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.”
“Come, my friend,” Durgoth said, offering the monk asympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Adrys is a clever lad-and trained very well.He will find his way back to us, and when he returns, I shall reward him greatly for his service.”
Truth be told, Durgoth had been enraged by the pup’spresumptuous actions. The boy had specific instructions yet chose to ignore them. It was only when it became clear that his involvement had caused the death of that cursed Heironean priest that Durgoth had calmed down. The loss of Vaxor weakened the Nyrondese expedition considerably. Adrys may have handed them the key to an easy victory. In light of that fact, it was easy to view the boy in a more charitable light. If only he could pry Adrys out from under the tutelage of that damned monk. He’d make an excellent servant of Tharizdun.
Obviously not reassured by the cleric’s words ofencouragement, Jhagren turned without a word and stormed off in silence. It took a great deal of self-control not to blast the impudent monk as he skulked about. It was only the fact that they were so close to their goal that stayed the dark priests hand. When the Dark One was finally free, Jhagren and all his cursed brethren would be crushed beneath his heel.
“Blessed one?” a tentative voice asked interrupting histhoughts.
Durgoth spun to face the owner of the offending voice, irritation scribed in every muscle of his body. “What is it, now?” he asked.
“Pardon the intrusion,” replied a scar-faced cultist, “butthe others were wondering what we should do with the body.” He indicated hisrecently deceased companion who still lay upon the floor, a pool of blood surrounding his body like a scarlet halo.
Durgoth thought a moment before responding. He had no use for the blasted corpse and would just as soon leave it to rot. However, he had no desire to spend any length of time near the soon-to-be-decaying mass of flesh and, if Eltanel was correct, they’d have to spend a good deal of time herebefore moving on. In another instant, the cleric made his decision.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said to the cultist, who bowedobsequiously before retreating back to the safety of his brethren. Durgoth sent a silent command and was rewarded a few moments later by the hulking presence of his golem. As the construct regarded him with its cold, eyeless sockets, the cleric pointed to the dead body on the stone floor and said simply, “Dispose ofthis.”
Without a sound, the golem laid a single meaty hand upon the corpse and lifted it up, walking back the way the group had come, following their original path into the tomb. Despite his initial worries that the creature would slow the group down once inside Acererak’s trap-filled lair, the golem hadproven exceptionally useful-both in resisting the deadly force of spears,sliding walls, darts, and other nefarious devices meant to kill intruders, and in cowing the rest of the cultists in continuing on when fear would have caused them to retreat.
Once again Durgoth had cause to be grateful for finding the Minthexian Codex. Even now, the codex called out to him, promising power and dark wisdom in its ancient pages. With a start, he realized that it had been several days since he had looked upon its flowing script and hoary symbols. He was surprised at how deeply his mind yearned to wrestle with its secrets once again.
When he looked around, Durgoth was surprised to find himself standing before his own pack, the box that held the codex out in front of him. Dazedly, he called out to Sydra, who sat nearby, concentrating her powers upon a certain nobleman.
“Where are they now?” he asked.
It took a few moments for the sorceress to respond, and when she did, her voice was thick, almost husky, as if she were waking from a deep sleep. “They are in a chapel of some sort. Someone just set off a trap,unleashing a lightning bolt that killed several of their guards. The nobles are conferring as to what they should do next.”
Durgoth smiled at the news. “Excellent. And how is our veryown noble?”
The cleric saw a brief frown cross the sorceress’ face. “Heresists my presence, blessed one,” Sydra replied. “He is strong, but he cannotbreak free.”
“That is good,” Durgoth said as he settled in to peruse thevellum pages before him. “I hope that you can maintain control. I have importantwork for Bredeth.” He looked up from the text. “Important work indeed.”
The pungent tang of electrified air filled the room.
From her position to the left of the altar, Majandra regarded the smoking corpses with tears in her eyes. The lightning bolt had left nothing but charred flesh in its wake. She gave in to the wave of dizziness that swept over her and dropped to her knees with a gut-wrenching sob.
Death. Everything in this gods forsaken tomb stank of death. Every twisted mural and every corrupted holy symbol in this demented chapel reinforced her perception. She felt death worrying at the bright core of her spirit, like a feasting jackal. It was inside of her now, and with every breath she felt as if she were exhaling a bit more of her own life. If she were anywhere else in the Flanaess, she might have prayed. But not here. Not at the site of Acererak’s twisted power. She was afraid of what dark being might hearher plea.
