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 sound filled 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 the outline of a door.” He pressed the stone, and a door swung open. “There’s a passage here! I think we better—”
Kaerion couldn’t make out the rest, as another loud groaning reverberated throughout the room.
“Run!” he shouted, not waiting to see if anyone listened, and bolted 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 Majandra say 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 trembling hands’… It was right there for us in the poem. If only I had—”
“Don’t,” Phathas scolded the elf in a sharp tone. “There was no way you could have known what ‘trembling hands’ meant. Remember: despite the help we’re receiving from Acererak’s little riddle, its meanings are intentionally left clouded. We’re not supposed to survive this expedition.”
“I agree,” Kaerion added with a sympathetic squeeze of her shoulder. “You’re being too hard on yourself. And I should know,” he continued with 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 each other,” said Gerwyth, who softened his tone with an exaggerated raising of his pointed 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 maneuver saved 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 brief consultation 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 had completed her search.
“That’s comforting,” Bredeth said. “What about the traps you can’t see?”
Kaerion could see that the dour noble’s tongue was beginning to 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. “If Majandra hasn’t discovered any traps, that’s good enough for me,” Kaerion said simply 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 following Acererak’s riddle and it had led them true so far. Perhaps they were supposed to have 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 a false 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 look he had come to associate with her ability to memorize words and information.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice rising with excitement. “‘If you find the false, you’ll find the true.’ Quick, Gerwyth!” she said in a voice worthy of a battlefield commander. “Take a look at the wall beyond the false door. 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.
Majandra stared at the room in awe. Around her, to the limits of the groups torches, stone columns reached up into the darkness, a forest of stonework as far as the eye could see. The party gathered in a knot by the entrance, their combined breathing echoing softly in the shadowy chamber. It had taken several minutes and the loss of three sword blades to gain entrance to this room, but the half-elf was sure they were heading in the right direction.
This must be the columned hall, she thought, before relaying her surmise to the rest of the group. Around her, she could feel her companions tension like a palpable itch at the base of her neck.
“If this is the chamber Acererak spoke of, then where is the throne?” Bredeth asked from somewhere behind her.
Her response was cut off by the sound of the adamantite door they had walked through only a few minutes ago slamming closed. Majandra spun around at the noise, ready to offer whatever assistance she could, but by the sound of Kaerion’s cursing, she doubted that there was much she could do.
“It’s jammed shut,” Kaerion said, confirming her fears.
It took a few moments for Gerwyth and the mage to investigate the sealed portal. After several attempts, both magical and mundane, at prying the door open, they gave up.
“The door only opens one way,” Phathas informed the group. “It appears that our path has been decided for us.”
Unwilling to waste energy cursing a situation about which she could do nothing, the bard gave the vast hall another look. Bredeth was right. If they had stumbled upon the columned hall, then they should be within bowshot of Acererak’s throne. Majandra shook her head in frustration as the chamber’s shadows defeated even the sensitivity of her half-elven eyes.
Gently, she hummed a succession of notes and sent a trio of bluish-green lights dancing about the hall. Around her, Majandra heard startled exclamations of wonder as her arcane illumination shredded the hall’s stubborn shadows as easily as a vorpal blade cut through bone. Beneath the pulsing glow of her lights, the columned hall’s true scope was revealed. Larger even than the royal throne room in Rel Mord, Acererak’s hall would have dwarfed even the tallest giant. Row upon row of columns rose up into the chamber’s vaulted heights, each one engraved with symbols and decorative stonework set off with colorful accents and bright jewels that would have made a master artisan cry out in pure delight. From where she stood, Majandra could also make out three simple stone doors spaced evenly across the north wall. The farther corners of the room also contained duplicates of the horrifying devil-face that had been carved into the stone of the tomb’s entrance chamber.
But it was the silver throne sitting atop a flawless ebony dais in the center of the southern wall that truly captured her attention. Moving carefully toward the object of her interest, she could see that the throne was composed of the same obsidian as the dais itself. Silver inlay glinted masterfully from every possible angle of the throne, and upon the edge of its back and along its wide armrests, ivory-carved skulls leered back at her.
It was Gerwyth who first saw the crown and scepter lying crosswise on the seat of the throne. Majandra caught sight of the glinting, jewel-encrusted crown after the elf’s exclamation. The others had spread out to search the rest of the room, but she called them back with a shout. “The throne is the key!” she explained as her companions drew closer to the throne.
Phathas waved a single hand before the throne and Majandra was forced to step back at the blast of bright light that pulsated from the crown and scepter. “Magic,” he warned as the group drew closer. Carefully checking the steps up to the dais for traps, the half-elf was relieved to signal that all was clear.
Kaerion and Bredeth had begun to ascend the ebony steps when Majandra heard a muffled curse behind her. Turning, she saw that the last remaining guard, a brown-haired woman named Keeryn, had brushed against one of the hall’s columns as she was approaching the throne, and now hung suspended in the air about ten feet off of the ground. As Majandra rushed to her, the guard floated higher into the air.
