Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

He had been positively enraged when Braggsh and a contingent of his sniveling pondmates had burst into their camp, screaming and hissing about their defeat at the hands of those noble fools. He was halfway toward eviscerating the entire worthless group of the disgusting creatures when he had caught sight of the drooping figure two of the bullywug warriors held between them. All had not been lost. Now, as Durgoth probed their captive for information, plans upon plans swirled around in his head.

“Boy,” he said at last, contempt for the bastard’s misplacedarrogance dripping from every word, “when I am through with this world, the NineHells will seem like Beory’s own paradise in comparison.”

The warrior grinned. “Bold words,” he said, “for someone whoneeds talking frogs to do his dirty work for him.”

“Fool!” Durgoth shouted, immediately regretting his loss oftemper. Then, in more measured tones he said, “You dare mock me, the bearer ofTharizdun’s will? For that, I will feed you to the Dark One myself… after youhave served your purpose.”

“This for your pathetic godling,” the captive said, and thenhe hawked bloodied spittle into the dark cleric’s face.

Durgoth spun away in outrage, hastily wiping the spit from his brow. Such insolence! Anger building, he turned back toward the warrior with raised fist and was gratified to see the captured noble wince in expectation of the blow. A smile slowly spread across the dark priest’s features, and he heldhis attack.

“There will come a time,” he said to the glaring prisoner,“when you will remember my clenched fist, and your agony will be so great thatyou would trade your very soul to feel its weight upon your face rather than suffer for one more moment. When that happens, I want you to remember that it was your blasphemy that brought you there.”

“Let me spend some time with the boy, Durgoth,” broke in ahusky voice from behind him. “I’m sure I can loosen his… tongue and make himmore amenable to cooperation.”

Durgoth turned and acknowledged Sydra’s offer with a nod. Thesorceress lounged indolently against a fallen marsh tree, her hair bound off of her tanned shoulders with a silver cord that reflected the rays of the rising sun.

“You shall have your opportunity in a few moments, my dear,”the cleric said.

“I don’t see why we have to waste time on that,” Eltanel cutin. “It’s clear these nobles will come after their companion. Why not set a trapand kill them?”

Durgoth remained quiet a moment, carefully studying the two guild members. What had begun as simple competitiveness after their defeat in Rel Mord had grown into open antipathy. The discord pleased the cleric. While the two spent their energies against each other, they had less time to plot against him.

“You forget, my shadowy friend ,” he said, hisinflection leaving no doubt that he considered Eltanel anything but, “I requirethese fools alive until they bypass the tomb’s deadly traps. Then we shalldispose of them.”

Eltanel, obviously angered by his public error, spoke again. “They have proven difficult to kill on several occasions… blessed one,” headded hastily. “Surely an open assault would fail.”

Durgoth offered another in a seemingly endless array of silent curses to Reynard and his damned guild. Once the key was liberated from Acererak’s tomb, the priest’s erstwhile allies would find themselves paying forevery snide comment and insolent remark-Eltanel in particular.

“Though your lack of faith is unfortunate,” Durgothresponded, “you are partially correct in that an open assault would be verydangerous. That is why we will have hidden weapons.”

The cleric looked around the gathered assembly until he caught the eye of Jhagren Syn. Motioning the monk toward him, the dark priest continued, “Our young friend here will be the unseen knife poised to strike atthe backs of our enemies.”

“I will not betray my friends, you beggaring scum-spawn!” thecaptive warrior shouted. “I’ll die before I let you use me against them.”

Durgoth turned slightly toward the wounded warrior. “What youwant or don’t want is irrelevant,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.“Sydra, it is time.” He gestured toward the prisoner, who heightened his ownstruggles against the two bullywugs holding him fast.

“With pleasure,” the sorceress purred, as she knelt in frontof the noble and placed elegant hands upon his head.

“What if he fails?” questioned Eltanel, the thief’s distastefor what was about to happen poorly concealed beneath his aggressive questioning.

Durgoth noted the guildsman’s weakness and vowed to rememberit for future use. “Such questions, my dear Eltanel!” he responded with silkentones. “If he fads, there is another.”

With that, the cleric turned to face Jhagren Syn. The monk had gathered his apprentice and both stood calmly to his left. “Will the boyserve?” he asked.

“Yes, blessed one,” Jhagren responded evenly. “He willserve.”

Durgoth smiled down at the boy, who looked up at him with inscrutable blue eyes. “You know that he will need to look as if he’s beencaptured,” he said. “Are you prepared?”

“Yes, my lord,” the monk replied in his gravelly voice.

“Then proceed,” he said as he turned back toward thequestioning thief. Durgoth didn’t flinch as the sound of snapping bone echoedsharply through the camp.

Kaerion peered into the deepening gloom of the swamp, alert for any sign of their quarry. Below him, crouched low to the ground, Gerwyth examined the mud-soft path they had been following for most of the day. Twice now they had nearly lost the trail, for the creatures’ webbed feet ran lightlyacross the earth, and the foul beasts seemed to know every twist and turn of the gods-blasted swamp. Kaerion feared the worst as the elven ranger continued his examination, but he was too experienced to disrupt his friend’s concentration byvoicing his suspicions.

Despite the gravity of their situation, Kaerion found himself settling into the familiar and companionable silence that had characterized most of the day’s journey. It had been several months since the two of them hadtraveled together with only each other for support and comfort. Though he had grown to appreciate the friendship and trust of the Nyrondese-especially acertain fire-haired bard-there was a deeper bond that had grown between he andGerwyth across their years of travel and struggle together. It was simple and almost elemental. Kaerion had not known how much he missed it until now.

Not that their current journey was simply a pleasure jaunt he reminded himself. The bullywugs had taken Bredeth, and somewhere in the deepness of the swamp, their companion was held against his will. There had been quite an argument as the remaining Nyrondese nobles had discussed who should go after their friend. Kaerion still winced at Majandra’s words. The bard had a tongue assharp as any blade when she wished it. In the end, it had only been Phathas’surprisingly hard-edged insistence that the two guides should go and retrieve the captured noble that had convinced the bard to remain behind. He smiled briefly as he remembered the rebellious set of Majandra’s shoulders as sheacquiesced to the old mage’s wishes. In fact, he had half-expected to see thebard waiting for them at a juncture of their trail several times during the day.

“Ahh, I see that your mind is focused completely on our taskas usual,” Gerwyth said.

Kaerion, startled by his friend’s sudden speech, half drewhis sword before realizing that he had not been paying attention for some time. The elf had risen from his crouch and now stood close behind him. Confusion quickly became anger and embarrassment at his own lack of attention.