Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

He would have remained awake, but Majandra had made her resting place beside his. Even now, hours later, he could feel the soft touch of her fingers as they ran gently along his cheek while she hummed a quiet tune. It had only taken a few minutes beneath her ministrations before he had returned to sleep. But the images returned-and he had tossed and turned beneath theirhorrifying clarity. Thus, he had gratefully taken his place at watch when one of the guards shook him awake.

But that had been several hours ago, and now his exhausted body demanded more sleep. Kaerion shook his head to stifle another yawn. The others were stirring. There would be no time for rest until they had pushed farther into the tomb. Surveying the surviving members of their expedition, Kaerion felt his heart soften at the sight of Majandra rubbing sleep-encrusted eyes. Both she and Phathas had risen earlier than the rest of the party and poured over their spellbooks under the flickering light of a lantern. As he watched the half-elf’s fingers deftly rework her thick, sleep-ruffled hair intoa manageable ponytail, Kaerion fought down the urge to work the knots out of her neck and back with the palms of his own hand. Although he knew he was still unworthy to use words like duty and honor, he had a purpose here, and he would not compromise the group’s safety to yield to his own desires.

There were enough deadly things to contend with inside these walls. He didn’t want to chance losing another person to carelessness-orbetrayal. He saw the cruel smile play across Adrys’ face as clearly as if thelad was in front of him. He had been sorely misled by the boy’s act. There wouldbe a reckoning. Until then, Kaerion would stand his watch, vigilant as the others ran through the rest of their morning preparations. About a half-hour had passed, and he found himself wondering just what time it was on the surface.

“The sun has just peaked over the horizon,” Gerwyth informedthe group, as if reading Kaerion’s mind. The ranger finished his announcementwith a muted growl as he reached toward the ceiling and stretched out his muscles.

Kaerion smiled at his friend, used to the elf’s accuratepredictions. The smile faded quickly as he watched Phathas push himself to his feet. The mage, thin to begin with, had lost even more weight during the recent weeks. Skin that was paper thin hung gaunt and tight to the wizard’s skull.Kaerion could see new lines of grief and pain etched into the mazework of creases already in existence. Wrapped in the dirt-stained expanse of his gray-cowled cloak, the mage resembled nothing so much as one of the undead that no doubt haunted the grim corridors of this dungeon.

Only his eyes showed signs of life. Like twin sapphires they blazed with ferocious intensity. Whatever drove the mage, each step must surely have been an act of indomitable will. It was clear that after their experiences these past few months, the wizard would not tolerate any failure. Animated by such implacable commitment, the wizened spellcaster rose unsteadily from his resting place.

“It is time to continue,” Phathas said with a tired gasp. “Weare nearing the resting place of Acererak. I can feel it.”

Their preparations complete, the group assembled at the base of the passage, before the secret door. Previously, the party had followed the passage created by the sliding wall in the cursed chapel. Kaerion found himself once again thanking the bard’s recollection of Acererak’s poem, for it had savedthem a great deal of time. Two pits along the way will he found to lead to a fortuitous fall so check the wall, she had quoted to them as they made their way down the stone passage. Sure enough, they had encountered a number of pits, cleverly placed behind closed doors. Careful in their observation, they had discovered a concealed door at the base of one of the pits. It had led them to a descending stairway and yet another secret door. This one had been blocked by powerful magic, and it had taken Phathas several tries to bypass the door’swards. Exhausted, the mage had walked through the door and signaled that the party should rest.

Now, somewhat refreshed from their rough encampment, the group set out. A brief look down the turning passageway had revealed a short hallway ending in a door. Together, the party marched toward that door and, at an all-clear signal from the bard, they threw it open.

From his vantage point at the front of the party, Kaerion saw into a large room. The sting of dried herbs and dust assailed his nose and eyes before he had even taken a single step. The others coughed as Kaerion took several shallow breaths through his mouth and entered the room. In the light of his torch, he could see lines of shelves covering every foot of the wall. Clay pots, jars, and other containers cluttered each of the shelves, some of them lying on their sides, broken or cracked. A large desk and four tables were spaced evenly throughout the room. Carefully, Kaerion kicked aside the soiled wrappings that lay strewn about the floor and made his way toward one of the tables. In the center of the room stood three barrels, each filled with a dark liquid that reflected the flickering torchlight like the eyes of a waiting predator.

Phathas moved toward one of the tables and poked his staff through the cloth wrappings, broken pots, and bits of cracked and powdered bones that littered its scarred wooden top.

“A preparation room of some sort,” the mage said, and Kaerionfound himself straining to listen to the wizard’s rheumy voice. “No doubt whereAcererak’s servants prepared the dead who were to be buried with their evilmaster.”

“Looks like dirty water to me,” said one of the guards whohad moved quietly toward the first barrel and now leaned over its top. “Smellslike someone’s been using it as a middens,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Gerwyth’s twisted expression confirmed the guard’s opinion.“Smells like Kaerion after an all-day binge,” he quipped. Ignoring the fighter’sgrowl of protest, the elf continued, “Well, only one way to find out what’s init.”

With a quick word of warning, the ranger kicked over the barrel. It spun twice, overbalanced by the moving liquid within it. With a crash, the wooden container tipped over, spilling rank liquid on the floor.

“Empty,” Majandra said, as she peered into the fallen barrel.

“This one’s too full to tip over,” Landra said, eyeing thesecond barrel distastefully.

One of her guards came forward, carrying the splintered end of a pole that had been cut in half by the swinging door of a pit. Gently, he dipped the pole into the barrel and began to stir. Kaerion watched apprehensively as the man continued his experimentation.

“Hey,” the guard said, “I think something’s in here.”

Hand easing toward his scabbard in case of trouble, Kaerion approached the barrel. Bredeth did the same. After several tries, the guard managed to ease whatever the barrel was hiding up along its side and, with a deft twist of his wrist, knocked it out of the barrel.

The object hit the floor with a metallic clatter. Golden metal flashed in the light. Kaerion was relieved to see what looked like a section of a gold-wrought key lying on the floor. He was about to bend down and pick it up when he heard Majandra’s cry of warning.

Straightening quickly, he managed to see the guard withdrawing the pole from the barrel. Thin smoke writhed off of the pole’s edge.Faintly, Kaerion could hear a sizzling sound, as whatever fluid was in the container started eating away at the wooden implement.

“Acid,” Bredeth said, and Kaerion could hear the man’sdistaste for the gruesome trap. “I bet whatever’s in the third barrel is equallyas dangerous.”

“Indeed,” Phathas said, moving slowly toward the object inquestion. “I suggest that the rest of you stand back.”