Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Not that she wasn’t truly grateful for his aid the otherevening. Kaerion’s courage, skill with a blade, and poise under deadly attackhad turned the tide of battle in the Platinum Shield. She was convinced more than ever that Phathas had made the correct choice when he called upon an old friendship in his time of need. Their group would need the skills of Gerwyth and his moody companion if they were to succeed. And so much depended upon their success, she thought, shivering in the chill afternoon air.

Majandra continued to stare out in the direction Kaerion had headed, pulling at her lower lip thoughtfully. What was it that drove this embittered man, that forced him to keep the world and everyone in it at a distance? She’d watched him closely these past two weeks, hoping for some due.One thing was certain: something must have happened during the battle at the inn, something between he and Vaxor. It wasn’t just that Kaerion had quietlyremoved himself from the area when the Heironean priest was offering the healing of his god. The two men hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since that night,and Majandra could feel the tension growing.

Whatever the issue was, she was sure that it was tied up in some way to Kaerion’s impassioned comments about the “clear path.” Something hadoccurred in this man’s past, something truly tragic, and despite his bestattempts, it occasionally broke through the mask he wore. The depth of his pain had surprised her today, but even more disturbing had been the strength of her need to understand him.

What had begun as an instinctive desire to uncover what promised to be an intriguing tale had grown into something much more. Thinking about it, Majandra nearly laughed out loud at the irony. She, a bard and master of many fables, legends, and sagas, felt trapped in a story not of her own making. The truth of the matter was, she finally admitted to the rolling plains and angry gray clouds of the grasslands, Majandra Damar, bastard daughter of one of the noblest houses in the kingdom, was falling in love.

It wasn’t until her mare gave a whuffle of displeasure thatMajandra noticed the wet snow and icy rain, which had begun to fall once again.

The caravan continued through the grasslands for several more days, followed by the blustering wind and freezing rain of the storm. Despite well-built fires protected from the dousing snow and rain by a judicious use of Phathas’ magic, warmth eluded Kaerion. The days rolled by in miserable array,each one more uncomfortable than the last. Even though there were only a few weeks until Readying and the spring thaw, winter still held a tight grip upon the land, unwilling to yield its dominion. After the fourth consecutive afternoon of sleet and hail, Kaerion found himself looking forward to the oppressive heat of the Vast Swamp.

He wasn’t the only one affected by the continually drearyconditions. Spirits had dampened considerably since the expedition had left Rel Mord. The nights were spent in uncharacteristic silence around the fires, with many of the group’s members huddled together for warmth. Even the caravandrovers and guards, whose curses and world-weary comments were usually delivered with professional detachment, had begun complaining in earnest; tempers were ready to snap.

In the late afternoon of the eighth day, during a nasty hailstorm, Kaerion found himself in the midst of a heated discussion. Gerwyth, who had continued to scout ahead of the wagons, had just returned, his winded black gelding blowing plumes of steamy breath in the winter air. The elf had spotted the remains of a burned wagon about a league farther ahead, probably the work of bandits, and was recommending that the expedition circle up its wagons for the evening and make camp, using the remaining light to fortify their position.

“Absolutely not,” Bredeth said. “We still have a fair amountof light left, and I say we push on. We have a long distance to travel, and we shouldn’t waste time. Besides, we have little to fear from a pack of bandits.The scum would be no match for us.”

The incessantly poor disposition of the weather had brought about an equally irritating change in the young noble. The excitement of the journeys beginning had transformed Bredeth into a bearable, if not entirely pleasant traveling companion. He seemed to have left much of his arrogance inside the capital and would often undertake the necessary duties of traveling without too much protest. Unfortunately, the rigors of this trip had brought about the return of the all-too-familiar Bredeth, and Kaerion found himself clenching his fist with the effort of holding back the punch he wanted to deliver right on the highborn snob’s face. Was it possible that many of thenobles he once called friend acted the same way around those they felt as their inferiors?

“Are you so ready to shed blood needlessly?” Gerwyth replied.The elf stroked one hand lightly along his mount’s muzzle. Despite the whistlingwind and the sometimes-painful fall of hailstones, the ranger appeared undisturbed by the fierceness of the weather. “If we are cautious and take thetime to make camp here for the night, we reduce the chances that we will be attacked. Besides-” he pointed to the caravan drovers-“our team is tired. Themen need a chance to rest, as do the animals. We have driven them hard under difficult conditions.”

The young noble bristled as the elf spoke, but he offered no counter argument. Vaxor nodded at Gerwyth’s words. He squinted beneath thewind’s assault, motioning for the grizzled drover who was in charge of thecollected wagons. “Tell the rest of your team that we make camp here, and tellLandra to mount a double watch tonight.” He dismissed the drover with a curtnod.

Bredeth sighed and stalked off, no doubt ready to take his temper out on an unsuspecting guard. Kaerion was about to follow when he caught sight of Majandra, sharing a joke with one of the caravan’s teamsters. He hadspoken very little to the bard since their brief conversation the other day, and he found that puzzling. Since he had arrived in Rel Mord, the half-elf had always seemed a ready companion, willing to share a tale or, more likely, ask questions that he’d rather not answer. Lately, however, he had seen very littleof her-and was surprised by how much that bothered him. He had grown used to thebard’s presence and found himself wondering what she was doing. He’d have toapologize for his rudeness when he had the chance, and hope that she would have the grace to forgive him.

He was about to do just that, when a hand slapped his shoulder companionably. “Well, Kaer,” Gerwyth said, “how about you and I overseesome of the preparations for this evening and then enjoy the comforts of a warm fire?”

Kaerion turned and flashed the ranger a smile. “That soundsgood, Ger,” he said. “I’m tired of this damned snow and ice.”

Kaerion cast a quick glance behind him at the red-haired bard before joining his friend, but not before the elf managed to spot the target of his gaze.

“Oh-ho,” Gerwyth said with an arch of an angled eyebrow, “itseems that our friend has found himself a worthy cause after all.”

Kaerion shot his friend a barbed glance. “Leave it alone,Ger. I haven’t found anything.”

The elf nodded, a half smile playing about his lips.

“So,” Kaerion continued, hoping to change the conversation,“how bad was the wagon you found?”

The hail had finally stopped, and the ranger threw back his hood to run slender fingers through his hair, combing out the knots.

“Heavily damaged,” he said after a moment. “Whoever attackedthe wagon left nothing behind. The good thing is I don’t think they used magic.The damage to the wagon was extreme, but not enough to indicate the use of spells. There were numerous hoof prints. I tracked them for a while before they became obscured in the falling snow. There were about twelve of them, with another six or so on foot. Dangerous, but like our young whelp said, they’renothing we can’t handle.”