“There may be other ways out of this hall,” Gerwyth said to the group as they assembled near the tunnel’s entrance. “I suggest that we move in pairs, keeping each other in sight, and check the walls for hidden doors.”
The expedition split up, and Kaerion found himself happily partnered with Majandra. Despite their growing closeness and the experience they had shared on the night of the bullywug attack, events since then had prevented them from exploring their newfound bond. Although the peril that they currently found themselves in did not lend itself to lowering their guard and sharing intimacies, Kaerion had to admit that he felt a surge of emotions—all of them pleasant—when the flame-haired bard was nearby.
They had not been searching long when one of the guards posted to the western wall of the room shouted that she had discovered the outlines of a door. Kaerion turned, the words “don’t touch anything” on his lips, when he heard a loud click. Kaerion desperately ran toward the pair of guards, diving the last few feet.
He was too late.
Moments before he reached the guard, her body shuddered. Twin spears, their wicked blades covered in blood, erupted from the hapless soldier’s back. She fell to her knees and then, with a single gurgling breath, toppled to the floor. By the time Kaerion’s momentum carried him to the body, a line of blood had pooled on the floor.
Vaxor was at the soldier’s side instantly, placing a hand upon her throat. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, confirming what Kaerion had already suspected—the woman was beyond the cleric’s help. Nodding his own understanding, Kaerion rose to his feet as the priest began a softly spoken prayer to protect the soul’s journey as it sped toward the Arch Paladin. Kaerion wondered if there would be anyone who would pray in such a way for his soul—not that someone who had betrayed their god so deeply would have any right to expect mercy or reward in the afterlife.
The cleric bowed as he spoke the final words of the prayer and rose slowly to his feet. “We must find a suitable resting place for the body,” Kaerion heard him say to Phathas as the mage walked over, laying a heavy hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Then, when we leave this accursed place, we will take the bodies of the fallen back to the temple of Heironeous to see what can be done for them.”
“You are most generous,” Phathas replied, motioning for two guards to do as the priest bid. Once that gruesome work was finished, the party returned once more to their search of the walls.
“I sure hope we find something else here, Kaerion,” the bard said as the two of them knelt below a lurid depiction of two hawk-headed humans. “I’ve no wish to step through another teleporting archway. I still can’t think straight from the last one.”
Kaerion tried to smile at Majandra’s words, but he succeeded in no more than a grimace. “I understand completely,” he said, “though I’d settle for a teleporting arch if it meant we could bypass all the tomb’s traps.”
The half-elf grunted her affirmative and then returned her attention to the section of wall before her. The two sat there in silence for a few moments more. Kaerion had just finished rapping on a block of stone with the hilt of his dagger when Majandra spoke again. “Have you noticed anything strange about Bredeth lately?” she asked.
Kaerion drew his attention away from the wall and looked at his companion. Even now, hundreds of feet below ground, covered in sweat and dirt, he admired the way the torchlight played in her eyes and among her hair. It took a few more moments for him to register that she had repeated the question.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he apologized, feeling his face flush beneath the sudden heat there. He tried to avoid the bard’s eyes, but couldn’t help see the sparkle of amusement glistening in them. “Something strange about Bredeth?” he continued. “Well, he has been a bit subdued since the bullywugs kidnapped him, but experiences like that can affect a person deeply. I’m not sure I’d call that strange.”
“You’re right, of course,” the half-elf said. “He has been subdued, but it’s more than that. He’s been too… agreeable lately. It’s not like him.”
Kaerion nodded and followed her gaze to where the subject of their conversation stood before another section of wall, dutifully searching. He opened his mouth to reassure Majandra, but before he could speak, Gerwyth’s voice echoed across the hall.
“I think I’ve found something!” the elf said excitedly. “It looks like an illusion of some sort.”
Kaerion walked over to where his friend stood. On the wall was a painting of a heavily muscled human with the head of a jackal holding a sphere at his waist. Carefully, Gerwyth extended the shaft of an arrow and touched the brightly painted sphere. To Kaerion’s surprise, the wooden shaft disappeared as it pressed through the sphere. It was clear that Gerwyth remembered their experience at the demonic mouth earlier, for the ranger gingerly pulled the arrow shaft back out of the red circle.
It emerged unscathed.
By now, the rest of the expedition had gathered around. Phathas moved forward and studied the illusory sphere intently. After a few moments of soft muttering, he raised a single gnarled finger and pointed at the vivid picture. There was a bright flash that nearly blinded Kaerion. He cried out, throwing an arm across his face. The others must not have been as quick, for he heard their cursing continue.
Blinking the last of the pulsing circles from his vision, Kaerion peered at the wall once again—and was surprised to find that the full-length painting of the jackal-headed human had disappeared, replaced by the uneven expanse of a rocky tunnel. He could see that, like the tunnel that lead from the gargoyle room to this one, the passage before them rapidly shrank down to a crawlway.
Kaerion made sure his shield was securely fastened to his back and then called for a torch. “Gerwyth and I will head down the passage first,” he said to the group. “We’ll call back if it looks safe.” He nodded once to the elf and then entered the passageway.
The walls here were rough and unadorned. In the light of his torch, he could see tiny rivulets of water running down the sides. We must be underneath the swamp, he thought, and wondered how long the tomb’s ancient stonework had kept out the press of mud and water above their heads. Kaerion’s morbid speculation was interrupted as both he and the ranger were brought up short by a blank wall.
“Dead end,” he said unnecessarily and let out a sharp curse. “We’ll have to go back and tell the others.”
“Not so fast, Kaer. Look here,” Gerwyth said, pointing to the left side of the wall.
Kaerion peered into the flickering corner of the wall and saw the faint outlines of a door, cleverly hidden in the stone. He’d forgotten how much he counted on the rangers sharp elven eyes.
“Should be easy to open,” Gerwyth said. “Just press here and—” the ranger’s words cut off as the floor space he was kneeling on cracked and tilted forward wildly, spilling the elf through the now-opened door.
“Ger!” Kaerion shouted as his friend’s lithe form disappeared. Crawling carefully to the edge of the unstable section of the floor, Kaerion peered through the door, relieved to see the normally graceful elf pulling himself slowly up from the floor where he had been dumped in an unceremonious heap.
“I’m all right,” the ranger said as he adjusted the straps of his pack. The elf gave a slow whistle a few moments later. “I think you should bring the others, Kaer. They’re going to want to see this.”
Kaerion nodded. “I’ll be right back, Ger. Be safe.”