As the party moved deeper into the passage, Kaerion found out why-and nearly had to catch his breath with the discovery. Every inch of thewalls were covered in elaborate murals and frescoes, and the ceiling, which soared almost twenty feet high, had been marked by the hand of a long-dead artist. In the circle of Vaxor’s illumination, Kaerion could see kine grazinglazily amid a midsummer’s sun, a pack of wolves gazing fiercely from between thetrees in a forest copse, and a plethora of human and animal hybrids cavorting and fighting among the pastoral scenes. It was Bredeth, however, who called his attention to the most disturbing scene of all-a reminder of the true nature ofthe place in which they found themselves. For on one section of the wall, recreated with unerring accuracy, Kaerion saw a trail of familiar wagons plodding across the snow-covered fields of Nyrond.
Despite this ominous discovery, it was the colors that had caused Kaerion’s initial reaction. Ancient as the tomb might be, these paintingscaught and reflected the party’s light as rich in tone and color as the day theyhad been painted. By some working of magic, or more likely, some foul curse, the artistry in this bizarre passage had been preserved against the ravages of time.
Nor was the floor itself devoid of ornamentation. While the rest of the party examined the surrounding paintings, Kaerion knelt down and touched a mosaic of red stone. He was surprised to note that the red tiles of the mosaic made a small path, large enough for a single person to walk on, that wound its way farther into the room. Kaerion was about to call attention to this when he heard a muffled scream.
He whirled, only to see one of the guards, a man called Joran, tumble into a hole that had suddenly opened beneath his feet. Desperately, Kaerion ran to the now-revealed pit, calling the nearest guards to assist him. Lighting a torch of his own, he tried to peer through the darkness. What he saw caused his heart to sink. Thirty feet below him, at the edge of his torchlight, Joran’s body lay in a broken heap, glistening spikes driven throughchest and legs. Even from this distance it was clear that the man was dead. Kaerion let out a curse.
The tomb had claimed its first victim.
19
Majandra heard Joran’s cry and Kaerion’s subsequent curse asif from a distance. It was not that she was cold-hearted and indifferent to the man’s death. In fact, as she continued to stare at the strangely constructedpassage, a part of her mind recalled memories of Joran. Her brief glimpses into his life-the easy familiarity with which he joked with comrades, his interest inhorses, the way he always requested the liveliest tunes from the hill villages of Nyrond where he grew up-caused a dull ache in the pit of her stomach.
But the part of her that hungered after ancient lore and long-forgotten tales, the part that drove her to memorize every line of every poem and saga she heard, that turned the slightest hint of mystery into a driving quest for knowledge and every note played upon the strings of her harp another step in a complex dance of mastery-that part of her stood rapt andamazed at the handiwork of the long-dead wizard. She drank it all in, every brushstroke and whorl of color, every symbol and hand-carved rune. It all became a part of a tableau, a tapestry of history that was woven in the long-ago years, ancient before the Kingdom of Nyrond was born in blood and fire. There would be time enough to remember the dead, Majandra knew. There was always time enough for that.
As Majandra surveyed the area around her, she noticed that Bredeth, too, had stayed behind and gazed with seeming fascination at their surroundings. This was yet another mystery. For as long as she had known the brat of a noble, he had been all fire and arrogance. Yet since his rescue from the bullywugs, the young man had been withdrawn and tentative-almostintrospective. Majandra wondered exactly what could have happened to the noble to bring about such a drastic change. She had seen men and women return from war broken and twisted, but this was something else entirely. If anything, Bredeth seemed dulled somehow, blunted like a sword used to dig trenches and then cast aside.