Instead, she let tears flow down her dirt-streaked face, a silent tribute to the two guards who had given their lives in this tomb. Never mind that they were both dragging bags full of gold and silver coins-thousandsof them if their quick count was in any way accurate-before the lightning bolthad arced down the center aisle of the chapel, striking them both. The guards would find little use for the riches now.
As Gerwyth and Kaerion ran toward her from either corner of the room, she wondered if any of them would have use for the tomb’s treasure.Majandra knew in her heart that all of the gold in the world wouldn’t make upfor the lives lost in this trap-riddled dungeon. Even if they made it out of the tomb with every last bit of treasure, she doubted if the sacrifice would ever be worth it.
Majandra felt strong arms lift her up as a soft voice spoke into her ear. “Peace, little sister,” the soothing words said, though they cameto her as if from a distance. Elvish words, her mind registered at last, and then she recognized Gerwyth’s scent, made slightly muskier by the elf’ssweat-laden exertions in the tomb. The odor was pleasant and, more importantly, familiar. She felt her body relaxing, the aching knot of grief in her chest easing. She trembled a few times before gaining control of herself.
The bard saw Kaerion’s worried gaze and tried to smile herreassurance. Surely, she would have given in to despair long before this had it not been for the fighter’s solid presence. Vaxor’s death had been a cruel blow,one that had cut unexpectedly deep for both of them. Yet somehow, though they had said only a few words in private since that tragic moment, she felt Kaerion’s strength beside her, and knew that their grief was bearable because itwas shared.
“We must try and push on, Majandra,” Kaerion said to herafter a moment. “This chapel is especially evil, even for Acererak’s tomb. I’drather not spend any more time in here.”
She nodded and drew in a deep breath, trying to keep it from turning in to a sob. Gently, she placed her hands upon the rangers shoulder and tapped. Gracefully, Gerwyth withdrew his arms from around her.
“Thank you both,” she said, and then stepped down from thealtar area. As soon as she moved, she noticed that the once opalescent blue stone of the altar had turned a fiery blue-red.
“Gerwyth-”
“I see it,” was the ranger’s whispered reply. “Just keepmoving away.”
The bard backed away slowly, grateful that the elf was taking his own advice. Once clear of the fiery stone, Majandra let out her breath and cast a quick look around the chamber. The chapel itself was over sixty feet long and sixty feet wide, sculpted carefully from the surrounding stone of the tomb. Like other areas of the tomb, the walls of this chapel were covered in mosaics depicting scenes of everyday life. To her dismay, however, the people depicted in these scenes were horribly corrupted. Rotting flesh, skeletal faces, worm-ridden skin-each scene was more ghastly than the last.
Worse still, the whole area was set up like the temples she was familiar with in Rel Mord. Wooden pews filled the east and west portions of this room, while the whole layout drew the observer’s eye to the imposing stonealtar in the center of the south wall. Beyond the angry colored stone, the bard could see a tiered dais. Resting on top of the dais was a simple wooden chair-the ceremonial seat of the presiding cleric. Two large brass candelabrastood to either side of the dais, and Majandra could almost see the smoky flame coming from the five unlit white candles that sprouted from the candelabra like skeletal hands. She shuddered at this image, for every detail of the room spoke not only of evil, but also of goodness corrupted. Even the holy symbols on the walls, many representing the good gods and goddesses of the land, were not exact images. Each had some slight imperfection, and many were twisted to demonstrate the reverse of its intended meaning.
Worried, she scanned the room for signs of Phathas. She caught sight of the old mage leaning his bent back against the wood of the pew closest to the tunnel from which they had entered the tomb. She also saw the three remaining guards carefully searching the skeletal figure that lay upon the floor to the west of the altar, its outstretched hand pointing toward the mist covered expanse of another archway. Landra, the guards’ captain, conferredquietly with Kaerion, who had settled himself carefully near the edge of one of the pews.
“Well,” one of the guards said, “it looks like our next stepis clear. This archway is our only way out.”
“It would seem that way,” Phathas said, turning from hisexamination of the wooden pews, “but I would be very careful following throughon such an assumption.”
The old mage’s voice quavered across the chapel’s distance.Majandra thought that he sounded tired-more tired than she had ever heard him. Awave of sadness washed over her. She knew that as deeply as she grieved for those who had died, their loss would have cut the mage deeper-especially theloss of Vaxor. The two men had been close friends for decades, and now it looked as if the weight of those deaths bore down upon the mage with an implacable force. Majandra could see just how much the wizened mage leaned upon his staff as he made his way toward the center of the chapel.
