Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

But there was more to this feeling than merely an absence of evil. Separated for so long from his constant connection with Heironeous, it took him a few moments to recognize the power of his god. It was like that moment in Rel Mord when Vaxor banished the demon, except the presence was less concentrated and more pervasive. It was everywhere, flowing through each stone and marble block of the temple. The very air hummed with the strength of it, and Kaerion wondered how he could have missed such a Presence when he first arrived here-wherever “here” was.

“Ahh, I was wondering when you’d get around to noticing me,”a light voice said from somewhere behind him.

Kaerion whipped around, startled by the intrusion, only to find himself looming over a young boy. Piercing blue eyes gazed into his. Kaerion’s knees trembled as he recognized the familiar face. Standing before himwith a cherubic smile upon his face was the object of his nightmares these past ten years-the boy he had betrayed in the dungeons of Dorakaa.

“W-who are you?” he asked, surprised to hear his voice soundso firm. Nothing was making any sense.

The boy’s smile faded, replaced by an expression of purestinnocence. “Why, you called upon me,” he replied, closing the distance betweenthem.

Kaerion shook his head in disbelief. This wasn’t possible.“You… you can’t be him.”

“And who are you to tell me who I can and cannot be?” the boysaid harshly.

Kaerion could feel the hint of power beneath the child’streble, like the sense of a storm’s raging power moments before it unleashes itsfury. He would have cast down his eyes in shame, but the boy-god, really,Kaerion thought with wonder-stood right before him, not releasing his gaze.

“Where am I?” Kaerion asked, not wishing the moment ofsilence to stretch on further.

“You are where you need to be,” the boy said with maddeningvagueness.

“But my friends,” Kaerion replied, unwilling to abandon themeven now, “they need my help.”

The boy-god smiled “Loyalty is a noble trait,” he said. “Fearnot, for if you return to your companions, not a single moment of time will have passed.”

Kaerion nodded, a little unnerved by the boy’s use of theword if. “Then what do you want of me? Why am I here?”

The boy said nothing, still gazing at him with those bright piercing eyes. “Why did you not call on me sooner?” the god asked, all trace oflevity gone from his face. Kaerion could hear sadness and a slight tinge of reproach in the child’s voice.

This time, Kaerion did hang his head in shame. “I betrayedyou-the child-in Dorakaa,” he explained. “I let fear for my life take precedenceover the protection of the weak and innocent.” Familiar emotions churned withinKaerion’s heart. This time, he did not retreat from them. “I failed you,” hesaid finally. “I was not worthy to call upon your name.”

“And you are now?” the boy asked in a chilling tone.

Kaerion had no response. Cautiously, he raised his head to meet the god’s gaze once more. To his surprise, the boy was smiling. “I want youto watch something, Kaerion-if you have the strength.” With a wave of his tinyhand, the air before Kaerion’s face shimmered, gradually resolving into animage.

It was the very heart of his nightmare. A young boy lay tied to an altar, while demonic figures cavorted around him. With a muffled curse, Kaerion realized that he could see himself in the image, emaciated and dirty, kneeling a few feet from the altar. He fought down a wave of nausea as he watched his kneeling figure decline the demons’ offer to exchange his life forthe boy’s. Tears were streaming down his face by the time the demons werefinished with their sacrifice.

But Kaerion did not look away. He relived every second of that event, recalled every sight, sound, and emotion, both through the god’spower and the strength of his own memory. Still, he found the courage to experience it all again.

He watched as the demons dragged his sobbing body from the room, but the image continued. He stared in horror as the boy’s bloodied carcasswrithed and undulated on the altar. Shredded muscle and puckered flesh joined. The boy’s body elongated. Broken bones knitted together. Kaerion’s horror grewas the boy’s hands twisted into claws, and scales grew upon his flesh like thickmoss upon a swamp rock. Wings sprouted from the creature’s back, and it raiseditself off the altar with a single thrust of its new appendages.

Kaerion looked at Heironeous’ avatar in disbelief. “What-?”He couldn’t continue.

The avatar nodded once at Kaerion’s confusion. “Yes, you seeit now. There never was any innocent boy in Dorakaa. You were tricked. Even in Iuz’s seat of power I protected you. His servants couldn’t kill you unless yougave yourself to them freely.”

“But even if it was an illusion, I thought it was real,”Kaerion protested. “I still believed that either the boy or I would die. I choseto live.”

“No,” the avatar persisted. “You sensed something was wrong,and even though you were half mad, you wouldn’t let Iuz triumph. Remember?”

“No,” Kaerion said. “No! It was my fault. Mine!”

“Remember,” the avatar said, and this time it was not aquestion. The god’s word exploded in Kaerion’s mind, and Kaerion did remember.It was a thing almost completely forgotten, a recollection buried deep within the hole that was Dorakaa. He had sensed something wrong, but his guilt at his own weakness had hidden this from him.

“If I didn’t fail you, then why have I not sensed you thesepast years?” Kaerion did not know whether to shout or cry. He was a tangle ofemotions, both new and old.

“My son,” the avatar said in a child’s kind voice, “youthought that you escaped Dorakaa, but you have carried that dungeon within you these many years, refusing to be free of it. I could not reach you until you called out to me for help.”

“But the curse,” Kaerion said, indicating his sheathed holysword. “Why did you torment me with Galadorn’s presence?”

The avatar smiled once more. “You know the strength and powerof that sword. Galadorn chooses its own wielder, and not even I will command it otherwise.” At Kaerion’s blank expression, the avatar continued, “I never cursedyou with its presence. Had I truly condemned you, I would have tried to persuade it to choose someone else. Fortunately-” the boy’s voice began to deepen, wordby word-“the sword simply refused to leave your side.”

Kaerion would not have believed it if Galadorn hadn’t pulsedwith energy at that moment. All of this was too much to comprehend. He needed time to think things through.

“Time is what we do not have,” the avatar said, responding tohis thoughts. Kaerion turned at the deep, resonating bass of the god’s voice.Gone was the wide-eyed, innocent boy. He had been replaced by a muscular warrior in pure, golden plate armor. The man’s face was handsome, and nobility andstrength flowed from every pore.

“Will you serve me?” the Arch Paladin said, holding agleaming silver sword over Kaerion’s head. Without thinking, Kaerion dropped tohis knees, tears streaming down his face. In a voice far sturdier than he would have thought possible, he accepted the yoke of Heironeous once again.

“Then rise, Kaerion, known as the Whitehart, best andbrightest of my champions,” the avatar’s voice thundered throughout the templeand, Kaerion suspected, beyond the planes, “and carry my justice to the world!”

Kaerion stood, surrounded by a nimbus of pure white light. The nimbus intensified, expanding to fill the temple.

And beyond.

The light faded. In its place Kaerion saw a calloused palm, fingers hooked like claws, heading straight for his throat. He backed away furiously, tripping over a mound of gold coins. The avatar had been correct. No time had passed at all-which meant that he was still too late to save Majandra.The ache in his heart throbbed at that realization, yet he felt something else burning within his chest-the power of Heironeous.