The bard was about to question Bredeth about this when Vaxor’s god-light illuminated something upon the floor-a pattern laid out uponthe winding mosaic, one that was almost familiar. And then she knew: Runes. They ran along the path, intricate and spidery, flowing like molten silver. Her question to Bredeth forgotten, Majandra recalled a spell that Phathas himself had taught her. In a quiet voice, she sang the notes that would activate the magic and floated gently toward the ceiling, propelling herself slowly in the direction of the path by pushing along the painted stone overhead. Dimly, she was aware of Vaxor, cradling Joran’s broken body. The cleric intoned the finalblessings upon the dead man, speeding his journey into Heironeous’ arms, butthe bard could make no sense of his speech, for the runes that she read burned in her mind. Without trying, Majandra found herself entering the bardic trance that preceded the telling of the longest tales. When her voice washed, unbidden, over the assembly below her, it was with the practiced timbre that had stilled even the rowdiest crowds.
“Go back to the tormentor or through the arch,
and the second great hall you’ll discover.
Shun green if you can, but night’s good color
is for those of great valor.
If shades of red stand for blood, the wise
will not need sacrifice aught but a loop of
magical metal-you’re well along your march.
“Two pits along the way will be found to lead
to a fortuitous fall, so check the wall.
These keys and those are most important of all,
and beware of trembling hands and what will maul.
If you find the false, you find the true,
and into the columned hall you’ll come,
and there the throne that’s key and keyed.
“The iron men of visage grim do more
than meets the viewer’s eye.
You’ve left and left and found my Tomb,
and now your soul will die.”
It was Gerwyth at last who broke the silence that fell overthe company. “That,” he said in a critical voice, “was truly dreadful, Majandra.I hope you didn’t make that up yourself. I’ve heard better from a dockside drunkon a ten-day binge.”
Freed from the strange compulsion that had mastered her, the bard felt her anger rise. It was, she knew, irrational. Gerwyth had just attempted to break the growing mood of gloom that was plaguing the expedition, but something in his words stung her pride, and she found herself snapping a retort. “Of course I didn’t make it up. It was placed here by Acererak andwritten in an ancient language. The words lose a great deal in translation-andin the interpretation by dense minds.”
“Peace, Majandra,” Phathas, silent since their entry into thetomb, spoke at last, his voice carrying in the smooth-walled chamber. The mage combed a dirt-stained hand through his unruly beard, lips pursed in thought. “Itappears that Acererak left a map of sorts for those who would plunder his tomb.”
“But why would anyone do that, Phathas?” Kaerion asked. “Whywould a wizard who knew that thieves would seek to disturb his resting place offer them assistance? It doesn’t make sense.”
It was Vaxor, much to Majandra’s surprise, who answered thequestion. The cleric gently closed Joran’s eyes and stood, regarding theassembled group with a grave expression. “It was said of Acererak that heenjoyed games, for none was as clever as he in all the world. Through riddles and such cruel games as he could devise, he demonstrated his mastery over those who sought to challenge him. At the last-” he indicated Majandra with anapologetic shrug-“the bards say that death was his greatest opponent, and no oneis sure who emerged victorious from that final game.”
Gerwyth’s throaty chuckle sliced through the silence onceagain. Though still pleasant to hear, Majandra found herself unaccountably irritated by the rangers seeming mirth. “What in all the Nine Hells do you findso funny?” she asked in a voice intended to sting.
The elf merely continued to chuckle, seemingly undisturbed by her discomfort. That thought caused her temper to flare even mo
re, and she was about to send a blistering retort his way when Gerwyth held up his hands in entreaty. “Please, my Lady,” he said as formally as he could between thelaughter still present in his voice, “do not wound me further. I was merelythinking that if what Vaxor has said is true, then Acererak built this tomb hoping that foolhardy men and women would come to defile his resting place in search of hidden wealth. If this is a game, then we have played right into his hands.”
That thought sent the anger draining from her like water from a burst dam. With a sinking feeling, she realized that the ranger’s words weretrue. The tomb wasn’t simply a repository of ancient knowledge ready to belifted from its hoary grasp. She had been wrong to think so. Rather, the bard and her fellow companions were playing pieces in a vast game whose board had been built by a long-dead wizard. And they had already lost one of their own in pursuit of victory. She looked around at her companions and saw, by the haunted look in their eyes, the same thoughts flash into each of their minds.
