Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Majandra smiled softly as she noticed several of the previously sleeping guards, as well as her own companions, angle their bedrolls toward her, eager expressions on their faces. Gently, she ran her fingers across the harp strings, loosening muscles stiff with fatigue and disuse. Music tumbled forth from the instrument like rain, falling in playful patches as the half-elf wove several different melodies together, tantalizing her listeners.

The bard smiled again as her fingers moved faster and faster across the strings. Still, she searched with a performer’s covert eye for theone person for whom she really wanted to play this night. She found him, a hulking shadow patrolling the edges of the camp, implacable and tireless. Beneath the warrior’s cloak, the links of a mail shirt gleamed brightly. Seeingthis, Majandra recalled the words of a song made popular during the Greyhawk Wars.

Mantled still in light-forged mail,

Whitehart held the crumbling line;

Though thousands strong fell ’neath the touch

Of Iuz’s claws and demon throng.

The half-elf almost gasped out loud as the truth camecrashing down upon her. How could she have been so blind? All of it made sense now: the mysterious presence of the sword, Vaxor’s cold attitude, the warrior’sown reticence. It fit perfectly.

Majandra’s discovery brought a surge of emotion welling up,and she wanted to crow with delight Instead, her fingers quickly strummed the opening chords to the song. Raising her voice only slightly, for they were still in the middle of a dangerous swamp, possibly surrounded by enemies, the half-elf began to sing the first stanza of “Whitehart’s Hope.” Knowing the power of thissong, and knowing the depths of her own talent, the bard was unsurprised to see the rest of the camp caught up in the driving pulse of the music. Here, engulfed in a forbidding land, surrounded by darkness and an unseen enemy, the members of the expedition could take strength in the courage, nobility, and valor of the Whitehart, one of the most celebrated paladins in all the Shield Lands.

She smiled at the thought that this legend was even closer to them than they had dared realize, but the smile faded, replaced by the focused demeanor of a consummate musician-head cocked slightly to the side, eyes closedas if listening to a ratified stream of music undetectable by the normal ear-asshe played through one of the most difficult passages in the song. Absorbed completely by the demands of the tune, still Majandra could sense the hope and courage rising in her audience, could feel the give and take, the marvelous interplay of energy as performer and listener were enfolded in the music, made one, however briefly, by the crystalline purity of each note.

It was only when a shadow fell over her and Majandra looked up into Kaerion’s stricken face, eyes white with equal parts fury and agony,that she realized her mistake.

“Calm night out there, isn’t it?” the guard to Kaerion’s leftwhispered, not quite masking his apprehensive tone.

Kaerion grunted and threw a thin cloak about his shoulders, fastening it with the metal clasp. Despite the heat, he had ordered all of the sentries to cover their armor. Moonlight on mail made for an inviting target. As sweat began to drip from his neck, he once again cursed the necessity. If whatever was following them didn’t kill them, the thick, humid air andunrelenting heat certainly would.

“It’s calm enough,” he said, “but you can rest assured thatour friends are out there, waiting for their moment.”

“What do you think they are?” another whispered. This time,surprisingly, from Bredeth, who had volunteered for second watch.

Kaerion shrugged and offered another grunt. “Gerwyth believesthey’re bullywugs, some type of swamp humanoid with a nasty disposition. Neverfought against any myself.”

“I don’t care what they are,” said the first guard, “as longas they bleed when I cut ’em.” He punctuated his statement with a twist of hissword.

Despite the tension of the situation, Kaerion found himself smiling, and was even more surprised to note that Bredeth had also captured the mood. The young noble bore a fierce grin of his own. These are good warriors, Kaerion thought. I would hate too lose any of them to this cursed swamp.

A sudden morbidity, at odds with the spirit of the moment, crept over him. Shaking off his negative thoughts, he clapped Bredeth and the guard lightly on the shoulders. “Both of you spread out,” he said softly, “butremain within each other’s hearing. If either of you sense anything out of theordinary, alert the other before going to investigate. I’ll spread the word tothe rest of the watch.” With that, Kaerion moved silently away from the two men,confident in their training and skill to see them through.

As he wandered from sentry post to sentry post, Kaerion observed the camp, wondering how long the expedition could continue to function under the strain of ever-present danger. Looking at the camp from the perimeter, it was evident that the men and women within its bounds had undergone a forced march for several days. Exhaustion had finally taken its toll, and Kaerion could see by the weary way his companions stumbled into their bedrolls or hung their heads that they had reached the end of their endurance. Living under the constant threat of attack brought its own attendant dangers to morale, as well as tempers. It was only a matter of time before either frayed past the point of restraint. Someone would do something foolish; mistakes, possibly life threatening ones, would be made. If their enemies were going to attack, Kaerion thought, they had better do it soon.

The breathtaking sounds of a harp drifted lightly through the thick night air, and Kaerion smiled as he recognized Majandra’s masterfulplaying. For a moment, his warrior’s instincts objected to the superfluous noisethat could draw unwanted attention to their camp. But they already had unwanted attention. It was unlikely that their pursuers didn’t already know where theywere.

A shift in the night air brought all of his senses to attention. Kaerion looked about quickly, searching for the source of this disturbance. His heart raced faster than a war-horse in a joust, and a feeling of dread crept up his spine. What in the Nine Hells could be unsettling him so?

And then he realized it.

It hadn’t been the night air that had changed. It was themusic. As he listened to the opening strains of a song he hadn’t heard in overten years, he felt as if a sharp arrow had imbedded itself deep in his chest. Someone had discovered his secret, and now the bard was revealing it to the entire expedition. Panic gripped him, as the words to the song rang out with accusation.

Betrayer!

Coward!

Child-killer!

Out of the darkness, he could see leering faces appear, demons and demon-spawn as familiar to him as the unrelenting press of hatred and grief over his own cowardly actions. The healing scabs that had formed over his wounds during the past few months were ripped open, and he felt soul-tearing pain as the memories of his abominable disgrace poured forth. Kaerion knew that he was unworthy of the friendships bestowed upon him, and he prayed for the first time in nearly a decade, that the god he betrayed would strike him dead.

Even the great moon cast its judgment upon him, for in its face he saw the features of an innocent boy smiling expectantly down on him-aboy he knew now lay dead, his desiccated corpse rotting in a demon-cursed dungeon.

Oblivious to his own pain, the song continued. Each word was like a glass-tipped whip lashed against the raw wounds of his spirit. Kaerion closed his eyes and threw his hands up to cover his ears in an attempt to shut out the music-but to no avail. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprisedto see Majandra’s face staring up at him from her seat on the ground. His ownlegs had betrayed him, carrying him to the source of his pain, like a sacrifice.