Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Satisfied, Durgoth turned his attention back to the rest of his followers. “It is true that our enemies have great strength,” he said,pitching his voice so that it carried to the farthest corners of the room. “Butthe wise man may use the power of his enemies to his own advantage. This is what we will do. With the information we have gained this evening-” at this he cast abenevolent glance at Eltanel-“we will have a better idea of the location towhich our foes will travel.”

“But what about the prophecy?” a voice shouted from thecenter of the assembled cultists, eliciting a supporting murmur from the group.

“The prophecy has led us here,” Durgoth snapped. He noted theidentity of the speaker and absently reminded himself to have the man’s tonguecut out for his insolence. “I have faith in the will of Tharizdun, and it is hiswill that has guided us here.”

He glanced out at the assembly with satisfaction. Invoking the name of the Imprisoned One had brought them to silence. He could see the gleam of faith in their eyes. They would follow his lead unquestioningly.

“Our enemies seek the tomb of Acererak, as do we. There willno doubt be great danger on the journey, and we shall let our foes spend their strength overcoming these perils. They shall lead us to the tomb, and when they stand exhausted at the gates of the wizards resting place, we shall sacrifice them to appease the dark god’s hunger. Once our enemies have been vanquished wewill be able to collect the key and release Tharizdun from his eternal prison.”

This last he delivered triumphantly, hands raised above his head in the traditional blessing. The group responded instantly, chanting the Eight Dark Names of Tharizdun. Durgoth lowered his hands slowly before him, and the assembled cultists fell to their knees in homage to the dark god.

The cleric watched as Sydra and Eltanel left the room, no doubt to report their findings to the Guildmaster. It was important for Reynard to know exactly with whom he had made a deal. It would make it that much sweeter when Durgoth bent his power to destroying the city-including the scum who livedin its shadows-in the name of Tharizdun.

Durgoth smiled in anticipation and closed his eyes as the prayers of his followers swelled over him in waves.

Everything was proceeding perfectly.

Gray clouds hung like a shroud over the sweeping grasslandsof Nyrond, casting a chill shadow on the line of wagons and horses that crept along the rough road. Wet snow and freezing rain fell hard from the sky, driven by the bitter lash of the wind. Even the thick-skinned oxen, normally dull and placid as they pulled their wagons, bent their heads beneath the wintry blasts and let out deep-throated grumbles of protest.

Kaerion pulled the thick expanse of his winter cloak tightly about him, seeking in vain for some protection against the needles of ice that struck painfully against exposed skin. Cold beads of moisture ran down from his matted hair, gathering at the frozen tip of nose and beard. These he swept away with an angry mutter and a swift motion of his gloved hand, but he couldn’tprevent the occasional drop from running down his neck and underneath the bulk of his chainmail. He shuddered once again and was forced to grab hold of the reins as his horse, a powerfully built roan stallion, shifted nervously beneath him, obviously sensing its rider’s discomfort.

Not an auspicious beginning to their journey, Kaerion thought miserably, and ran a hand across the bulk of his saddlebag, absently checking the complement of filled wineskins he’d brought along. The group had awoken wellbefore dawn and made their way from the University to the caravans staging area in the trade district. They spent most of their time during the pre-dawn gloom double-checking their supplies and making last-minute deals with the caravan merchant’s agents, who were only too eager to sell any in-demand item or servicefor twice its price.

They left Rel Mord as soon as the gates were thrown wide against the unrelieved gloom of a forbidding winter sky-though the weather hadbeen kind enough to wait until mid-morning before showering them with its gifts. Now, the expedition plodded forward, six wagons full of food, clothing, spare wood and nails for repairs, pick axes, shovels and other excavating equipment, empty chests for carrying Acererak’s treasure, and all the sundry provisions and supplies required for such an undertaking.

Roughly a dozen drovers and an equal amount of caravan guards had joined them on their journey, sharing crude humor and a rough camaraderie as they went about their business. Kaerion noted the guards with interest. Though most of them seemed like typical down-on-their-luck hired swords, their captain, a steely-eyed woman of indeterminate age, moved with the confidence and grace of a trained warrior. He watched as the woman, who called herself Landra, barked orders that sent the various guards stumbling into formation around the caravan. It was clear to Kaerion after a few moments that her tongue was as sharp as herwit, and he made a note to find out more about her.

Of the nobles who embarked upon this journey, Kaerion was pleasantly surprised to discover that only Phathas remained in the relative comfort of a wagon. Still recovering from his wounds from the battle at the Platinum Shield, the old mage had originally insisted in joining the rest of the group on horseback, and it wasn’t until Vaxor had threatened the mage withbodily harm that he had finally relented.

Though there was little danger of being attacked so close to the capitol of Nyrond, their recent battle had added a cautious element to the expedition. They did not want to leave anything to chance. Thus it was decided that Gerwyth would scout ahead of the caravan, alert for any danger, while Kaerion and a small complement of guards would lag behind, ready to discourage any pursuit. Vaxor, Bredeth, and Majandra wove themselves into the patrols of the remaining guards, roving on either side of the caravan train. Once they left the shadow of Rel Mord, it would be several weeks before they found themselves near the walls of a major settlement or city, and this area could hold dangers beyond that of simple brigands.

A sharp gust of wind blew across the grasslands. Kaerion gasped as its swirling fingers rustled through his cloak, sending shivers throughout his body. He cursed and reached for the edges of his wet cloak once again. He didn’t know if he’d be able to survive the coming weeks and months.Between the bitter assault of the weather and the suspicious silence that had grown between he and Vaxor, Kaerion didn’t know how long he’d be able to last.

He’d studiously avoided the Heironean cleric ever since thenight of the battle, and it was fairly clear that the priest was doing the same. Kaerion thought the cleric might have discovered his secret, and the very possibility had kept him from sleeping ever since. He had shared his suspicions with Gerwyth, but the elf had quickly dismissed them. If what Kaerion had reported to his friend about the Heironean church was true, the elf had suggested, then Vaxor would have been honor bound not to offer any aid, comfort, or sustenance to Kaerion. Vaxor would not have allowed Kaerion to remain a member of the expedition. The elf’s argument was a good one, but Kaerioncouldn’t shake the belief that Vaxor’s silence implied condemnation. The strainof such belief, combined with nearly two days without sleep, had begun to wear upon Kaerion. Already his head ached with the need for strong wine-and it wouldonly get worse. At least, he thought, his insomnia had kept the nightmares at bay.