“I agree,” the bard found herself saying. “The skeletonpointing toward that archway seems too obvious a clue. I say we split up and give the room another search. But be careful not to touch anything.”
Choosing the area behind the wicked altar, Majandra lost herself in the close examination of the stone wall. She had begun to lose track of time when a shout went up from the opposite area of the chapel. Turning, she saw one of the guards pointing to a small section of the wall, several feet in front of a large, stoppered urn. She made her way toward the guard but waited for the others to arrive before giving the indicated area a close examination.
Before her, about four feet off the ground, Majandra could see a small slot in the stone. Above the slot, the letter O was etched faintly into the gray wall. While the others congratulated the sharp-eyed guard, Majandra tugged at her lower lip, deep in thought. Something about this slot triggered her bardic memory, and she chased that elusive trigger through the twists and turns of her “inner library.” Around her, she could hear the groupdebating their next course of action. Voices rose and faded, points of view were exchanged, but she heard it all from a great distance.
At last, she honed in on the memory-and nearly shouted in herexcitement. “I’ve got it,” she said with such conviction that it stopped allconversation.
“Got what, little sister?” Gerwyth asked in a wry tone.
“I have the answer,” she responded. When she saw the blankfaces staring at her, she intoned, “‘If shades of red stand for blood the wise;will not need sacrifice ought but a loop of magical metal-you’re well along yourway!’”
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “It’s in the poem. Thatcircle is in the shape of a ring-a ‘loop’ of metal. All we need to do is place amagical ring on to that circle and something will happen.”
“Yeah,” one of the guards asked, “but do you know exactlywhat will happen?”
“Well, not exactly,” Majandra admitted. “But the poem hasguided us correctly so far. I say we risk it.”
The group conferred for a few moments before unanimously opting to follow her hunch. Grateful for their trust, she rummaged through her pouches, but found nothing. She turned to the assembled group. “I gave the ringwe found in the room with the three chests to Adrys,” she said. A knot formed inher throat as she said these words. Kaerion had tried to warn her, but she had ignored him, and now Vaxor was dead-quite possibly because of her unwillingnessto listen.
Thankfully, Kaerion laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Noone’s blaming you,” he said softly. “We just need a ring so that we can get outof here.”
“And I have just the thing,” Gerwyth said, breaking thetension. They turned to find the elf holding a small silver band in the palm of his hand.
“I don’t know what it’s called, but it helps keep mecomfortable in temperature extremes,” the elf said. “I think it will do nicely.”
“Thank you,” Majandra replied, unsure why Kaerion glaredopen-mouthed at his friend.
“Why, you goblin-eared excuse for an elf!” Kaerion shouted.“After all these years… that’s how you’ve done it. I thought yourunflinching endurance in the face of the direst of elements was an elven trait and the sign of a courageous spirit, and all this time you were magically protected. Why I should-”
“Don’t bother finishing that thought,” Gerwyth interruptedwith a devilish smile upon his face. “You might overtax that lump of clay youcall a brain. Besides,” he finished with an injured look, “every elf worthy ofthe name has a few secrets.”
“Enough, both of you,” Phathas scolded-though the bard couldsee a smile splitting the mage’s weathered face. “Let Majandra concentrate.”
Letting her own lightened mood shine through, she bent toward the slot and gingerly placed the metal ring against the etched O. She heard a click and then, seconds later, a deep rumble filled the room. Two of the guards jumped back, eyes searching for signs of danger. But the rest of the group simply waited.
Majandra’s patience was rewarded as a large section of theeastern wall sank slowly into the ground, revealing a dark passage.
“After you,” she said with a pleased smirk upon her face.
She followed Kaerion into the darkness.
Kaerion yawned as he adjusted his chainmail shirt. Four hours of sleep before his turn at watch was too little, considering the events of the past day. It was difficult to believe that so many people had died inside this horror-filled tomb in a single day. He could see each of their faces, remember the laughter and companionship they had shared during their journey to the swamp. All of that had ended abruptly at the tip of a spear, the edge of a pit, or the claw of some fearsome beast.