“Phathas!” the half-elf called to the mage. “Help!”
By the time the mage, Landra, and Gerwyth joined her, Keeryn had floated nearly thirty feet into the air. By now, the guard’s concerned look had transformed to one of alarm, and Majandra could see the color draining from her face.
“Try and hold on to something!” she called out to the unfortunate woman, but as the guard hastened to obey her, she began to drift toward the far corner of the room.
“She’s heading for the devil mouth!” Landra cried out as Keeryn, clearly frantic now, reached wildly at every column she passed.
“Gerwyth, I need your help!” the half-elf said, trying hard to keep herself beneath the trapped guard, but Keeryn had begun to pick up speed and was only about fifteen feet from the devil’s stone mouth.
To her relief, Majandra saw that the ranger had strung a thin rope to the shaft of one of his arrows and now aimed carefully for the wall near Keeryn. The shaft impacted hard against the thick stone, sending up a sharp cloud of dust as its glowing head bit deeply into the rock. Keeryn was close to the carved stone face when she reached out and grabbed the rope, stopping her forward motion. Majandra’s relief was shortlived, however, as the guard gave a strangled cry. A deep blue glow emanated from the devil face, surrounding the trapped woman. The half-elf watched in horror as the glow deepened, suddenly exploding into cobalt brilliance, and when Majandra could see once more, Keeryn was gone.
Numbness swept over the bard, and a familiar ache that she had come to associate with this evil place. She had little time to reflect on their loss, however, as Bredeth gave a sudden shout. The half-elf looked in his direction, terrified of what she might see. To her relief, both Kaerion and the young noble were still alive—though Bredeth held the gleaming scepter gingerly in his hand. Both of them stood gaping at the throne, which had begun to sink beneath the dais.
“There’s a passageway beneath the throne!” Kaerion shouted.
Wiping the burgeoning tears from her eyes, Majandra walked toward them, wondering just how many of them would have to die before they reached their goal.
* * *
Durgoth watched the Nyrondese from the shadows of the stair’s landing, a cruel smile playing upon his face. The fools had no idea how close they were to their doom—not even that overly perceptive elf. Only Bredeth, their unwilling accomplice, seemed to sense the presence of his party. The young fool kept glancing behind him, peering into the darkness. Having witnessed the power of the link forged into being between the nobleman and Durgoth’s pet sorcerer, he didn’t doubt that the pitiful man could in fact detect their presence. He was confident, however, in Sydra’s ability to silence the man’s tongue.
Beside him, wrapped in deep shadows like a cloak, Eltanel observed their enemies with a practiced eye. “Should we attack now, blessed one?” the thief asked, his voice barely a whisper. “They are completely unaware of us. It wouldn’t take much for us to kill them now.”
Durgoth shook his head, belatedly realizing that the thief could see his reaction. “No, Eltanel,” he whispered. “I need them alive just a little while longer.”
Which was a shame, he thought, for the thief had been correct. Ever since the Nyrondese had dropped into the passage beneath the throne, they had given little thought to their own protection. Durgoth and his followers had been only tens of feet away when that damned bard had scooped up a large cylindrical key from the steps leading farther down.
Now, the fools stood before a set of imposing doors over twenty feet high. Even from here Durgoth could see that the portal was composed entirely of silver, catching the torchlight and sending shimmering waves of illumination cascadi
ng throughout the room. Beyond that door, however, the cleric could sense a brooding presence. It beat against his mind even now, threatening to rip away thought and sanity in a wave of darkness. Durgoth steeled himself against its power, recalling a defensive spell, and managed a small smile as the pressure in his head receded.
A cry of pain from the assembled Nyrondese drew his attention. The fire-haired bard stood to the left of her oafish warrior, who had fallen to his knees. In the fighter’s right hand, Durgoth could see the cylindrical key, still glowing from whatever spell had activated when he had pressed it to the door.
“I’m all right,” he heard the man say as he rose unsteadily to his feet, “but I don’t think this is the right key.”
“Perhaps we should use the first key we found in the preparation room?” This came from the elf.
The bard shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Durgoth ground his teeth in frustration. It was impossible to imagine how these fools had managed to penetrate so far into the tomb. He watched the assembled Nyrondese as they debated their next course of action, and he was almost as surprised as they when Bredeth gave a cry of anger and swung his blade at the door. The door gave out a sonorous peal when the sword rebounded off its face.
And then it began to bleed. At first, the deep crimson liquid trickled from the spot of contact, but it soon increased its flow until a steady stream of blood shot out from the door. Durgoth watched as the party recovered from its initial shock, but it soon became clear that, despite their efforts to staunch the bizarre wound, the blood would continue to stream out of the door. Already, it covered the steps and pooled thinly around the cleric’s feet.
The Tomb of Horrors Page 26