She threw this last out like a challenge, and Kaerion found himself accepting. It wasn’t because he needed to share the burden of his grief with someone. Not by a long shot. Rather, he knew that he deserved to be reviled for his actions, and what better way than to be reviled by someone he truly cared about. Let Majandra feel the shock and disgust as he listed the details of his own sins. In a perverse way, he knew he would take pleasure in shattering the faith and trust she had placed in him.
They stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily in their anger, staring at each other. He could see the challenge still in the bard’s eyes. When he began, Kaerion held his voice steady, as if retelling a simple tavern story. “Eventually, they let me out of the circular hole that defined my world. I remember blinking hard at the light, as if I had never seen it before. I stank of fear and human waste. Several of Iuz’s servants led me to a large chamber, a shrine of some sort. Even now it is difficult to remember the details.
“As they marched me toward this chamber, the foul demons whispered to me again, but this time, they told me of the ways I would be used and tortured for Iuz’s own pleasure. At this point, I no longer recalled my life before Dorakaa. For me, there was only misery and fear. By the time we reached the door to the shrine, I was shaking in terror. Thoughts of escape were beyond me, but I knew, despite my misery, that I would do anything to avoid the horror that awaited me.
“When they opened the door—” Kaerion’s voice broke as he sputtered and choked on the memories.
Without hesitation, Majandra opened her arms, and he could feel the bard drawing him toward her. He didn’t resist.
“When they opened the door,” Kaerion continued, his voice a bit stronger, “I saw a pack of the foulest demons the Nine Hells had ever spawned. They surrounded a stone slab. As my captors drew me into the room, the hellspawn parted, revealing a boy, no more than eight years old, splayed out like a sacrifice. One of the beasts hopped toward me, its vestigial wings flapping wetly, and gave me a choice. I could either offer myself in the boy’s stead, exchanging my life for his, or they would spare my life and take the boys. I—”
Kaerion’s body nearly convulsed as heaving shudders racked his frame. He could feel hot tears scalding his cheeks and jaw as he relived that memory once again. “Don’t you see?” he nearly shrieked, pulling away from Majandra’s embrace. “I let them kill the boy. I watched as a demon claw ripped the child’s throat apart and the demon pack feasted on his blood. It was my fault! Mine!”
Majandra’s mouth hung open, but she did not leave.
“It was my fault!” he shouted, and then he collapsed in a sobbing heap.
He felt Majandra’s arms wrap themselves around him, her hands gently lifting his tear-stained face up. At first, he closed his eyes, unwilling to see the condemnation he knew would be there, but at last, he forced them open—and was amazed to see compassion and forgiveness in the half-elf’s face.
“It was then I knew Heironeous had never forsaken me,” he said in a much softer voice. “It was I who had walked away from him.”
Tears continued to roll down Kaerion’s face, and he, powerless to stop it, let them fall unchallenged down his face. Gradually, the shudders lessened and the great heaving sobs withdrew, leaving him weakened and empty. Despite his emotional state, he was almost painfully aware of Majandra’s arms as they wrapped gently around his neck. His heart beat in an unfamiliar rhythm.
“Majandra, I—” he began, but was quickly silenced by the press of the half-elf’s lips to his own. He stiffened at first in surprise, but gradually relaxed as the soft touch of her tear-salted lips sent delicious warmth through his grief-spent body. For a brief moment, he felt weightless, suspended in a private universe beyond his own inner demons, a world whose boundaries began and ended in the arms that surrounded him.
Kaerion sighed and returned the kiss deeply—only to be flung out of his contentment by the gurgling scream of a dying guardsman. He looked at the equally stunned bard as shouts and other screams filled the camp.
The attack had begun.
The dark recesses of the swamp came alive with snarling, hissing cries. Kaerion leapt up from his comfortable perch near the half-elf and drew his sword. The final look he cast the bard before running into battle was all too brief, but he was relieved to see the same expression on her face. Later, it seemed to say, and he found himself grinning as he went to meet their enemies.
The camp itself heaved with the press of bodies and naked steel. Despite the seeming chaos, Kaerion’s battle-trained awareness quickly recognized solid defensive tactics employed by the guards as they formed a ring around Phathas and Vaxor. Landra had obviously called in the remaining sentries and Kaerion felt some measure of relief at the captain’s prudent command.
