“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” the ranger said, a crooked smile forming on his face. “Now use that human penchant for haste and gather the others, you orc-brained lummox.”
By the time Kaerion informed the others of their discovery and the entire group had navigated the trapped door, the ranger had set torches into several empty iron sconces that dotted the walls of this room. It wasn’t the sconces’ ancient craftsmanship, however, that currently captured the attention of everyone in the large chamber. Kaerion made his way through the press of bodies that gathered in the center of the room. In the now-bright light, he could see three large chests, one made of gold, another of silver, and the third of sturdy oak bound with thick iron bands. Majandra had already declared the area around the chests free from traps, and several guards had tried to lift them—but to no avail. Each of the chests was inexplicably bound to the floor.
Kaerion watched as the half-elf walked over to the gold chest, intent on bypassing its ancient lock. A premonitory warning, or perhaps it was merely a surge of overprotectedness, sent a frisson of warning up his spine. Quickly, he motioned for two of the guards to flank Majandra as she bent her skills toward opening the chest. He also placed himself in front of Adrys, who, he was unhappy to note, had moved to a position far too close to the only objects of interest in this room.
“A few moments more,” the half-elf said as she manipulated two small metal tools inside the chest’s metal lock. True to her word, a few moments later, Kaerion heard the lock click.
Majandra gave the assembled group a wink. “See,” she said as she deftly placed the tools back into a hidden fold of her cloak. “Nothing to it. Now all we have to do is lift the lid, and we’ll see what this chest has been hiding from—”
The rest of the bard’s words were cut off by the piercing shriek she let out as the top of the chest flew open, disgorging a tumble of black, serpentine shapes.
“Asps!” Vaxor shouted above the din of angry hissing coming from the released snakes.
Kaerion watched in horror as the writhing mass of scales and fangs struck out at Majandra and the two flanking guards. In desperation, one of the guards drew forth his sword and stabbed in to the attacking asps, while the other fell to the floor holding his hand, which already looked black and swollen with venom.
As Kaerion rushed forward, bringing his shield from its resting place and drawing his own blade, he could see that Gerwyth had already drawn his bow. It was clear to Kaerion that the elf’s firing line was hampered by the press of bodies that stumbled away from the mass of snakes.
“Kaerion,” he heard Phathas shout, “clear Majandra and the others away! I can deal with the asps myself.”
The mage’s words were all the impetus he needed. Concern for the guards and, more importantly, his fear for Majandra, had already drawn him close to the battle. Sheathing his sword, Kaerion leapt toward the half-elf, who was quickly stumbling back from the snapping fangs of the asps. He slammed his shield into the press of snakes just as his forward momentum knocked Majandra away from danger. Rolling quickly to his feet, Kaerion was forced to bring his shield up again and again to parry the enraged asps as their mouths darted in at amazing speeds, seeking the soft flesh of his arm or shoulder. One snake, untangling itself from the others, had managed to crawl underneath Kaerion’s guard. He felt a slight pressure against his abdomen as the asp’s fangs met the coiled steel rings of his mail. Realizing he had become as much of an obstacle as Majandra had to whatever Phathas had planned, Kaerion kicked at the snake with his boot, and then shouldered the unwounded guard out of the way.
As he collapsed in a heap on top of the beleaguered soldier, Kaerion saw Phathas step forward and spread both his hands, joining them at his thumbs. The mage shouted another eldritch phrase, and a sheet of crackling flames erupted from his outstretched hands, engulfing the asps. Their angry hissing grew even louder as the barrage of flame continued, until Kaerion couldn’t distinguish between the asps’ sounds and the sizzle of burning flesh. When Phathas finally withdrew his hands, only a pile of ash remained where the snakes had been.
Kaerion rolled off of the guard and helped the winded man to his feet. He was relieved to note that Landra and a few of her charges had pulled the wounded guard out of the battle and carried him over to Vaxor. The cleric now knelt by the stricken man’s side and laid a hand upon the swollen length of his arm. A blue glow suffused the priest’s hand, and wherever it touched, the black puffy flesh returned to a more natural size and hue. In a few moments, the wounded guard was completely healed. Though he was happy for the man, Kaerion felt uncomfortable at the reminder of Heironeous’ power.
“The polite thing to do before you knock a lady over is to warn her first,” Majandra’s smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.
“My apologies, lady,” he said in his most chivalric tones. “I will endeavor to warn her ladyship whenever the need arises again to knock her on her petticoats.”
Kaerion felt his mood lighten as the bard smiled, her eyes twinkling with laughter and something else—something far deeper and sweeter than amusement. Unbidden, something that Gerwyth had tried to tell him in all the years they had traveled together flashed through his mind. Though he had suffered through his own imperfection and weakness, there were still things for which life was worth living. He would never have guessed that one of those things would be an enchantingly beautiful daughter of a Nyrondese noble house.
The satisfaction of his newfound revelation lasted only a few moments, for as soon as the expedition fully regrouped after the asp attack, the bard returned to the gold chest. She examined it carefully, tapping its inner walls, and then shook her head. “Nothing inside here at all,” she informed the assembled group, “except some old asp scales.”
Kaerion could hear the disappointment in the collective sigh that went through the group. Still, he knew that the setbacks they experienced so far would not deter the Nyrondese from their goal. They had planned and sacrificed so much for this journey. He could see in the set of every shoulder—including Majandra’s—that giving up was not an option. He had to admire that kind of conviction.
Although somewhere along the way he had come to view these nobles as his companions and not merely his employers, he still felt that, for the most part, their expedition was foolish. He had risked his life at first because of the promised money, and then simply because that was what one did for companions—even if at that time he felt like a complete outsider, in danger of his secret guilt becoming exposed. Kaerion knew now that, with the probable exception of the Heironean priest, whose faith and commitment to the ideals of his god would not allow him such weakness, the rest of the nobles had accepted him into their company as an equal, a valued companion, despite who he was.
Kaerion now stood at the brink of believing in their goal—the resurrection of an entire kingdom—not simply because of his growing love (yes, he had to admit it for what it was) for Majandra, but because there simply was too much evil and destruction in the world to allow Nyrond, a once bright and powerful nation, to die without a fight.
The click of another lock brought Kaerion back to his present situation. Majandra had moved on to the silver chest, apparently disposing of its lock as easily as she did the first one. He was relieved to see, however, that the half-elf moved quickly away from the unlocked chest. She relieved a long wooden pole from one of the guards. Carefully, she extended the pole toward the silver chest, and with a deft move of her wrists, she lifted its hinged top open with the awkward instrument.
Nothing happened.
Slowly, the half-elf walked toward the open chest, and with her came several guards, including Landra, their swords drawn. “Nothing here but a crystal box,” one of the guards said, sheathing her weapon and reaching into the chest.