. The thiefcontinued forward, wounded pride evidenced in every motion, and for a moment the cleric wondered whether the man would be foolish enough to strike at him. He was about to signal the golem that stood ever vigilant at his back, but the dark-skinned thief stopped several paces away and stood with hands clasped behind his back, stance easy and open.

“What happened tonight was unfortunate,” Eltanel said, takinga moment to glare at his companion, who returned his scowl measure for measure, “but it was not a complete loss.” He brought one hand forward, holding severalthin scroll tubes. “I managed to acquire these before our friends gained theupper hand.” The thief shot another look at Sydra before handing the scrolls toDurgoth.

The cleric accepted the offering with a cold smile. This Eltanel was a cunning one. In a manner of moments, the thief had managed to distance himself from tonight’s defeat, subtly place the blame on his companion,and allow himself to look like the only one who had succeeded in any way. He would bear watching.

“My thanks, Eltanel, for your efforts. Perhaps I spoke toohastily. It appears that Reynard was partially correct in his assessment.”Durgoth watched as the sorceress’ golden eyes flashed angrily at the otherthief. There, he thought with satisfaction, with one phrase he had widened the gulf between the two thieves and insured that Sydra would kill herself to prove better than Eltanel.