Beneath the red-gold glare of the watch fire, Kaerion caught glimpses of the heretofore-unseen predators that had stalked them through the swamp for days. Even as he neared the battle, he couldn’t keep his gorge from rising at the site of their blunt, wide-lipped heads and bulbous eyes.
A cry off to his left broke Kaerion’s forward charge. In the flickering light, he saw a slouching humanoid raise a steel-tipped spear at a fallen sentry. Three bounding steps brought the bulk of his body crashing into the bullywug, whose own slime-covered form went crashing into the underbrush with an angry hiss. A quick hand helped the guard to her feet before Kaerion turned and ran back to the center of camp.
“Kaerion, to me!” he heard Phathas call from the center of the ringed guards.
With a shout of acknowledgement at the mage’s summons, Kaerion turned the swift thrust of a spear aside with his blade and ducked beneath the wild swing of another opponents sword. Cursing, he realized his path was now blocked by three of the noisome creatures. Raising his sword, he charged into the center of his attackers, taking one through the eye and doubling another over with a sharp kick to the ribs. The third managed a sharp spear jab that caught Kaerion on the side. He cried out as the steel tip of the spear ripped through his cloak and rebounded off of the hard metal surface of his armor. Despite his luck, Kaerion knew he’d have a nasty bruise come morning—if he survived.
The ring of guards had drawn tighter now, collapsing inward with the growing press of humanoid bodies. In the circle’s center, Kaerion saw Vaxor clap his hands together while uttering a sharp prayer to Heironeous. Golden light emanated from his joined fingertips, falling over the beleaguered guards. Kaerion felt a cold stab of guilt at this reminder of the god’s power.
A moment later, an angry buzzing filled the air. One of the creatures gave out a gurgling hiss as an arrow struck it in the back. Four more streaks of death followed in quick succession, and Kaerion knew that Gerwyth lay somewhere in the gnarled trees above the camp, raining arrows upon the attackers. Six more fell dead or dying before Kaerion fought his way through the circle’s center. A moment later, he was relieved to see Majandra’s lithe form bound through the ring of soldiers.
Breathing heavily, he acknowledged Phathas’ reassuring smile with a quick nod of his own. The mage reached out ancient, weathered hands, placed them gently upon his shoulders, and closed thin-lidded eyes in concentration. The hairs on Kaerion’s neck prickled as a string of unintelligible words flowed out of the spellcaster’s mouth in stately rhythm. The old mage’s eyes flew open as he reached the end of his phrase. Raising a feeble hand, he struck Kaerion a surprisingly sharp blow upon the cheek, intoning a single harsh word as flesh struck flesh.
Kaerion blinked once in surprise and then felt energy course from the point of contact to cover his entire body.
“I have made your body harder than the hardest stone,” Phathas said. “Go now and take the battle to our enemies.” The mage gave Kaerion another smile before raising his hands above his head, obviously preparing to cast another spell.
Relieved by the had of arrows and god-wrought aid, the circle of guards was no longer merely on the defensive. Kaerion watched again with satisfaction as Landra, ca
lmly dispatching two bullywugs with neat, economical strokes, held her charges to an even, ordered extension of their ring. Satisfied that the main body of their force had things under control, Kaerion burst from the circle, sword flashing in the firelight, and charged the knot of creatures still streaming into their camp.
A downward slash of his blade severed a spear tip from its wood body. Kaerion spun, letting his momentum carry him forward, and was gratified to feel the dull thunk as his sword bit deeply into the bloated neck of a bullywug, nearly severing its spine. Pulling the sword quickly from the shattered bone, he thrust his blade into the chest of a creature already hissing with outrage. As his opponent fell, Kaerion saw another opening and sent his sword slicing downward, laying open the stomach of a second bullywug.
Kaerion heard a now-familiar screaming gurgle off to his right and was surprised to see Vaxor laying about with his sword. In his left hand, the cleric held a shield embossed with the lightning symbol of Heironeous. Its metallic surface erupted into bright golden light, blinding the priest’s opponents as he drew near. Kaerion could spare no additional thought to Vaxor’s presence, for he found himself surrounded by a circle of bloodthirsty foes.
