Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Nor was it only their expedition that had suffered the sting of the cruel traps protecting the ancient tomb. During the course of their excavation, the guards had uncovered fragments of armor, bits of bone, even the cracked and shattered remains of almost whole skeletons-all of it a grimtestament to the devilishly cunning construction of the tomb’s protection. Notfor the first time, Majandra found herself wondering how many enterprising souls had braved the horrors of the Vast Swamp, only to die here at the doorstep of Acererak’s tomb.

These were truly dark thoughts, she realized, for one so close to completing a quest that had occupied much of her time these past three years. And yet, she found most of her thoughts taking dark turns ever since Kaerion and Gerwyth had set out in search of Bredeth.

“Worried, child?” asked a voice from somewhere close behindher.

Majandra jumped with surprise before recognizing Vaxor’s deepbaritone. Turning, she saw that the cleric had walked up while she had been deep in thought. He now stood there solicitously, his deep-set eyes searching yet compassionate as they seemed to look through her. Often, when confronted by full-blooded humans who insisted on classifying her as young-and therefore thetarget of patronizing discourses on life-the half-elf fought the urge to pointout that she was, in all likelihood, as old, if not older, than they.

Somehow, the urge never manifested itself when she spoke with Vaxor. Nor did it do so now. Something in the man’s demeanor would have made anysuch statement seem crass and petty. Instead, she swallowed and said, “They havebeen gone nearly five days, Vaxor, and even Phathas’ attempts at scrying havenot revealed anything. Of course I’m worried.”

The cleric placed a battle-roughened hand upon her shoulder. “I understand your concern, but Gerwyth is as skilled a ranger as ever I’veseen. He has led us safely through danger countless times. If anything, I’dworry about those bullywugs. They are probably still trying to find out what army has swept through their tribal lands.”

In spite of everything, Majandra found herself smiling. What Vaxor said was most likely true. Yet for all of his comforting words, he had not mentioned Kaerion, and it was clear to the bard’s trained ear that the omissionwas deliberate. Despite all they had gone through these past several months, the fallen paladin stood as a barrier between Majandra and the cleric, as if Vaxor’sobvious distaste for Kaerion had now somehow extended to a part of her. She should have been angry at the priest’s uncompromising righteousness, hisunyielding judgment. Instead, Majandra found herself profoundly saddened. That a good and noble man such as Vaxor should be so blinded by his own fanaticism was a cause for sorrow, not fury.

Her smile fading, the bard returned Vaxor’s steady gaze. Thetwo stood in tense silence until the cursing shouts of several guards broke the deadlock. It was Landra, however, all cool efficiency and control, who actually approached the gruff Heironean priest.

“The men say the rock in the collapsed tunnel is too hard forthem to break through with their tools,” the guard captain reported. “They’llneed some help, preferably of the arcane kind.”

“At once,” was all that Vaxor said, before hurrying off tofind Phathas. As Majandra watched the cleric go, she couldn’t help but seeLandra’s face twist into a grimace.

“Bit of an old lemon, if you ask me,” the weathered fightersaid conspiratorially. “That man could use the largest wineskin this side of theGlorioles. Do him some good.” And then she, too, turned and walked back towardher charges. This time, Majandra’s face split into a wide grin, her spiritstruly lifted.

Moments later, the bard watched as Phathas walked slowly up to the small passage the guards had cleared in the collapsed tunnel. Quietly, the sweat-soaked men and women assembled behind the mage as he raised thin arms above his head. Silence filled the camp as the old man’s dexterous hands wovecomplex patterns in the air. Again, the half-elf watched her former master with pride and not a little awe. Even bent by age and the weight of his long life, Phathas’ consummate skill was apparent in every gesture and motion. Here was awizard who had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the mastery of arcane forces-forces that gathered even now at his fingertips.

Majandra watched as the spell neared its completion. The hair at the base of her neck prickled with the strength of the latent power Phathas had summoned With a final flourish and several short commands in the elusive and subtle language of magic, the wizard extended one fist sharply before him.

Nothing happened.

And then the world exploded in a cloud of dust and rock as large volumes of dirt and stone were obliterated. Another round of cheers rose up from the guards when the gentle wind blew the haze of detritus away, revealing the smooth worked stone of a passageway leading deeper into the hill. Cheers soon turned to cries of dismay, however, as a blast of fetid air erupted from the passageway, causing everyone in the assembly to fall to their knees retching. Even from her relatively safe vantage point among the supply rafts, Majandra gagged as the stench of corruption wafted toward her. If there was ever any doubt that something dark and evil inhabited the ancient tomb, it was put to rest by the foul odor emanating from the newly unearthed tunnel.

This time it was Vaxor who rose to his feet before the entrance. Covering his face with one arm, he raised his holy symbol before him and called upon the Arch Paladin for aid. A bluish-white glow suffused the silver symbol, flaring sharply as another gust of wind brought a rush of foul air up from the passageway. For a moment, Majandra thought the cleric would fall back before the blast, but instead he moved a step forward and called upon his god again. A peal of thunder erupted as Vaxor completed his prayer, and a gentle rain began to fall.

Majandra cried out in surprise as a familiar smell washed over the company. For where every drop of rain struck, there sprang the lush scent of roses. The rest of the expedition was equally stunned. Each member raised their arms in wonder at the sweet relief of the god’s rain, and severalburst into laughter. And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the misting rain stopped. And yet, the smell of roses lingered still, overpowering the rank air from the tomb.

The half-elf walked quickly over to where the priest was assisting Phathas to his feet. “That was wonderfully done, Vaxor,” she said withmore feeling than she intended.

The cleric offered her a courtly bow. “Though Heironeous isthe Lord of War, there is beauty in his service, my lady,” he said with only ahint of reproach reaching her ears.

Phathas, quiet during this exchange, placed a shaking hand upon Vaxor’s shoulder. “Well done, my friend,” he said. “Well done.” And then toLandra, who had approached quietly-“Assemble your guards and have them gatherthe supplies we’ll need for the rest of our journey. We will soon enterAcererak’s tomb.”

Majandra turned and walked back to the supply rafts, planning to assist the guards in their task. She very nearly stumbled when a familiar voice cut across the camp.

“How very much like humans,” Gerwyth shouted to no one inparticular, “leaving before the guests arrive!”

The half-elf cast a hopeful look in the direction of the voice and felt her heart lurch as she saw only the ranger helping the battered Bredeth down the path toward the encampment. Just as a sob welled in her throat, she caught sight of Kaerion, and, to her surprise, another figure-a young man,walking behind the elf. Somewhere inside the excited jumble that made up her thoughts, Majandra knew that she should be curious about the new arrival, but her feet had already begun to propel her toward a certain black-maned fighter, and all questions evaporated as she threw her arms around him.