Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Durgoth gave a soft curse. Elves. That’s all they neededright now. They had traveled for several weeks within the Rieuwood and he had half hoped they would pass through the forest untroubled by these damned elven patrols.

“You’ve done well, lad,” Durgoth said finally. “Go tell Sydraand Eltanel to prepare for an attack. And then go to the second wagon and quietly unlatch the door.”

The boy nodded in understanding. Hopefully, the two guild members would provide enough protection for their caravan. If not, the golem sat quiescent within their other wagon. Even now, the cleric could feel its dark life-force brooding, waiting to spring into action. If they struck quickly, they could kill these damned elves and push hard for the edge of the Rieuwood before other elven patrols would find them out. If not, their next few weeks within the forest would be one bloody battle.

“Go now, Adrys,” he said as he realized that thenovice still stood before him. “I will go to Jhagren and see what isdeveloping.”

The boy moved with surprising speed. Durgoth placed the Minthexian Codex within its hidden resting place before wrapping his cloak tight about him and stepping out of the wagon and into the rain.

By the time Durgoth plodded through the mud-churned road, his wagons had already stopped. Seven figures in forest-green cloaks stood in the center of the trail, talking to the caravan master. From this distance, Durgoth could see the stamp of elven blood on these warriors. Each had long hair wound tightly into warrior’s braids, and the silvery glint of polished mail peeked outthrough their cloaks. One of the elves, taller by almost a head than the rest of the band, stepped forward. His cloak was thrown back and secured by a clasp of silver oak leaves, and he wore a finely worked leather scabbard belted to his waist. Behind the elves, Durgoth could see the furtive movement of archers hidden within the trees. He moved closer to catch more of the conversation between the elf leader and his caravan master.

“But my lord,” the human protested, “we are simply a caravanbound for Sunndi. I can show you our trade manifests and merchant seals if you need them. We just-”

The elf cut the caravan masters explanation off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Save it, human. There is little room for pretense here.”

The elf’s voice was high and light, like most of his kind,but Durgoth could hear the menacing tones beneath it. They would probably have very little chance of talking their way out of this one.

“The forest has been uneasy for several weeks,” the elfcontinued, “and we have searched since then for the cause of its unrest.” Hemotioned with his other hand and two figures robed in white moved silently from the thick underbrush that hung closely on either side of the trade road. They flowed out of the underbrush as though emerging from water. Druids, most likely, Durgoth thought as he caught sight of the silver-white hair that fell unbound from their heads. Each carried a wooden staff tipped with a circle of holly leaf and berries. Silver scythes hung from their belt.

“The spirit of the forest recoils from every tread of yourwagons,” one of the druids said. His voice, though soft as the spring wind thathad followed their caravan through the Rieuwood, carried clearly to Durgoth.

“Whatever unnatural force you carry through our homeland,”the second druid said, “you will not be permitted to travel any farther. Thespirit of this place and the will of Ehlonna bid you to begone.”

Durgoth crept closer, keeping himself out of sight of the elves. Silently, he prayed that the cultist he had placed in charge of the caravan would hold together just a few more moments-at least until he knew thatEltanel and Sydra were ready for an attack.

The leader of the patrol stepped forward once more. “You areinstructed to turn your wagons and follow the trade road back the way you came. We will escort you to the borders of the Rieuwood. If you make no trouble and harm no living thing on this journey, we will allow you to live. Break this law, and we will kill you and drag your corpses out of the forest so that your taint will not trouble our homes. Is this understood?”

The caravan master stammered for a few moments, clearly too scared to answer the elf leader. Durgoth cursed, but stopped as he caught sight of Adrys. The young monk walked slowly and silently toward the front of the caravan, catching the cleric’s eye and nodding slightly. Durgoth gave a nodback, understanding that the guild members were in place. Moving forward swiftly now, he approached the gathered elves, his rain-soaked cloak trailing behind him.

“Perhaps we can come to some other agreement,” Durgoth saidin a strong voice.

The leader of the elves turned at the sound of the clerics voice, obviously stunned by this new arrival, but he recovered soon enough as the second druid hissed something in his ear. Swifter than Durgoth thought possible, the elf drew the length of his gleaming steel sword from its scabbard.

“Archers in the trees!” Durgoth shouted as he drew hisobsidian mace, trusting that Sydra would neutralize this threat.

He wasn’t disappointed. A fiery ball of energy flew out overthe head of the patrol as Durgoth closed with the elf leader. A moment later, a vicious burst of flames exploded in the treetops where the archers lay hidden. Durgoth could hear their screams as he parried a viper-quick thrust from his opponent. Both sword and mace hummed with power as they clashed.

Though the muddy ground around him churned and oozed with each step, it became clear to Durgoth that his opponent suffered no disadvantage from the terrain, moving with perfect balance and near blinding speed. Durgoth barely managed to raise up his mace in time to deflect a killing stroke. He cried out as the blade bit deeply into his shoulder, and in desperation, he called upon Tharizdun as he grabbed the elf’s sword arm. The stench of burningflesh assailed his nostrils as the cleric withdrew his hand. The elf stumbled backward, clutching his arm and screaming in agony.

Durgoth took that moment to withdraw a few feet, turning his attention to the rest of the battle. The shadowy form of Jhagren leapt forward to engage the wounded elf. He was pleased to see that Adrys was harrying two elves with a flurry of kicks and punches; both of those beleaguered fighters seemed surprised at the ferocity of this human child, and neither was able to mount a serious attack.

“Durgoth, beware the druids!” Sydra shouted.

He turned his attention to the two druids. One of them had drawn his scythe and was laying about with the sharpened edge, cutting the throats and chests of several cultists. The second, however, chanted something in a sharp voice and struck the ground with his staff. For a moment nothing happened, and then the limbs, branches, and trunks of the surrounding foliage writhed and grew before his eyes. If he didn’t do something soon, most of hisforces would be trapped within a verdant prison. Quickly, Durgoth recalled the ancient gestures to his spell and summoned the dark power of his Master once again. As he clapped his hands together, a small bubble of energy sprang forth before him, growing swiftly to encompass the caravan and the combatants. Wherever the druids writhing foliage touched the bubble, the plants blackened and died.

Durgoth wiped the sweat and rain from his brow and cast about the battle. Though Adrys had felled one of his opponents, a new one had stepped up, and it was clear that the young monk would soon be overmatched. His master fared little better. Jhagren struck furiously at the elf leader, but even wounded, the elf managed to avoid the blows. Meanwhile, Durgoth noticed that the remaining elven warriors were quickly cutting down his cultists.