Ducking a hastily swung sword, Kaerion’s fist lashed out, catching a bullywug on the side of its slime-covered head. The creature stumbled back, disoriented, but before Kaerion could press the attack, the remaining monsters thrust their bristling spears at him. He twisted sharply, nearly dislocating his knee, to avoid the first spear, and deflected the second and third ones with an expertly timed slash of his blade. The final two attacks burst through his guard, striking exposed flesh—only to be repelled by the thin layer of spell-wrought energy covering his body.
The bullywugs stopped their victory scream in mid-gurgle as Kaerion stood in their midst unscathed. Taking advantage of their surprise, Kaerion quickly dispatched two before a rain of arrows killed the remaining ones where they stood, wide-lipped mouths gaping.
“A little late, don’t you think?” Kaerion shouted at Gerwyth, knowing full well that the ranger wouldn’t give away his position to reply.
A quick look at the unfolding battle made it clear to Kaerion that the defenders now had the upper hand, but before he could do more than catch a few breaths, an eerie ululation erupted from the swelling throats of the attacking bullywugs. Instinctively, Kaerion clapped a hand over one ear to shield himself from the effects of the piercing sound. Moments later, one of the rafts used as a makeshift wall shattered beneath the force of a thunderous blow. Splinters of wood flew out like cyclone-tossed darts. A moment of stunned silence settled over the camp as defenders and attackers alike gaped at the source of the disturbance.
Out of the mist-covered shadows of the swamp lumbered a giant, reptilian beast. Each step sent slight tremors through the gore-soaked ground. Two lizardlike heads raised themselves into the air, snapping tooth-filled jaws with an ear-splitting hiss. Before anyone could react, the monster darted out and snared the stunned body of a hapless guard in one of its mouths.
Majandra was the first to react as the screams of the beasts victim crescendoed and then, just as suddenly, stopped. Bolts of blue energy lanced from her extended fingertips, striking the beast with mystical accuracy. The giant lizard roared in pain but continued its forward progress.
With a muffled curse, Kaerion leapt toward the monster.
It was then that he saw the figure riding upon the beast’s back. Nearly half again as tall as the other bullywugs, this snarling humanoid sat easily upon a saddle of horn and black leather. Thickly corded muscles ran from webbed foot to broad shoulder, hidden only by scaled armor that seemed to absorb the firelight. Kaerion could see the curving edge of a large, blood-red axe held confidently in each hand. Around its neck hung a chain of skulls, some animal, some human; each stared vacantly out of empty eye sockets.
Darting in between the snapping jaws of the slavering lizard, Kaerion aimed his sword for a deep cut to the beast’s shoulder—only to be forced to duck as one of its rider’s axes whistled just inches from where his had been. Moving faster than he could recover, one of the lizard’s heads rammed into Kaerion’s body, knocking him off balance. He cried out as the larger bullywugs second axe bit deeply into his own shoulder. Kaerion rolled away, eyeing his opponent warily. He had felt that blow even with the added protection of Phathas’ spell!
He caught sight of Vaxor preparing a spell of his own, and was about to guard the priest’s flank when Phathas shouted, “Kaerion, out of the way! Quickly!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the fighter threw himself off to the left, rolling to his knees as he hit the ground. A bright flash of light filled the campsite, and the air hummed with tension as a bolt of electrical energy blasted at the lizard and its axe-wielding rider. Though the beast reared up in obvious pain, Kaerion was amazed to see that the mounted bullywug had avoided most of the spell’s effects.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Kaerion ran in and laid a deep gash across the now-reeling lizards front leg. As he raised his sword for another blow, Vaxor completed his own spell, and with the name of Heironeous on his lips, he raised his holy symbol into the air. A ray of golden light burst forth from the silver symbol with searing intensity. As it struck the giant lizard, the creature gave out a roaring hiss and then stumbled At that moment, two arrows arced out of the darkness, both taking the creature in the right eye. It gave out another hissing cry before it crashed to the ground dead.
