Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

Though broad of shoulder and thick of limb, the offending man still did not have Kaerion’s mass. At first it seemed as if he might actuallygrowl something back, but he took another look at the fighter’s well-tended mailand leather scabbard and hastily grumbled an unintelligible phrase before scampering off into the crowds.

Kaerion felt a slender hand rest upon his shoulder.

“Easy, Kaer,” Gerwyth said in a soothing tone. “No sensetraveling all the way to Rel Mord only to spend time in the city prison.”

Kaerion exhaled through his nose before replying, “Gods, youknow how much I hate large cities!”

In truth, it wasn’t the unending crowds and lack of privacythat was really bothering him. The wineskins had run out quickly, and he was afflicted with a throbbing head that never seemed to leave him. His nights, never the refuge they were for other people, were now filled with nightmares. If anything positive could be said for this city, it was that he could soon find himself in the taproom of some inn, cradling a blessed mug of ale. Maybe even two.

“I know you do,” replied the elf, “but if you can relax forjust a bit, we’ll soon be inside.” He indicated the line, which had movedconsiderably closer to the gatehouse.

They reached the gatehouse a few candlespans later, only to be challenged by a guardsman in plate armor. The soldier flicked a bored gaze over the two men. “State your name and business in the city of Rel Mord,” theguardsman intoned in a flat voice.

“Gerwythaeniaen Larkspur and Kaerion Whitehart, lately fromWoodwych,” the elf responded. He would have continued, but the bored guard hadalready moved on to the next person in line, waving the two travelers in with an impatient shake of his halberd.

“They must take their duties very seriously,” the elf saidwith a smile as they passed through the stone gateway.

Kaerion simply scowled at his friend. Disgust with the soldier’s obvious laziness warred with his own painful memories. There was atime when he would have called the gods’ own thunder down upon anyone servingunder him who shirked his duties so blatantly, before-

He shook his head to deny that memory. It was another life. No one served under him now. He was master of nothing. Let the city commander worry about the discipline of his own troops. Kaerion certainly wasn’t about tostart caring. And when, he thought as he loosened his cloak, did it get so blasted warm? There were still several weeks left until Readying and the early spring thaw.

“Where are we supposed to meet this contact of yours?” heasked Gerwyth, who had stopped to converse with a blue-cloaked elf maiden. “I’vea powerful need to wash the dust of the road from my throat.”

The two elves continued to speak for a moment more, the mellifluous tones of the Elvish tongue flowing between them like quicksilver, before the ranger nodded and touched hand to heart in the elven gesture of farewell. He turned to Kaerion slowly, with a familiar grin on his face.

“Has anyone ever told you, Kaer, that you are a prime exampleof your race?”

Knowing that he wasn’t about to get a quick answer to hisquestion, the fighter sighed. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he repliedsardonically.

“Hmm, yes. You would.” The elf’s grin widened after a moment.“Fear not, my friend. I have just been informed of the location of our meetingplace.” He sketched a courtly bow and spoke in his best high-class accent, “Ifyou’ll just follow me, my lord,” and turned into the crowd.

Kaerion threw up his hands and followed.

Despite its fortress-like appearance, the City of Rel Mord was abuzz with domestic life. Traders and merchants of all races and nationalities drove wagons teeming with bolts of brightly-colored cloth, silks, and woven fabrics toward the market, while a seemingly endless train of livestock and other animals plodded their way through the wide streets. Soldiers patrolled the lanes and avenues, some as bored as the gate guard, others careful to watch the collection of street urchins, beggars, and musicians that wove in and out of the passing crowd.

Drawing close to the market, Kaerion could hear the strident call of booth merchants and the hum of commerce taking place in a variety of languages and dialects. Common, Baklunish, and Flan mixed with the tongues of elves, dwarves, and even a few gnomes to form a multi-layered wave of sound that washed over the two companions.

Despite the outward signs of life, Kaerion clearly felt the same sense of quiet desperation that had greeted both he and Gerwyth on their journey south toward the city. The music and laughter and tenor of the entire city seemed just a bit too loud and forced, the faces of its citizens a bit too wary, or worse, apathetic. Walking through its streets, Kaerion could see a film of dirt covering the magnificence of its stone temples and buildings. Even the royal palace, which had quickened the beat of his heart with its martial splendor, now seemed hollow and empty, like an ancient tomb, as the two adventurers drew closer. Nyrond had been a kingdom divided, sapped of strength by war and betrayal, and it was clear to Kaerion that the wounds had still not healed.

As they moved deeper into the city, the press of the crowd eased somewhat. Streets narrowed, wood and stone buildings drew closer together, and the anxious stamp of merchant feet was replaced by the soft-soled tread of robed priests, royal messengers, and court functionaries, who carried on their business with an air of self-conscious dignity. Kaerion’s heart lurched for a moment as he caught sight of several mailed priests of Heironeous heading right toward them.

He must have stopped in his tracks, for Gerwyth spoke in a gentle voice at his side, “Peace, Kaer. Let us be about our business.”

The comforting tones settled him somewhat. He nodded and continued on his way past the group of approaching clerics. “Traitor,” heexpected them to yell. “Betrayer! Coward!” He was all of those things-and more.How could the Beloved of the Arch-Paladin not see his shame? It was clearly written on his soul.

But the priests walked right by, intent on their own private conversation. No one had even spared a glance his way. Kaerion wiped the cold sweat from his brow and followed his friend down another street.

Most of the buildings in this area were made of stone, with an impressive amount of gilt marble facades. A few of the decorously crafted houses even had small yards surrounded by iron gates or stone walls. The few folk who were walking about the cobblestone streets were richly appointed, wearing fine tailored velvets, thick cloaks, and an array of gold jewelry around throat and hands.

“Where are you taking us?” Kaerion asked his friend in atight voice.

“To our destiny,” Gerwyth replied in a voice so heavy withmelodrama that the fighter wondered how his friend could still stand.

He shot the elf a barbed look and crossed his meaty arms in front of him. “No more joking,” Kaerion said tersely. “I’m tired and hungry, andI don’t have any patience for your damned elven wit!”

Gerwyth sighed, the ever-present smile falling from his angular face. “Fine. If you must know, we’re going right there.” The elf pointeda slim finger at a two-storey wooden building just past the bend in the street.

Kaerion eyed their destination carefully. Despite not being made of stone, the elegantly carved lines of the structure blended perfectly with the surrounding architecture. A high-peaked roof lent the building a sense of dignity, matched by the elaborately framed windows and exquisitely worked door. A masterfully painted sign hung above the lintel, proclaiming the name of the establishment.

“The Platinum Shield?” he asked. “Who in the hells are wemeeting here, Ger? The Nyrondese Royal Family?”