Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Kaerion knew he could count on Gerwyth’s judgment. The elfhad once tracked a small band of goblins that had overrun a hamlet over ten leagues before surprising them in their lair. He’d truly come to appreciate theranger’s skill and fierceness.

“This will be the first of many dangers we encounter,” theelf said. “We’ll have to be doubly on guard once we head into Rieuwood.”

Kaerion caught a burst of red out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see Majandra talking with another teamster. She flashed him a bright smile, eyes sparkling. The bard’s smile unsettled him.Gerwyth was right. This was just the beginning. They would face many dangers on this journey. Kaerion only wished he knew which dangers would prove the greatest.

Blood ran into the silver bowl.

Durgoth sighed with impatience as the sorceress continued with her preparations. Scrying was never an easy task-especially when the targetwas a mage of the highest caliber. He understood the need for special precautions, but the woman had spent most of the morning locked away. The doddering mage and his foolish companions had left nearly eight days ago, fleeing the city earlier than expected. A thrill ran through Durgoth at the thought of his enemies and their rushed exit from Rel Mord, but now he needed to confirm their path.

A soft knock on the door to the small room presaged Jhagren’sentrance. The monk bowed perfunctorily in his usual not-quite-insolent way and waited for Durgoth to acknowledge him. Durgoth allowed himself a small smile as he continued to watch Sydra and her arcane ministrations. He would let his esteemed companion wait-a reminder of who truly held the power. The ruddy-facedman had said very little since the battle at the Platinum Shield, and Durgoth did not trust the man’s silence. Jhagren was a dangerous tool-perhaps toodangerous. Soon it would be time to cast away such an instrument before it had the opportunity to turn on its wielder.

Sydra’s clear voice interrupted his ramblings. The sorceresshad begun a soft chant as she poured more of the sacrificial blood into the ornate bowl that hung suspended from the ceiling by a thin chain. When Sydra was finished, she added a few more bundles of spiced wood to the brazier that burned dully about two feet beneath the bowl. The heat from the brazier would prevent the blood from thickening, thereby extending her ability to scry on their enemies. Frankly, Durgoth didn’t care much for the details. He simply wanted thewitch to give him the information he needed-and soon.

When it was clear that he would yet have to wait to fulfill his desire, the cleric turned to Jhagren and acknowledged the silent man with a wave of his hand. “Is everything in readiness?” he asked.

The monk nodded his head slightly. “Yes, blessed one. We havesecured wagons and enough horses to carry everyone. The merchant we dealt with was more than happy to provide for our needs, once we explained the alternatives.”

“Excellent,” Durgoth replied, wishing for a moment that hecould have been there to see the terror in the merchant’s eyes. “What ofEltanel?”

“The thief has arranged for provisions, though I’m told thatthe Guild Master was less than pleased to discover that he was funding our expedition.” The monk spoke softly, but Durgoth was sure he could detect a hintof amusement in the man’s voice.

“That old cur shouldn’t complain,” the cleric barked withlaughter. “After all, he’ll be drowning in riches.” For all the good it will dohim, he added silently, casting a glance at Sydra.

Durgoth turned from Jhagren without another word and rubbed his hands together, imagining the power that would flow through them. Once Tharizdun was free, nothing on Oerth would be able to stand against him.

“It is time, blessed one,” Sydra said suddenly, and for amoment, Durgoth forgot his dreams of power.

Quickly, he moved to stand by the sorceress, peering into the blood-filled bowl. The woman brought her hands together in a sharp clap and exhaled deeply. Durgoth felt the hair on his neck rise. Whatever else he thought of Sydra, the woman was gifted. Eldritch energy filled the room.

Eyes closed, the sorceress waved smooth-skinned hands over the bowl-once, twice. On the third pass, Durgoth saw the dark red liquidshimmer. In a few moments, the shimmering became a crimson radiance that pulsed like the beat of a heart. The cleric stared at the arcane display with great interest, the rhythm of his heart matching the pulsing incandescence.

Eventually, the light within the bowl grew brighter, and in a single powerful flash, resolved itself into startling detail. Sydra opened her eyes and rested her hands at her side. “It is done,” she said simply, and movedto the side, allowing Durgoth full view of the image in the bowl.

The cleric stared down at an image of an old man, wrapped in thick blankets. By the looks of his surroundings, he appeared to be resting within a small wooden structure. It was the mage, Durgoth decided after a moment. The old fool slept peacefully, never dreaming of the danger that haunted his every step.

“Could we not destroy him now, as he sleeps?” the clericasked.

Sydra shook her head before answering. “There are a fewspells I could cast through this mystic link. However, it is likely that a mage as powerful as Phathas would detect the arcane energy and erect a barrier.”

“It is just as well. The senile fool will prove useful to usbefore we destroy him. Once we are through with him, I leave his fate in your hands.”

The sorceress gave him a grim smile. “As you wish, blessedone.” Durgoth could almost hear the anticipation in her voice.

“I wish to see more,” he informed her after another momentspent examining the mage.

She nodded and stepped forward, this time whispering several words as she traced patterns into the surface of the steaming blood with a single finger. The scene shifted with a disorienting lurch, resolving again into an image of several wagons slogging across a snow-covered landscape.

“Do you recognize where they are?” he asked Sydra.

“Yes,” she replied after spending a few moments peering intothe bowl. “They are in the grasslands to the south and east of Rel Mord. It isas you said, blessed one.”

Yes, Durgoth thought. The scrolls that Eltanel had managed to pilfer from their room indicated this route. If they were headed for the Vast Swamp, which was a certainty according to their notes, they would avoid drawing too close to the coastline where the activity off Fairwind Bay would increase the ferocity of the winter weather. More than likely, they were headed for the confluence of the Harp and Lyre Rivers. From there, they would probably turn south, skirt the Bonewood Forest, and follow the river south into Rieuwood. It was a good plan, one that he would have created himself. Perhaps these nobles were not so foolish as he originally had thought. It mattered little, however, as he would make sure that they were all dead before he completed his task.

Durgoth was about to order the sorceress to end the scrying and prepare his followers for their journey when he caught a fiery flash of red. Looking closer, the cleric was pleased to discover that the distracting color was not the result of a torch or other such incendiary device, but it was due to the wind lashing through the hair of an enchanting woman. Her elven ancestry was apparent in the elegant cheekbones and slightly alien features, but these only served to heighten her beauty. Durgoth felt an unfamiliar warmth building in his loins. It had been quite some time since he had deigned to indulge himself in the pleasures of the flesh-perhaps too long. He would keep this one alive afterhe had dealt with the rest of her companions. He knew he would tire of her in time, but his nights would be filled with sport until then.