The beasts rider threw himself from the saddle before the giant lizard fell to the ground. Kaerion watched in amazement as the creature rolled gracefully to his feet and charged Vaxor. Such was its speed that the priest barely had time to raise his shield before one of the axes struck the metal device with a sharp clang. The second one snuck under his sword’s guard and lodged deeply in his thigh. The cleric cried out as his attacker, heedless of the danger at his back, pulled out his bloodied axe and kicked the wounded priest to the ground.
Kaerion had started to run toward Vaxor at the first sign of the bullywug’s attack, and he now had a clear shot at the creature’s back. Nearly two decades of training, however, caused him to hesitate. Striking an opponent from behind was never an option—even when the opponent in question had just felled a companion.
The fighter’s hesitation cost him dearly. Both axes free, the bullywug spun to face his latest attacker, lashing downward with both weapons faster than, Kaerion could react. The fighter grimaced as the twin edge’s cut into the flesh in his left shoulder and chest. He would have to remember to thank the mage when this was all over, for those blows would have no doubt left him crippled if it hadn’t been for the wizard’s spell.
The bullywug advanced as Kaerion fell back, hoping to gain some breathing room. As he withdrew, he managed to cut the creature several times, but with no effect. Looking into the bullywug’s eyes confirmed his worst fears—the creature was berserk. Kaerion would have to end this fight quickly.
Grasping his sword with both hands, Kaerion sidestepped one of the bullywug’s axes and brought his sword downward, cutting the creature’s shoulder and splintering its shoulder blade.
It kept coming.
Kaerion landed several cuts on the berserker’s exposed side, but the hideous beast kept advancing. Twice more he felt the sting of its axe, as powerful blows bypassed his magical protection. He could feel Phathas’ spell beginning to falter.
Exhausted and wounded, Kaerion was unable to avoid stumbling on an exposed root. As he fell, his opponent raised a blood-drenched axe into the air and gave a scream of pure hatred. Several arrows thudded into the berserker’s chest, but to no visible effect. Kaerion rolled hard to the left as the axe descended, but he felt no pain from the blow.
Kaerion looked up at his opponent, only to see the bluish glow of Majandra’s blade protruding from its throat. The creature looked as surprised as he—its long, bloated tongue lolling from the side of its gruesome mouth. The creature pitched forward, quite dead, as Majan
dra removed her blade. Kaerion noted with grudging admiration that the bullywug hadn’t let go of its weapon even in death.
At the fall of their hero, the remaining bullywugs let out a despairing wail and withdrew from the camp. Their amphibious forms melted back into the shadows of the swamp. Kaerion could hear the labored breathing of the defenders and the anguished groan of the wounded. Grimly, he accepted Majandra’s aid in rising, and the two walked slowly toward the center of the camp.
Landra had, he noted, already sent several of her people to gather the dead and wounded, including Vaxor, who hobbled over to the knot of people surrounding Phathas. But it was the grim face of Gerwyth that caught everyone’s attention as he melted out of the shadows, holding an object in his hands.
“We have a problem,” he said simply, noting with a nod the elegantly fashioned blade he held between his hands.
“What now?” Kaerion responded, in no mood for additional surprises this night.
“They’ve taken Bredeth,” the elf said, anger and bitterness apparent in his voice.
The companions greeted this announcement in stunned silence. All around them, the mist-filled night reached out its fetid tendrils.
“To the Nine Hells with you and your cursed creatures!” the arrogant noble said through swollen lips.
Durgoth Shem smiled cruelly as the Nyrondese scion offered feeble struggle against his bullywug captors. The cleric drew close to their prisoner and ran the back of an immaculately groomed hand across the man’s bruised face—rough enough to elicit an involuntary hiss of pain.
He had been positively enraged when Braggsh and a contingent of his sniveling pondmates had burst into their camp, screaming and hissing about their defeat at the hands of those noble fools. He was halfway toward eviscerating the entire worthless group of the disgusting creatures when he had caught sight of the drooping figure two of the bullywug warriors held between them. All had not been lost. Now, as Durgoth probed their captive for information, plans upon plans swirled around in his head.
[Greyhawk 07] - The Tomb of Horrors Page 17