“No!” Majandra shouted and flung herself at the guard, but it was too late. As the soldier withdrew the crystal box from the chest, Kaerion heard the soft snick of a releasing catch. Small darts shot out of the chest, buzzing in all directions. Kaerion heard several cries of pain from the group standing before the chest. He raised his own shield just in time—
And nearly dropped it as he watched a sharp-tipped dart cut easily through the air toward Adrys’ unprotected neck. To his amazement, the boy stepped forward and brought his left hand up and at an angle before his face, striking the wooden shaft of the flying needle and knocking it aside.
“Adrys, how did you do that?” he asked, running to the boy’s side.
“Do what, sir?” Adrys asked with a bewildered look on his face.
Kaerion stared at the boy for a moment, confusion stealing over his own features. Perhaps the nearness of danger caused him to see something that wasn’t there. Surely the untrained son of a merchant would be unable to deflect a dart with his hands. There were few seasoned warriors he knew who could do such a thing, unless…
Unbidden, flashes of a pockmarked man in a blood-red robe, hands weaving deadly arcs in a shadowed alley, appeared in Kaerion’s mind, but they were quickly replaced by concern as he heard Majandra shout his name.
Running toward the sound of her voice, the events of the last few moments forgotten in his haste to reach the half-elf, Kaerion never saw the look of cruel satisfaction that passed over Adrys’ face.
21
Majandra held the ring up to the torchlight. A clear jewel set delicately along the ring’s onyx band caught the light, reflecting sparkles like brilliant pixies along the plain stone walls of the room. She concentrated briefly and hummed a single low note. With her now magically enhanced senses, she could see the telltale nimbus of power surrounding the ring—it gleamed golden, albeit weakly. The years of Phathas’ lecturing came back to her in a flash, and she quickly identified the type of spellcraft. It was protective magic, imbued into the ring with consummate skill.
The half-elf was still holding the ring up to the light when Kaerion appeared amid the press of bodies surrounding the opened chest. “Majandra, what’s wrong?” he asked, casting careful glances at the surrounding area with what the bard identified as his professional soldier look. She would never have thought that she’d find such a cold glance appealing, but Majandra had to admit that Kaerion’s concern for her was quite comforting.
“Nothing is wrong, Kaer,” she replied. “I just wanted you to see what I’d found inside the chest. It’s quite exquisite, really.” She held the ring so that he could have a closer look.
Relaxing, Kaerion peered at the piece of jewelry she held within her hand and whistled appreciatively. “I’m no gem crafter, but I’d say that the stone is a diamond of uncommon quality.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but it’s also magical and will help protect its wearer from harm—” she paused, looking around. “Where’s Adrys? This would be perfect for him.”
Intrigued by the ring, the others pressed in to have a look. Thus, it took her a few seconds to locate the boy in the midst of the confusion. “Adrys,” she called out to where he sat, lounging idly against a wall and talking softly with Bredeth, “come here.”
“Majandra,” Kaerion broke in, “I think we should have a talk about Adrys. I’m concerned.”
“I agree,” she replied, shooing away the last of the curious. “Which is why I think that giving him the ring makes the most sense, given our current circumstances.”
“Yes, but maybe we should wait until we’ve had a chance to talk with the others before you do this?” he suggested.
“Nonsense,” Majandra said as she turned to the subject of their conversation, who stood before her with a questioning look upon his face. Though nearly five times his age, the half-elf stood only a hand taller than the boy. She smiled at the lad before holding out her hand, the ring gleaming brilliantly in the center of her palm. “This is for you,” she said, and brought her hand closer when it appeared that the boy would be too shy to take it. “It will help protect you while we’re in the tomb.”
After a few more moments of steady prodding, the boy took the ring. Slowly, he placed the item on his finger and flexed his hand. At last, a smile beamed on his face. “Thank you,” he said, and Majandra was sure she caught the gleam of a tear in his eye. “My pa was supposed to give me a lifeday gift when we made it back to Pitchfield, only…” he paused, “only we never got there.”
Majandra ran an affectionate hand through the lad’s hair. What had happened to the boy was tragic, and she cursed the ill luck that stranded him here—crawling through the dusty corridors of an evil wizard’s tomb.
The bard gave Adrys’ shoulder a squeeze before she let him go back to where he had sat quietly, out of the way of danger. She watched him go for just a moment before turning back to Kaerion. The fighter wore a frown upon his face.
“What is your problem with Adrys?” she asked, unable to fathom his sudden concern. Hadn’t he been one of the few people who had argued for allowing the boy to accompany them into the tomb? “Can’t you see he has been through enough without having you looming about him with a dark cloud of disapproval?”
“It’s not that, Majandra,” Kaerion replied. “Really it isn’t.”
“Then what is it? Tell me.” She was frustrated and let the emotion bleed into her voice.
Kaerion opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was cut off as someone nearby cleared his throat quite loudly.
“We must not dally here any longer, Majandra. There is still another chest to be opened, and we must continue on our way.”
She recognized Vaxor’s low voice. Despite its commanding words, the bard could hear worry and concern coloring the cleric’s deep timbre. She spun to face him.
“The chill of this dank place is taking its toll on Phathas,” the priest said, pointing a rough-skinned finger at the mage, who huddled against his staff in the corner of the room, coughing. “I’d like to explore some more before we have to rest for the day.”
Concern for her old teacher filled her—and guilt for forgetting to consider how he might be faring in this accursed place. “Clear away from the last chest,” she said, “and prepare the group to head back up the crawlway.”
She didn’t wait to see if anyone followed her orders, but moved quickly to the chest and, running practiced hands across its length, checked for any traps.
Satisfied that the chest itself was trap free, she withdrew the picks she used for sensitive locks and began to coax the steel catch that held the chest closed. By the time the half-elf had counted to one hundred, the lock gave a soft click and fell open. Not taking the time to bask in her success, she retrieved the long pole that she had used to flip open the previous chest. Standing against the far wall beneath the crawlway that had led to this treasure room, she carefully lifted up the lid of the chest.
A bright flash of red light almost blinded her, but before she could throw up her arms to protect her eyes, the floor of the room rocked wildly—and then just as suddenly stopped.
That was when she heard the first scream.
Before her, standing amid the crushed remains of the wooden chest, loomed a horrifying creature devoid of skin. Nearly twice the size of Kaerion, the skeletal monster held two large scimitars, one in each bony hand. The beast’s eyeless sockets regarded her with uncanny perception, tracking her every move. She could see that one of the skeleton’s scimitars was already stained with blood, and her own blood ran so cold at the sight that she feared it might stop altogether. Below the beast’s arm, Kaerion’s sword waved unsteadily, as he desperately tried to recover from the force of the monster’s initial attack.