None of the faces haunted him as much as Vaxor’s-a quiet andpeaceful expression at odds with the brutal way the cleric had died. Kaerion had slept fitfully on the hard ground of the tomb soon after Phathas called the first true rest during their exploration. He had watched idly as the other guards set up the perimeter of their makeshift camp, but the rigors of the day had soon overcome him. Muscles sore and joints aching, he had curled up against a wall and was asleep before his head had fully rested on his bedroll.
Cool darkness enveloped him. Like a potent balm, the cradled nothingness of sleep eased his burdens. There was no grief, no pain-simply thevast darkness of sleep. Then the first image exploded in his brain. Images of a gray stone claw rending vulnerable flesh plagued his dreams. He heard Vaxor scream as the gargoyle’s claws shredded the tender flesh of his abdomen; thecleric’s skin parted like vellum beneath the cutting knife of a scribe, entrailsand gore spilling out onto the floor. Kaerion had woken with such violence that the two guards standing watch rushed over to see what had occurred.
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.”
Kaerion obeyed the mage and took several steps backward. The others did likewise, until the mage stood alone before the third barrel. Grasping his staff in one hand, the spellcaster raised his other hand, palm up. A faint hum filled the room, and Kaerion watched in amazement as the thick, gelatinlike substance floated toward the ceiling. When the floating mass hung safely in the shadows of the room, Majandra moved forward and looked into the now-empty barrel.
“Here is the other section of the key,” she said as she bentover and scooped up the golden mass.
Quickly, she brought her section of the key over to where the first piece lay. Standing over her, Kaerion watched as she placed both sections together. With a single bright flash of light, the two sections fused together. Smiling, the bard stood up, holding the remade key in her hands.
“We’ve stumbled onto the next section of Acererak’s poem,”she declared, as Phathas lowered the floating jelly back into the barrel.“‘These keys and those are most important of all,’” the bard intoned. “Thatmeans there are probably a number of keys we’ll find hidden in various placesbefore we get to Acererak’s crypt.”
“But what do we do once we’ve collected them?” asked Bredeth,as he gazed in distaste at the gruesome remnants of the preparation room.
“I have no idea,” Majandra admitted. “But the poem hassteered us straight so far.”
“Unless Acererak’s words have been guiding us just to lead usto a gruesome end,” Bredeth said.
“A possibility,” Kaerion broke in, unwilling to have theparty’s energy and focus distracted by another argument, “but so far followingthe ancient poem has kept us safe. It’s only when we explore areas of the tombnot written of by that mad wizard that we encounter danger. Given a choice between a passage earmarked in the poem and one not, I would take the one called out by Acererak.”
“Agreed, friend Kaerion,” Phathas said, as he drew closer.“Let us follow the mage’s twisted words as we’ve done, and deal with theconsequences as they come.”
With that decision, the group assembled into their regular order, with Kaerion and Gerwyth in the front, and proceeded out of the arched opening. The dark passage quickly turned and the party descended a long set of stone stairs. Their passage disturbed centuries of dust, kicking up clouds of moldering particles that stung Kaerion’s nose.
Beyond the stairs, the passage turned once again, and Kaerion brought the group to a sudden halt. Before them, soaking up the light of their torches, loomed a wide pit. Kaerion moved to the edge and looked down. Thick spikes jutted up from the floor of the pit, glinting in the illumination like the razor sharp jaws of a predator.
Gerwyth moved up beside him and whistled appreciatively at the sight of the trap. “This will take some doing to get around,” he said.
“Not really, Gerwyth,” the bard said. “I can easily levitateover to the other side and rig a rope that the rest of you can use to avoid the pit.”
“There is another solution, my dear,” Phathas said smiling.“Rather than risk triggering any other traps Acererak built into the pit, whynot simply walk?”
Kaerion saw the bard’s lips turn up in an answering smile.“That is an altogether satisfactory solution,” she said, and then beckoned theothers away from the pit.
Once again the mage made his way forward. Leaning upon his staff, he thrust one hand forward, fist closed, while the words of his spell tumbled forth in a torrent of rhythm and twisted cadence. Phathas whispered the final word of the incantation and opened his fist, palm facing down. Immediately, the area directly above the pit shimmered. Gradually, the energy coalesced into a solid stone block that completely covered the pit.
Kaerion took a tentative step forward. Satisfied that the new stone would hold, he walked forward, head shaking in amazement. For all of the mage’s physical frailty, Kaerion was completely in awe of the amount of powerthe wizard had at his disposal. Without Phathas’ assistance, the wholeexpedition might have met a gruesome end long ago. It was a testament to the wizard’s commitment and skill that they had made it this far.