Phathas cleared his throat. “There is wisdom in your words,Gerwyth,” the mage said softly, “however bitter the humor that lurks behindthem. Yet I believe that courage and cunning and, yes, a fair bit of luck, will see us through. If this is a game, we have been given a glimpse of the rules.”He pointed at the spidery runes inlaid on the mosaic. “So let us gatherourselves for the challenge and proceed. Perhaps we will find, at the end, that our strength and nobility of purpose will be the equal of Acererak’s fiendishtraps.”
It was a good speech, Majandra thought-inspiring,impassioned, and with just the right inflections and oratorical nuances. Quickly, the party reformed, and she heard Kaerion’s voice booming outinstructions.
“Landra, have your men break out the poles,” he said withthat familiar note of authority. “We will follow along the mosaic path, but wemust move carefully, lest we fall victim to more pits.”
In a few moments, the company began to follow the winding red path across the length of the chamber. Three times, the guards triggered pit traps with their ten-foot poles, each one opening up to a thirty-foot drop and ending in spiked doom. At last, they drew near the end of the passage. Looming straight before them, set into the smooth stone wall, Majandra could see the leering face of a devil. Whoever had sculpted such a disturbing portrait must have had personal experience with these foul creatures, for every detail of the creature’s face was rendered in horrifying complexity. Two great horns curledout from the top of the beast’s scaled forehead, and its gaping mouth wasopened, as if it were roaring its hellish curses upon the world. From this distance, Majandra could see that the sculpture took up almost an entire ten-foot section of wall, and the mouth itself opened to a diameter of almost three feet.
As the party approached the stone face, Majandra saw, somewhere off to her left, an archway covered entirely with a dense mist. In the dim light, the half-elf could see several shadowy forms weaving through the misty veil. She shivered as she drew closer to the bizarre sculpture and wondered if the others had noticed how cold it had become this close to the face. Several guards flanked Phathas, who had walked up in front of the gaping mouth. The mage drew forth a wand of bleached bone and passed it slowly before the face. The stone pulsed red in the wand’s wake.
Phathas nodded once. “There is magic here,” he said simply.
“Well,” Gerwyth said, motioning toward the face and the archwith graceful hands. “It appears we have a choice. The hole inside the mouthcould lead to another passageway inside the tomb, or we could walk through the mist and beyond that arch.”
Majandra pulled at her lower lip, watching as the guards conferred among themselves. Bredeth, she noted with interest, had moved closer to the archway and was staring intently at the stonework. “If you believe thewords of Acererak,” she said after a few moments, “we should probably take thearch.”
Kaerion threw her a questioning look, his brow knitted in obvious confusion, and the half-elf was reminded once again that not everyone had spent a lifetime perfecting the ability to memorize vast amounts of information.
“‘Go back to the tormentor or through the arch, and thesecond great hall you’ll discover,’” she quoted.
“As you said, Majandra, the question is whether or not we cantrust Acererak’s words,” Vaxor said from his place next to the old mage.“Perhaps the words laid out by the canny wizard are a trap, and we’ll followthem to our doom.”
“Then maybe we should divide into two groups, each coveringone of these passages,” said Bredeth, as he drew nearer to the swirling mistinside the archway. “That way we could cover more of the tomb within the sametime.”
There was a startled exclamation from the collected guards at this suggestion, and even Majandra found herself reacting instinctively to such a comment. Gerwyth, however, had moved quickly toward the young man, and the bard could see that he laid a companionable hand upon the noble’s shoulder.
“I have traveled many paths in my long life, friend Bredeth,”the ranger said firmly, “and the one thing that I have learned in that time, isthat when it comes to exploring underground, never, ever split the party. Down that way lies death and madness-or worse.”
