“Anyway,” Majandra said, interrupting his thoughts, “with the wards in this room counteracting our magic, it’s too dangerous to go fooling about with things. We might activate a trap we have no power to overcome.” Kaerion watched as the half-elf’s gaze raked the room. “Besides,” she continued, “there is still more to Acererak’s riddle, and I think that something is in this room. It’s—”
“The statues,” Gerwyth finished, sounding very pleased with himself. Kaerion sighed as his friend pointed to the hulking iron statues that guarded each corner of the room. The metal figures stood over eight feet tall, and each wielded a vicious-looking black iron weapon. Turning to face Majandra, the ranger composed his features in a mock imitation of the half-elf. “‘The iron men of visage grim do more than meets the viewer’s eyes,’” he intoned ominously, and then stuck his tongue out at the bard. “And you thought no one ever listened to what you had to say.”
Majandra offered the elf her most dazzling smile, and Kaerion found himself once more feeling uncomfortably jealous. Concentrate on the matter at hand, he chided himself. “Let’s spread out and search those statues,” he said to the rest of the group. “And be careful not to spring any traps!”
It took a short while for the group to examine each of the statues. Only one, the image of a hulking fighter wielding a spike-studded mace, looked different enough to warrant further investigation. After carefully checking it for traps, Majandra signaled to Kaerion, Gerwyth, and Bredeth. The three of them each grabbed a portion of the statue and pushed. Within moments, they all heard a loud scraping sound as the mass of black iron moved slowly backward, revealing a chute that spiraled down into darkness.
Kaerion clapped his two assistants on the shoulders heartily as they rested from their recent exertions. Though the elf offered him his usual smirk, Kaerion could see that something was troubling Bredeth. The young noble’s face was twisted into a grimace. “What bothers you, Bredeth?” he asked. For a moment, Kaerion didn’t think that the nobleman would answer, but eventually the man’s face composed itself.
“N-nothing, Kaerion,” Bredeth said. “I… I think I might have twisted something in my back.”
Kaerion nodded. He didn’t quite believe the young man, but he wasn’t willing to pry. Whatever troubled the nobleman, he’d share it when he was ready. Kaerion’s experience had taught him that lesson.
“Well, then,” Kaerion said, “I’ll go down first. When I signal that everything is safe, I want the rest of you to come down slowly. Is that clear?”
There was no dissent as the fighter sheathed his sword and crawled feet first into the stone shaft. Before he slipped down into the darkness, he gave Majandra a crooked smile. The bard smiled in return and said nothing—but Kaerion heard everything he needed to hear in that silence.
With a final wave of his hand, he slid down the chute.
The stone door sank noiselessly into the floor, revealing a dust-filled room beyond.
“Congratulate yourselves while you can,” Durgoth said, feeling a frisson of anticipation work its way up his spine as the Nyrondese slapped each other heartily on the back. After a few unsuccessful attempts at opening the door, Majandra had tried the first key—successfully. That woman was as intelligent as she was beautiful. Briefly, he remembered catching sight of her in Sydra’s scrying, and he also remembered what he had planned for her.
Durgoth pushed his excitement away and concentrated on following the Nyrondese silently. At his command, the sorcereress had cloaked all of them with an invisibility spell. Though he couldn’t see them, he knew that his followers lurked somewhere behind him, ready to attack when the time was right.
He entered the chamber protected by the sinking door just a few moments after his enemies. The nearness of Acererak’s spirit nearly crushed his mind. The protective wards he had woven like a castle wall around him were fraying and ready to split.
Swirling dust caught his attention as the Nyrondese party fanned out to explore the room. Within moments the dust had formed into the semblance of a man and approached the tomb’s defilers. Looking at the creature through senses that were stretched to their breaking point beneath the dark wizard’s metaphysical assault, it was clear that the mystic construct offered no real danger. The true presence of Acererak lingered somewhere within this room, cleverly hidden.
Phathas too must have realized this, for the mage commanded the rest of his party to ignore the insubstantial creature. Instead, he ordered the bard to place a cylindrical key within the indentation that marked the center of this high-peaked vault Durgoth watched as the fiery-haired half-elf carefully inserted the key and turned it three times. The floor trembled mightily.
Durgoth watched in amazement as the south section of the room rose into the air, disgorging centuries of dust and powdered stone. He fell back quickly as his enemies each backed away from the moving floor. When the dust cleared, he could see a vault, composed entirely of silver, now filled the latter half of the room. Beyond that door he could sense Acererak’s spirit rising in power, eager to be set free upon the world once again.
After a brief hesitation, the elf walked up to the door, grabbed the inset ring in the vault’s center, and pulled. The vault door swung open slowly, revealing a veritable king’s ransom in treasure. The glitter of gems, jewelry, and countless thousands of coins mesmerized the eye as light entered the vault’s interior for the first time in innumerable centuries. Durgoth nearly jumped as he heard a slow whistle of appreciation behind him. He cast an angry glance at his followers, knowing that they couldn’t see him, but wishing that he could kill them all now. Thankfully, the Nyrondese were engrossed in their own examination of Acererak’s burial vault and hadn’t detected them—yet.
His anger dissipated as he watched Bredeth jerk violently forward, like a rag doll responding to the commands of a cruel owner. The prophecy had been explicit about the steps needed to summon Acererak and retrieve the key. Durgoth had made sure that Sydra knew what she needed to have Bredeth do once they had stumbled upon the wizard’s crypt.
Durgoth smiled as the noble’s companions called out to him. Heedless of their cries, the young man reached out and touched the top of a small skull that lay in the back of the tomb. Durgoth fell to his knees as he felt Acererak’s spirit respond to the touch and phase into this plane of existence. Waves of dark energy filled the room, and the last of Durgoth’s spiritual defenses crumbled.
“Now!” he shouted to his followers—and watched calmly as their shimmering forms winked into existence moments before they reached the confused knot of Nyrondese nobles.
The battle had begun.
Kaerion spun at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, hastily raising his shield as shadowy figures appeared out of nowhere. Among them, he recognized the familiar shape of a red-cloaked man, moving with unearthly speed toward him. Anger warred with disbelief. Their attackers from Rel Mord had returned. But how?
He didn’t have time to answer. The robed figure leapt the remaining few feet between them and aimed a vicious kick at Kaerion’s head. Kaerion brought up his shield, blocking the kick, but the force of the blow knocked his shield a few inches to the left, offering the monk’s follow-through punch no resistance. Kaerion rolled with the blow, letting some of its force dissipate as his momentum carried him toward the vault’s far wall.
The monk continued forward, pressing the attack. Though Kaerion was armored and relatively unhurt, he still had difficulty parrying the flurry of kicks and strikes the pock-faced man was delivering. Desperately, he ducked beneath a roundhouse kick and sliced viciously with his sword. Obviously surprised by the maneuver, his opponent didn’t quite dance out of the way in time. Kaerion’s blade cut deeply into the man’s calf.