Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Shock and desperation warred within Kaerion’s breast. He wasgoing to die now. Betrayed by a child even as he himself had betrayed a child. There was a certain rightness to this act, a testament to the simple and brutal poetry of Heironeous’ justice.

The razor claws of the gargoyle descended upon him like an executioners axe-

Only to be met by the bulk of Vaxor’s body as the clericthrew himself between the monster and its intended target. Horrified, Kaerion watched as the beast’s diamond-sharp claws ripped through armor and skin, slicingopen the priest’s belly. Defiantly, Vaxor brought his own sword slashing againstthe creature’s neck, the movement pulling apart the remaining string of musclethat kept his entrails inside his body. Blood and organs spilled out onto the floor as the force of the noble’s final attack severed the monster’s stone headfrom its body. Bereft of its head, the rest of the monster shattered into a thousand pieces.

In the ensuing silence, the cleric cast a single glance at Kaerion before he coughed up a gout of blood and fell to the floor.

“No!” Kaerion shouted as he stumbled toward the fallencleric.

Vaxor lay on his back in the center of a widening pool of blood. Amazingly, he was still clinging to life, his breath coming swift and shallow, rattling ominously in his blood-gorged chest. Oblivious to the gore, Kaerion knelt, cradling Vaxor’s head in his hands. The cleric stared sightlesslyat the ceiling.

“F-forgive me,” the priest said roughly, a thin bubble ofblood and saliva forming at the corner of his cracked lips.

“Forgive you?” Kaerion said incredulously. “You saved mylife, Vaxor. What have you done that I must forgive?” Behind him, Kaerion heardthe others gather. He could feel their sorrow, like a knife-edge of grief it left his own heart exposed. Bitter tears stung his eyes.

The cleric coughed weakly, bringing up more blood. “Ifailed,” he said simply, his voice growing weaker. “In Rel Mord… at the inn.The god… spoke… to me.”

“Heironeous spoke to you,” Kaerion repeated, dread beginningto rise in him.

Vaxor nodded his head and swallowed a few times before continuing. “The god… spoke to me. Told me… who… what youwere.”

Kaerion held his breath, watching as the cleric’s featurestwisted in pain. The wounded man’s body gave a violent shudder.

“I… was supposed to… forgive you,” he continued. “Tobring you… back to… to the fold. But I could… n-not. My-unnhh-pridewouldn’t let me. I failed.”

“Nonsense,” Kaerion replied. “You shouldn’t talk of suchthings. It’s just the pain. A few healing potions will take care of everything.”The words came out fast-an attempt to deny the revelation contained in thecleric’s confession. Vaxor was obviously delirious. The cleric needed help now,and perhaps he’d forget the words he’d just spoken.

“Someone reach into my pouch,” Kaerion shouted at theassembly of guards behind him. “I have some healing potions.”

With surprising strength, Vaxor reached out a blind hand and grabbed hold of Kaerion’s arm. “No, my son. It’s too… late for that. Savethem… for when… they’ll do some… good.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Vaxor. You’ll be up and walkingthrough this tomb with the rest of us in no time at all.” Kaerion turned hishead to face the others. “Someone grab the healing potions!” he shouted, tearsrolling down his face. “Please!” This last came out as more of a heaving sobthan anything else-though truthfully Kaerion did not know whether it was thecleric’s words or his impending death that broke the dam of emotion he had beencarefully constructing ever since he fled the dungeons of Dorakaa.

“Enough…” Vaxor’s voice cut through Kaerion’s grief withan echo of its former power. “I have… battled death… long enough to not… shrink from it… when it comes for me. However… I ask… two thingsfrom the Arch Paladin’s greatest… living servant… before I…surrender.”

“Anything, Vaxor. Ask anything and I shall grant it to you ifit lies within my power.” The words spilled from Kaerion’s mouth withoutthought.

Another shudder racked Vaxor’s body, this one greater thanthe previous one. The cleric took a moment to recover before continuing. “Grantme… your forgiveness,” he asked, his voice little more than a gasp.

“Freely given, Vaxor,” the Kaerion said, still cradling thedying man’s head.

A thin smile creased the cleric’s face. “Then let me…place my hand upon… Galadorn… once b-before the… thedarkness…claims me. I would… feel its light before I die.”

Without a word, Kaerion unbelted the leather scabbard that held the holy sword. With infinite care, he extended the sheathed weapon, pommel first toward the cleric. Vaxor reached out blindly for a few moments before clasping the hilt with trembling hands. Incredibly, Kaerion watched as the central diamond set within the pommel glowed with a soft, white incandescence. It let out a single pulse, and then another as a third tremor struck the cleric’s frame. Gradually, the ghostly gleam of the diamond faded intonothingness. With a final breath, Vaxor released his grip upon the blade and died.

The screaming wouldn’t stop.

Despite himself, Durgoth grimaced at the shrill sound. Even with their ability to see what those Nyrondese fools had done, some of his followers still fell victim to the tomb’s diabolical traps. This situation,however, came about through the man’s own stupidity. Sydra had given thecultists explicit instructions on how to open each of the secret doors, information she had gleaned from the nobleman she controlled as completely as she did secretly.

The man curled in a bloody heap before Durgoth, the wicked barb of a spear imbedded in his stomach. The fool had simply misunderstood Sydra’s direction.

The screaming stopped for a moment as the wounded cultist noticed his master’s presence. “H-help me,” he pleaded, and Durgoth noticed withdistaste that blood flecked the man’s lips and chin.

“I shall, my child,” the cleric replied in his most soothingtone, conscious of the other cultists watching this exchange. Gently he laid a hand upon the now-whimpering man’s forehead. Closing his eyes, he whispered adark prayer to Tharizdun. With a final hiss, the cleric sent the power of his god arcing through the cultist. The man screamed one final time and then lay still, the life burned out of his body.

Durgoth rose and made a simple gesture of blessing on the corpse. Stupidity, he knew, should never be rewarded.

It was Eltanel, emerging from the shadowy length of the passage ahead, who finally broke the ensuing silence. “The way ahead is clear,blessed one,” he said. “I have marked the passage that the Nyrondese party hastaken. I recommend that we rest for a bit, or else we risk coming too close to them.”

Durgoth nodded at the man’s report, noting with interest thesweat covering the thief’s dark brow and the small wet circle along the man’sright thigh-no doubt blood. Whatever Eltanel had discovered, his passage throughthe tomb had not been as easy as he tried to pass off.

Durgoth offered the thief a knowing smile and was about to turn away when Jhagren spoke. “What of Adrys?” the monk asked, not quite hidinghis concern. “Did you see any sign of him?”

Durgoth blinked in surprise. In all of their time together, this was the first time he had seen a chink in the monk’s armor of emotionaldetachment. So, he noted, the man does care for his apprentice. This was useful information-information that could serve as a weapon in the future.

“No, Jhagren,” the thief replied at last. “I did not see anysign of Adrys.”