Majandra watched in amazement as the noble, so quick to react to any hint of criticism, shrugged. “It was only a suggestion,” he said mildly.
In the end, it was Adrys who decided their course of action for them. While watching the exchange between Bredeth and the elf, Majandra saw the merchant’s son move swiftly toward one of the guards. Grabbing the long polefrom the woman’s grasp, he lifted it easily and thrust one end into the centerof the gaping devil mouth. He held it there for a few moments, before quickly withdrawing it.
A gasp of astonishment rippled through the company, for the section of the pole that had entered the black circular hole had simply disappeared. Moving to examine the pole herself, Majandra found that the break was completely clean. It was as if the missing section had never existed at all. Such was the twisted fate for anyone who had thought to explore the area beyond the hole. The bard breathed deeply, trying to control her rapidly beating heart in the face of the death they had so narrowly avoided. All of them. Had Adrys not used the pole to check the safety of the circular passage, they might all have been killed. Gone without a single trace. And Nyrond, the noble kingdom of her birth, might never be saved from the rot that was eating it from within.
She looked at the boy once again. Several of the guards were clapping him companionably on the shoulders, acknowledging the actions that had just saved their lives. Even Kaerion knelt before the lad and thanked him. Instead of showing the embarrassment that Majandra would expect from a boy his age, Adrys merely accepted the congratulations with a brief nod of his head and a wan smile. There was more to this merchant’s son than met the eye, shethought, and vowed to keep a closer eye on their newest member.
Decided clearly on their course of action, Majandra and her companions gathered before the mist-filled archway. Absently, she noted that both Gerwyth and Kaerion had their weapons drawn and had asked Landra to position guards at the party’s back. With everything that had happened to themsince they entered the tomb, the bard realized she had forgotten about the potential danger from any creatures that had made the lost corridors of stone their home during the many years since Acererak’s minions had constructed hisresting place. She was glad that her companions had the presence of mind to keep watch. Perhaps Phathas was right. Maybe their commitment and their strength would prevail over the ancient evil lurking within these halls.
Once again, the wizened mage stood in front of the group. This time, however, he raised both hands, fingers slightly curled, in front of his eyes and spoke the words of power. When he was finished, the base stones on the left and right of the arch pulsed with a yellow and orange light, while the keystone within the archway flickered with a blue incandescence.
Majandra watched as the mage stood before the archway in silence, studying the mystic construction with eyes that had always seen fa
r and deeply. “There is strong magic woven into the very heart of this stone,” hesaid. “I believe that the arch itself functions as a teleportation device. Thestones that are glowing are part of a key that will change the coordinates of the target area.”
“Knowing what we have experienced so far,” Vaxor said, “Iwould wager that the arch is currently set to send whoever walks through it to a particularly deadly location. The trick will be unlocking the right sequence for a safe journey.”
“Who should attempt the sequence?” Gerwyth asked. “Therecould be further traps built into the arch that Phathas hasn’t detected.”
It only took a few moments for Majandra to make her decision. “I will,” she said with all of the confidence she could muster. “I have had someinstruction in the ways of magic.” The bard smiled as she looked at Phathas.“And, if there are any physical traps-well, I have some experience dealing withthose as well.”
This last she said with a great deal of nonchalance, hoping to slip that bit of information by her companions, who would no doubt be surprised by such a revelation.
She failed.
Amid the whispered murmurs of surprise, it was Vaxor whose voice she heard frame the question she had most wanted to avoid. “And how, mydear,” the cleric asked in the most colored of paternal tones, “did you come topossess such an expertise?”
The half-elf blushed, hoping that the pulsating lights of the archway masked her discomfort. “Well,” she said in an even tone, “you don’tthink I spent all my time in Rel Mord poring over ancient parchments and rehearsing fragments of old songs, did you? Let’s just say that I had somecolorful friends and leave it at that, shall we?”
The Tomb of Horrors (greyhawk) Page 20