With the others following, the group made its way over the pit and walked another hundred or so feet before the passageway ended abruptly. Confident that this wasn’t simply a dead end, Kaerion asked the others to breakup and search for any hidden exits. This time, it was Majandra who spotted the secret door in the north wall of the passage. A quick twist of a loose stone in the wall, and the door swung open, revealing a small antechamber-and anotherdoor opposite.
Motioning Majandra up to check on the door, Kaerion drew his sword and was relieved to find that Gerwyth had already fixed an arrow to his bow. The half-elf’s search revealed nothing unusual about this portal. Conveyingher discovery with a simple sign, the bard opened the door.
Kaerion could see that the room beyond was simply appointed with tapestries along the walls. As the party moved in for a better look, it soon became clear that the room had been used mainly for storage. Dented urns and chipped vases littered the floor of the room, while four rotting sofas and several garish, throne-like chairs lay in a heap in the room’s center. Motioningfor the others to join him, Kaerion moved to a collection of trunks and coffers that lay strewn about a small area of the room.
Within minutes, the entire party had fanned out. Unwilling to turn a blind eye to the potential hidden dangers lurking in this room, Kaerion kept a watchful eye on everyone, even as he opened trunk after trunk-eachcontaining only air.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Landra and another guard investigating one of the coffers, while a third one gazed at the tapestries hanging from the walls. Even from his vantage point, Kaerion could see that the tapestries depicted underwater scenes. Dyed with rich greens and blues, the kelp-covered rocks and coral beds stood out in stark relief to the gray stone of the room’s floor.
He was about to call over to Majandra and enlist the half-elf’s aid in opening another of the trunks when a dull groaning soundfilled the room. The floor of the chamber rocked violently, throwing Kaerion to his knees. As the room continued to tremble, several of the others lost their balance as well. Kaerion watched in horror as a few of the coffers tipped on their sides, disgorging asps.
A cry of pain distracted him from the advancing snakes. Looking toward the source of the cry, he saw that the guard investigating the tapestry had grabbed hold of the thick cloth to try and remain upright. The top of the tapestry had torn and, as the material fell to the floor, it transformed into a thick mass of green slime. Kaerion nearly disgorged his morning repast as the guards skin bubbled and melted beneath the viscous slime, adding to the creatures prodigious size.
The hiss of angered snakes brought his attention back to his own danger. Hastily, Kaerion scrambled to his feet and was surprised to find that the floor had stopped shaking. Landra and the remaining guard were hemmed in by a rapidly closing serpentine circle. Without hesitation, Kaerion launched himself at the attacking snakes, calling out to Bredeth for help. The two fighters cut a swath of death in their wake as gleaming swords bit deeply into scales. Though he had little time to spare for the other members of their group, Kaerion could see that Gerwyth, Majandra, and Phathas stood just outside the reach of the now-advancing slime. A moment later, a wave of light and heat burst over the room, as both the mage and the half-elf finished shouting words to their spells.
Kaerion ignored the blast, confident that his three companions had their situation under control. Two asps whipped their head around, striking out at his arm. Both sets of fangs rebounded sharply off of his mail shirt. Thankful that he had taken the time to adjust his armor this morning, Kaerion sent both heads whipping across the room with a single downward slice of his sword.
The next few moments became a rhythmic exchange of sword blows as Bredeth, Kaerion, Landra, and the last guard dispatched the asps with their blades. Silence descended upon the room once the last serpent had been killed. Kaerion looked over to the corner, breathing heavily, and saw that Majandra and Phathas stood near a smoldering lump of green slime. Gerwyth had maneuvered near the stone wall that the tapestry had previously covered. The elf was running his fingers lightly over the area.
“There’s something here,” the ranger said. “I think it’s theoutline of a door.” He pressed the stone, and a door swung open. “There’s apassage here! I think we better-”
Kaerion couldn’t make out the rest, as another loud groaningreverberated throughout the room.
“Run!” he shouted, not waiting to see if anyone listened, andbolted for the door. Tripping and stumbling as the floor of the chamber once again trembled, Kaerion made it out of the room behind Majandra and Phathas. They stumbled into a small curved passage. Kaerion turned to help the rest of the group escape the trapped room and let out a relieved sigh as the last of the party emerged from the quaking chamber.
He closed the door and leaned heavily against it while his companions caught their breath. “It… was right… there,” he heard Majandrasay through deep lungfuls of air.
