Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

This brought another round of laughter from the assembled guards-laughter that ceased as Kaerion summoned his last reserves of strengthand launched a series of blinding attacks. The metallic clash of steel rang through the small clearing as the two combatants traded blows almost too fast for anyone to see.

Kaerion pressed forward, weaving a net of sun-kissed steel before him, trying to use his greater size and reach to his advantage. Sweat continued to pour from his brow, but he ignored it, concentrating only on his opponent. The elf crafted an almost perfect defense, meeting each of the fighter’s attacks with an economical grace. Kaerion could feel himself weakeningpast the point of his own endurance. He analyzed his opponent for any weakness, any misstep-for he knew that he had to end this fight in the next few moments.

He found his opportunity as he aimed a horizontal blow at the ranger’s head. Years of fighting alongside his friend had given him insight intothe elf’s style; he knew it almost as well as he knew his own. Thus, it was easyto predict Gerwyth’s response to the head blow. The elf dropped to hisknees-where he would aim a deadly thrust at his opponent’s unprotected belly.

Kaerion shifted his stance and redirected his attack as soon as he felt the elf commit to his defense. His blade slashed downward, meeting the elf’s outthrust sword and driving its point into the ground. Before Gerwythcould react, Kaerion lashed out with a booted foot and caught the elf in the chest. Gerwyth fell backward, his sword falling from his hands. The fighter moved forward quickly and laid the point of his sword at his friend’s throat.

Silence filled the clearing, broken only by Kaerion’s gaspsas he forced air into his lungs. The two opponents held their position for a few moments, eyes blazing.

“Rather inelegantly done,” Gerwyth remarked after anothermoment, “but effective.”

A cheer rang out from the assembled guards, and Kaerion could hear the sound of money changing hands. Despite his own aversion to gambling, he couldn’t keep a wicked smile from his face. He wasn’t surprised to see that samesmile appear on Gerwyth’s face as the elf motioned for some aid in getting up.

His smile never faltered as they pushed their way through the press of guards who offered their congratulations and good-natured sympathy to both victor and defeated alike. Kaerion accepted his accolades with shrugs as he fumbled with the straps that held his now sweat-soaked armor.

“You fought well,” Gerwyth acknowledged in a not-quite ruefultone. He led the exhausted fighter down a small path that meandered away from the clearing. “I’m thinking that you are almost fully recovered, my friend.”

Kaerion, distracted by the effort of walking and shedding his seemingly cursed armor, only grunted at the elf’s praise.

“I mean it, Kaer,” Gerwyth said, turning to assist him. “Idon’t mind saying now that I was very worried about you while you were ill. I’venever seen anything like it-not even magic seemed to help. And Galadorn, welllet’s just say that sword of yours has stirred quite a bit of interest.” Thislast was uttered through gritted teeth as the elf wrestled with the final attachment.

Kaerion let out a contented sigh, as much to distract Gerwyth from talk of his ancient blade as from the sheer pleasure of shedding the thick leather armor and underpadding he’d worn the last hour. The ensuing weeks ofsundrenched activity following his illness had darkened his skin to a rich, bronze hue, the even tan broken only by the puckered edges of battle scars that stood out angrily in the harsh noon glare. He stretched luxuriously, enjoying the cool sensation of wind across the sweat-covered expanse of chest, shoulders, and back, before clapping the elf companionably about the shoulder.

“I understand, Ger,” he said, “and I appreciate all thatyou’ve done for me. But-” Kaerion stopped, unable to put voice to his thoughts.He was indeed touched and grateful for the elf’s companionship. Even had he notrecognized the elf’s deep affection for him long ago, the ranger’s actions sincehis illness made it very clear. But there was still part of him that ached with a grief so deep he’d spent the last ten years trying to drown it with ale andspirits. Though he was surprised that his other companions hadn’t yet called himout, he waited in dread for the moment of revelation, the moment when the discovery of what he had done would shatter the fragile peace he’d found, andhis newfound friends would turn their backs on him. No. He wasn’t quite ready toface them.

The elf seemed to sense his mood and lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile. “It is I who understand, Kaerion,” the elf said softly, thenin a louder voice, “Come my loutish friend! Let’s see if you can move thathulking human frame of yours as fast as you move your mouth.” He pointed downthe path, where somewhere in the distance the burbling call of a swift-moving stream promised relief from the unrelenting heat of the afternoon. “First one tothe stream fetches dinner for the loser,” he said, and then swiftly disappeareddown a bend in the path.

Kaerion cursed and dropped his armor in an undisciplined heap on the rock-strewn trail. A few moments later, both he and the elf were wrestling at the edge of the stream, each declaring the other defeated. The ranger wrapped one leg around Kaerion and pushed, hoping to trip the less-agile human, but the stubborn fighter held on and both plunged into the stream.

“No fair!” Kaerion sputtered. The shock of the still-coolstream water on his sun-warmed body nearly made him gasp again, but he contented himself with sending a cascade of water into the surprised elf’s face instead.The sight of the normally immaculate elf, hair drenched and ears dripping water, sent him into paroxysms of laughter that continued for quite some time.

“It appears,” Gerwyth finally said after he’d attempted toquiet his giggling friend with a stern glare for the third time, “that the sunand spring wind have healed more than just an illness.”

Sobered by his friends words, Kaerion stared thoughtfully at the elf. “Leave it be, Ger,” he said after a moment, but smiled to soften theremark. He really wasn’t ready to talk about it, but it was difficult to stayangry at an elf who resembled a dried grape. His laughter soon returned, and with it, another round of splashing. Bush and tree alike were soon soaked as the combatants continued their heroic combat.

“So, I see now why Phathas insisted that we hire you two asour guides and guardians,” a voice broke through the sounds of battle. “We’venothing to fear with both of your prodigious talents to protect us.”

Kaerion stopped his attack and turned to stare in horror at the source of the voice. Majandra leaned indolently against a tree, arms crossed, one brow arched high. He opened his mouth to say something-anything-andnearly choked as Gerwyth sent another wave of liquid streaming into his face.

“Does the fair lady wish to join me in my battle against thisgrave evil?” the elf asked as Kaerion sputtered and wheezed, trying to clear histhroat and lungs of water. He could hear his friend’s slightly wistful tone andfought back a wave of annoyance. He was surprisingly relieved when the bard begged off, citing duty.

“And that goes for you two as well,” she said, still with atrace of humor in her voice. “Phathas wants you both to recheck the supplieswe’ll be taking into the swamp. ‘No sense coming all this way just to go intothe Vast Swamp unprepared,’” the bard mimicked the old mage’s didactic toneperfectly, and Kaerion found himself smiling despite the water running down his face.

“We’ll be there in a few moments, Majandra,” he said, finallyovercoming the last effects of Gerwyth’s surprise attack.