This time it was Vaxor who rose to his feet before the entrance. Covering his face with one arm, he raised his holy symbol before him and called upon the Arch Paladin for aid. A bluish-white glow suffused the silver symbol, flaring sharply as another gust of wind brought a rush of foul air up from the passageway. For a moment, Majandra thought the cleric would fall back before the blast, but instead he moved a step forward and called upon his god again. A peal of thunder erupted as Vaxor completed his prayer, and a gentle rain began to fall.
Majandra cried out in surprise as a familiar smell washed over the company. For where every drop of rain struck, there sprang the lush scent of roses. The rest of the expedition was equally stunned. Each member raised their arms in wonder at the sweet relief of the god’s rain, and several burst into laughter. And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the misting rain stopped. And yet, the smell of roses lingered still, overpowering the rank air from the tomb.
The half-elf walked quickly over to where the priest was assisting Phathas to his feet. “That was wonderfully done, Vaxor,” she said with more feeling than she intended.
The cleric offered her a courtly bow. “Though Heironeous is the Lord of War, there is beauty in his service, my lady,” he said with only a hint of reproach reaching her ears.
Phathas, quiet during this exchange, placed a shaking hand upon Vaxor’s shoulder. “Well done, my friend,” he said. “Well done.” And then to Landra, who had approached quietly—“Assemble your guards and have them gather the supplies we’ll need for the rest of our journey. We will soon enter Acererak’s tomb.”
Majandra turned and walked back to the supply rafts, planning to assist the guards in their task. She very nearly stumbled when a familiar voice cut across the camp.
“How very much like humans,” Gerwyth shouted to no one in particular, “leaving before the guests arrive!”
The half-elf cast a hopeful look in the direction of the voice and felt her heart lurch as she saw only the ranger helping the battered Bredeth down the path toward the encampment. Just as a sob welled in her throat, she caught sight of Kaerion, and, to her surprise, another figure—a young man, walking behind the elf. Somewhere inside the excited jumble that made up her thoughts, Majandra knew that she should be curious about the new arrival, but her feet had already begun to propel her toward a certain black-maned fighter, and all questions evaporated as she threw her arms around him.
Kaerion fastened the last catch of his armor before girding on his shield. The comfortable weight of the mail settled around him, and for the first time in several weeks, he felt truly protected. Though the early morning sun had already begun its relentless, burning assault against the land, he could feel the chill air emanating from the tunnel before him. At least he’d be able to wear the heavy chain without covering himself in sweat after the first three steps.
Around him, the rest of the expedition was making final preparations before descending into the dark depths of the tomb. Gently, he drew his sword from its scabbard and stretched out the muscles in his sword arm by practicing some basic drills. He felt refreshed after a long night’s rest and was grateful that Phathas had decided to delay the party’s entry into the tomb until Bredeth and his rescuers had a chance to rest.
Speaking of which, he had promised the young noble he would keep an eye on Adrys. Bredeth had been most insistent, to the point of not letting Vaxor tend his wounds until Kaerion had sworn an oath to watch over the lad. He would never have guessed that the formerly arrogant noble would have grown so protective of a commoner, but battles such as they had fought since leaving Rel Mord were enough to change anyone. Kaerion was grateful that Bredeth had changed for the better.
Searching the surrounding encampment, he spied Adrys in conversation with Landra. The guard captain seemed to be in the midst of lecturing him. He drew nearer just in time to see her hand the lad a short training sword. “Can you handle one of these?” she asked in that no-nonsense tone that Kaerion had come to identify with the seasoned veteran.
Adrys shook his head. “No,” he managed eventually. “My da kept me away from guardsmen as much as possible. He preferred my learning how to keep his ledgers and accounts rather than any weapons work.”
The guard captains slow clearing of her throat told Kaerion just exactly what she thought of that notion. He found himself smiling, just a bit, at Adrys’ obvious discomfort.
“Well lad,” Landra said, finishing her lecture with one final admonition, “see to it that you poke the sharp end into anything that tries to bite you, and stay out of everyone’s way.” With that, she clapped the boy hard about the shoulders and turned, barking several orders at her men.
Adrys held the sword awkwardly in his hand for a few more moments. Catching sight of Kaerion close by, he shrugged. “She doesn’t like me very much, does she?” he asked in a despairing tone.
Kaerion’s smile deepened. “She likes you just fine, lad. She just wants to see you come out of the tomb alive,” he said as kindly as he could.
In fact, the very subject of Adrys accompanying the party inside the tomb had sparked a lively and heated debate within the company. Keeping Adrys out of the tomb meant weakening the expedition’s strength, as they would be forced to post some of their number as guards to protect him, while allowing him to accompany them meant that someone would always have to keep an eye on him. Personally, Kaerion was glad that Phathas had decided to allow the boy to journey with them inside the tomb. The oath he swore to Bredeth would have seriously complicated matters. As it was, the lad would be safest traveling in the protection of the entire party.
Just then, Gerwyth tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “It is time, Kaer,” the ranger said. “Phathas has ordered everyone to gather at the mouth of the tunnel. Three guards will lead in, with you and I following. We’re to keep an eye out for any sign of danger. Phathas, Vaxor, and Majandra will march behind us, with Bredeth, Landra, and the remaining guards bringing up the rear.” And then, turning to Adrys, he said, “You, my young friend, have the honor of walking next to one of the wisest mages I have ever known. Try and stay out of trouble there.”
The ranger smiled, taking the sting from his words, and then turned toward the crowd gathering at the mouth of the tunnel. Kaerion shrugged apologetically as Adrys rolled his eyes at the ranger’s retreating back, then he placed a gentle hand on the lad’s shoulder and guided him toward his place in the assembling line.
Vaxor was just finishing his benediction when Kaerion found his own place in the party’s order. Years of habit forced him to recheck his gear one final time. Countless lives had been lost, he knew, from carelessness. His would not be one of them. Armor, shield, pack—everything checked out, as he knew it would, but he shook his left leg gingerly as the unfamiliar weight of a second scabbard pulled at his hip. He had, with a great deal of silent cursing, decided to take Galadorn with him. Knowing the blasted curse he labored under, it would do him no good to try and leave the sword with the supplies on the rafts. At least this way he wouldn’t find the bulk of the sword suddenly tangling his pack when he least needed any distractions.
Kaerion gripped the pommel of his other sword, which rested lightly in its scabbard, as Phathas signaled the expedition forward. A man at ease with the gods would have breathed his own personal prayer as the guards in front of him descended into the tunnel—for they were about to despoil one of the deadliest tombs in all the Flanaess. Kaerion merely spit once and cast a quick smile at Gerwyth before heading down into the darkness of the tunnel.
Though Vaxor’s blessing the previous day had neutralized the worst of the tomb’s fetid stench, the air blowing up from the deeper recesses of the tunnel carried with it a hint of its former corruption. Breathing through his mouth, Kaerion avoided the remaining stink. The chill breath of the tomb touched something deep within him. He sensed, if such a thing were truly possible, the promise of malevolence within its dank passage—and something deeper, something that spoke of darkness and isolation, and a power stronger even than death.