The Tomb of Horrors

by Keith Francis Strohm - (ebook by Flandrel; Undead)

  At last, she honed in on the memory—and nearly shouted in her excitement. “I’ve got it,” she said with such conviction that it stopped all conversation.

  “Got what, little sister?” Gerwyth asked in a wry tone.

  “I have the answer,” she responded. When she saw the blank faces 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 your way!’”

  “Don’t you see?” she continued. “It’s in the poem. That circle is in the shape of a ring—a ‘loop’ of metal. All we need to do is place a magical ring on to that circle and something will happen.”

  “Yeah,” one of the guards asked, “but do you know exactly what will happen?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Majandra admitted. “But the poem has guided 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 ring we found in the room with the three chests to Adrys,” she said. A knot formed in her 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 unwillingness to listen.

  Thankfully, Kaerion laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “No one’s blaming you,” he said softly. “We just need a ring so that we can get out of here.”

  “And I have just the thing,” Gerwyth said, breaking the tension. 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 me comfortable in temperature extremes,” the elf said. “I think it will do nicely.”

  “Thank you,” Majandra replied, unsure why Kaerion glared open-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 your unflinching 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 interrupted with a devilish smile upon his face. “You might overtax that lump of clay you call a brain. Besides,” he finished with an injured look, “every elf worthy of the name has a few secrets.”

  “Enough, both of you,” Phathas scolded—though the bard could see 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 the eastern 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 and peaceful 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 the vast 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; the cleric’s skin parted like vellum beneath the cutting knife of a scribe, entrails and 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 their horrifying 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 into a 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—or betrayal. He saw the cruel smile play across Adrys’ face as clearly as if the lad was in front of him. He had been sorely misled by the boy’s act. There would be 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 informed the group, as if reading Kaerion’s mind. The ranger finished his announcement with a muted growl as he reached toward the ceiling and stretched out his muscles.

  Kaerion smiled at his friend, used to the elf’s accurate predictions. 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. “We are 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 saved them a great deal of time. Two pits along the way will he found to lead to a fort
uitous 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’s wards. 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 Kaerion found himself straining to listen to the wizard’s rheumy voice. “No doubt where Acererak’s servants prepared the dead who were to be buried with their evil master.”

  “Looks like dirty water to me,” said one of the guards who had moved quietly toward the first barrel and now leaned over its top. “Smells like 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’s growl of protest, the elf continued, “Well, only one way to find out what’s in it.”

  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 the second 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’s distaste for the gruesome trap. “I bet whatever’s in the third barrel is equally as dangerous.”

  “Indeed,” Phathas said, moving slowly toward the object in question. “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 bent over 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. “That means there are probably a number of keys we’ll find hidden in various places before 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 has steered us straight so far.”

  “Unless Acererak’s words have been guiding us just to lead us to a gruesome end,” Bredeth said.

  “A possibility,” Kaerion broke in, unwilling to have the party’s energy and focus distracted by another argument, “but so far following the ancient poem has kept us safe. It’s only when we explore areas of the tomb not 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 the consequences 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 levitate over 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, why not 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 the others 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 power the wizard had at his disposal. Without Phathas’ assistance, the whole expedition 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 break up 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 another door 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. Conveying her 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. Motioning for 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—each containing 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.