Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Kaerion lay there, stunned by the deep sincerity present in the ranger’s words and expression. Through ten years’ worth of travel, he hadrarely seen this side of the normally quixotic and carefree elf.

“That means more to me than you know, Ger,” Kaerion said,“but now that the rest of them have discovered my secret, they will have to turntheir backs on me. It is the Church of Heironeous that sponsors this expedition. Surely you see that.”

“The rest of our companions have not discovered your‘secret’, Kaer,” Gerwyth replied. “They have seen a sword, nothing more.”

“But they must suspect something, and Vaxor-”

“Suspicions are like goblins, or at least that’s what mymother always told me,” interrupted Gerwyth. “They breed almost everywhere, butfall to a single arrow easily enough. And do not trouble yourself about Vaxor.”

“The significance of Galadorn can’t be lost upon him,”Kaerion said. “He must know, and I’m sure that he will tell the others.”

“The priest has said nothing to the others,” the elf said,“and if he does, it will be your opportunity to confront the very thing you havebeen running from. That will be the true measure of your courage.”

Kaerion nodded. “Perhaps you’re right, Ger. Though what willthe others think of me? I’ve grown used to the rudeness of strangers, but not-”

“Those you care about,” Gerwyth finished. “Is it really theothers you care about? Or perhaps it’s the regard of a certain fiery-haired bardthat you’re really concerned with.”

Kaerion shifted uncomfortably in his bedding, feeling a hot flush blossoming on his face. He ran pale fingers though his tangled and sweat-crusted hair, hoping the movement would mask the red tinge he was sure marked his cheeks and neck. “Wh-what are you talking about, Ger?” he stammered.

The elf smiled, obviously enjoying his friend’s discomfort.“Come on, Kaer,” Gerwyth said, “I can track a brownie across rock-strewnfoothills. Surely I can see the obvious attraction between a man and a woman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kaerion said inclipped tones. “There is nothing between Majandra and I.”

“And I’m a priestess of Lolth,” Gerwyth replied. “Gods, Kaer,I have eyes. I can see it clearly. You two care for each other-though whyMajandra would be interested in a brutish lout like you I’ll never know.”

Kaerion grabbed for the waterskin and took several more long swallows, ignoring the elf. When he was finished, he tossed the skin to the side. “Just leave it alone, Ger,” Kaerion said tersely. “Nothing is going tohappen between Majandra and I-especially not now.”

Gerwyth shook his head. “But why, Kaer? You’ve never taken anoath of celibacy. Just tell her how you feel. You must know she cares about you. Besides, if you get your feelings out in the open, you two can stop mooning over each other like a couple of lovesick-”

Kaerion tossed back his blankets in frustration. “Just…leave it be, Ger,” he said between clenched teeth.

The elf looked as if he would say more, but suddenly threw up his hands and stood. “Now I know you’re on the mend,” he said.

“Why’s that?” Kaerion asked, still somewhat sullen.

“Because you’re getting more stubborn and pig-headed everyday,” the elf replied. “Pretty soon you’ll be back to the mulish, dull-wittedhuman I’ve come to know so well.”

His friend’s words brought a ghost of a smile to Kaerion’sface. “And don’t you forget it either,” he said after a moment. “Now go-” hewaved an imperious hand at the elf-“and let me enjoy this beautiful morning inpeace.”

“As you command,” Gerwyth said, offering a mock bow that madeKaerion laugh. “But tomorrow you and I are going for a walk. Phathas says thatyou should be up and about more often, regaining your strength. Once we’re outof the Rieuwood, it’s a short journey to the borders of the Vast Swamp. I’mgoing to need the strength of your sword arm and whatever wits have managed to survive in your head if we’re going to make it to the tomb safely.”

Kaerion watched the elf as he stepped nimbly out of the wagon and into the bright spring day. The smile that played upon his face remained for a while, and he realized that his spirits felt lighter than they had in quite some time. Soon he would be out of this damned wagon, a useful member of the expedition again. After that… he grimaced. Well, only time would tell.

Majandra sat enjoying the fire that crackled fitfully in the small clearing. Around her, the members of their expedition shared light conversation and an even lighter skin of wine as they finished up the remains of the thick stew that had sustained them through much of their journey. Occasionally, the sharp laughter of a teamster or the whispered words of passing sentries broke through the pleasant din of conversation, reminding her once again of the serious nature of their expedition. She was glad, however, that such a distraction existed. Though the elves patrolled the forested depths of the Rieuwood regularly, danger still lurked within the shadows of its leafy bowers-dangers that could have followed them all the way from Rel Mord. She feltcomforted by the hushed tread of the guards as they stood watch against the night.

A cool breeze blew softly through the trees, rustling branches and limbs heavy with the rounded swell of leaf buds. Majandra closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, grateful for the early spring wind, so redolent with the fragrance of stem and flower and the blossoming scent of new life. A part of her felt deeply at home here in the wild heart of the Rieuwood, and she yearned to slip quietly away from the caravan and find a clear running stream where she could bathe beneath the soft moonlight and fall asleep on its mossy banks.

She opened her eyes and sighed, recognizing the familiar ache for what it was-the stirring of her elven blood. Away from the confines of citylife and unrelenting din of civilization, it was easy to imagine herself living permanently under nature’s roof. Not for the first time, she found herselfenvying her elven cousins. Her own half-elven heritage had often made her feel like an outsider. The elves of this forest, she knew, felt no such separation. Perhaps one day she would follow the call of her blood, but not now. The future of Nyrond was at stake, and she could not deny its need.

Majandra reached for her harp, comforted by its familiar curves and the grain of its polished wood. Half of Luna’s face moved slowlyacross the sky as the bard idly plucked at the strings of the harp, all the while listening to Phathas and Gerwyth regale the rest of the group with tales from their adventuring days. She enjoyed the distraction, weaving gentle melodies between the measured cadence of the ranger’s voice and the answeringretorts of both Bredeth and Vaxor.

It wasn’t until the wineskin had been filled, passed around,and filled again many times that conversation drifted to the topic that had filled Majandra’s mind for many weeks.

“So, Gerwyth, how fares our mysterious friend?” Bredeth askedin a voice roughened by too much alcohol. The young noble sat unsteadily on an old log, leaning across the glowing coals of the fire. In the dull light, his face looked flushed and puffy, the shadows adding years to his normally youthful appearance.

“Kaerion is doing well enough,” Gerwyth responded with asmile. “He grows stronger daily, and he should be strong enough to sit a horsein a few days.”

Majandra stopped playing at the sound of the dark-haired warrior’s name. She gave a quick look around and was glad to see that no one hadnoticed. The mundane needs of the caravan and the recovering fighter’s ownforays into the forest with Gerwyth had kept her from visiting with Kaerion these past few days. Though she tried her best to control her thoughts, she was surprised at how often they had settled on the wounded fighter during that time. She bent graceful hands back to the silver strings and began to play once more.