“What was there?” Bredeth asked.
The bard held out her hand for a moment while she struggled to regain her composure. Kaerion could see more tears brimming in her almond-shaped eyes. “The warning,” she said at last. “‘Beware of tremblinghands’… It was right there for us in the poem. If only I had-”
“Don’t,” Phathas scolded the elf in a sharp tone. “There wasno way you could have known what ‘trembling hands’ meant. Remember: despite thehelp we’re receiving from Acererak’s little riddle, its meanings areintentionally left clouded. We’re not supposed to survive this expedition.”
“I agree,” Kaerion added with a sympathetic squeeze of hershoulder. “You’re being too hard on yourself. And I should know,” he continuedwith a rueful smile, “I’m an expert on such matters.”
Kaerion was rewarded with a half smile. Gently, he wiped the tears from the bard’s eyes and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Peace,Majandra. We’re almost finished.”
“Or we will be if you two would stop mooning over eachother,” said Gerwyth, who softened his tone with an exaggerated raising of hispointed eyebrows. “Now let’s get moving. We have a job to do.”
The group moved out, this time at a slower pace. Though not injured in the trapped chamber, Phathas had still not quite recovered his breath. As a result, it took the party quite a bit of time to navigate the next set of descending stairs.
The passageway eventually reached a four-way crossroads, and Kaerion soon found himself thankful for the slow pace. Taking one step into the intersection, he turned to check on Phathas’ progress, and the simple maneuversaved his life. The floor beneath his extended foot gave way, opening up into a deep pit. Not quite overbalanced, he hung suspended on the lip of the hole, windmilling his arms before Gerwyth pulled him from the precipice.
Though not quite as imposing as the pit they had traveled over earlier, this obstacle slowed the party’s progress even more. After a briefconsultation as to the direction they should move, they decided that Majandra, easily the lightest member of the expedition, would jump over the corner of the trap into the passageway. Bredeth would follow, and the two would function as anchors for a safety line of rope tied to the other, less deft members of the party. All in all, the crossing took several minutes.
Once across, Kaerion paused to light a new torch and surveyed the passageway. Although the tunnel continued off into the darkness, he thought he could see a door at the extreme limit of his vision. Calling the group together, he led the way. As expected, the passage ended in a thick stone door. Used to this procedure by now, Majandra walked toward the door without any prompting and gave it a careful examination.
“It’s free from any traps I can see,” she said when she hadcompleted her search.
“That’s comforting,” Bredeth said. “What about the traps youcan’t see?”
Kaerion could see that the dour noble’s tongue was beginningto erode the bard’s temper. The half-elf’s lips puckered in a sour expression,and Kaerion could almost see the stinging retort forming behind her lips. “IfMajandra hasn’t discovered any traps, that’s good enough for me,” Kaerion saidsimply and opened the door-
Only to find himself staring at a blank wall.
The curses that followed took the form of several different languages, and Kaerion was surprised to hear the old mage mumble something indignant under his breath. It didn’t make any sense. They had been followingAcererak’s riddle and it had led them true so far. Perhaps they were supposed tohave taken another passage at the intersection. It seemed like the most logical thing to do, but something nagged at the back of his mind.
The others had already started to head back toward the intersection when he called out. “Hey! Didn’t the riddle say something about afalse door?” he asked.
As one, the group turned and cast expectant glances at Majandra. Kaerion watched as the bard’s face assumed the slightly distant lookhe had come to associate with her ability to memorize words and information.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice rising with excitement. “‘Ifyou find the false, you’ll find the true.’ Quick, Gerwyth!” she said in a voiceworthy of a battlefield commander. “Take a look at the wall beyond the falsedoor. You have the sharpest eyes among us.”
Kaerion watched as the elf gave Majandra an abbreviated bow and walked toward the dead end. The ranger ran his fingers along the surface for a few minutes, peering deeply at the stonework.
“Sure enough,” he said finally, “there’s a door here.”
The party let out a sigh of relief. Once more the riddle was guiding them true. Quickly they formed up as Majandra declared the door free from traps and pulled it open. The door grated heavily upon the raised stone of the floor, sending deep echoes down the corridor. Despite the chill, Kaerion felt sweat trickling down the small of his back. With an unconscious movement, he shrugged away the discomfort. They were closer than they had ever been to piercing the heart of this devilish crypt.
Shouldering his shield, Kaerion raised a flickering torch and walked through the doorway.