“He is strong, but he cannotbreak free.”
“That is good,” Durgoth said as he settled in to peruse thevellum pages before him. “I hope that you can maintain control. I have importantwork for Bredeth.” He looked up from the text. “Important work indeed.”
The pungent tang of electrified air filled the room.
From her position to the left of the altar, Majandra regarded the smoking corpses with tears in her eyes. The lightning bolt had left nothing but charred flesh in its wake. She gave in to the wave of dizziness that swept over her and dropped to her knees with a gut-wrenching sob.
Death. Everything in this gods forsaken tomb stank of death. Every twisted mural and every corrupted holy symbol in this demented chapel reinforced her perception. She felt death worrying at the bright core of her spirit, like a feasting jackal. It was inside of her now, and with every breath she felt as if she were exhaling a bit more of her own life. If she were anywhere else in the Flanaess, she might have prayed. But not here. Not at the site of Acererak’s twisted power. She was afraid of what dark being might hearher plea.
Instead, she let tears flow down her dirt-streaked face, a silent tribute to the two guards who had given their lives in this tomb. Never mind that they were both dragging bags full of gold and silver coins-thousandsof them if their quick count was in any way accurate-before the lightning bolthad arced down the center aisle of the chapel, striking them both. The guards would find little use for the riches now.
As Gerwyth and Kaerion ran toward her from either corner of the room, she wondered if any of them would have use for the tomb’s treasure.Majandra knew in her heart that all of the gold in the world wouldn’t make upfor the lives lost in this trap-riddled dungeon. Even if they made it out of the tomb with every last bit of treasure, she doubted if the sacrifice would ever be worth it.
Majandra felt strong arms lift her up as a soft voice spoke into her ear. “Peace, little sister,” the soothing words said, though they cameto her as if from a distance. Elvish words, her mind registered at last, and then she recognized Gerwyth’s scent, made slightly muskier by the elf’ssweat-laden exertions in the tomb. The odor was pleasant and, more importantly, familiar. She felt her body relaxing, the aching knot of grief in her chest easing. She trembled a few times before gaining control of herself.
The bard saw Kaerion’s worried gaze and tried to smile herreassurance. Surely, she would have given in to despair long before this had it not been for the fighter’s solid presence. Vaxor’s death had been a cruel blow,one that had cut unexpectedly deep for both of them. Yet somehow, though they had said only a few words in private since that tragic moment, she felt Kaerion’s strength beside her, and knew that their grief was bearable because itwas shared.
“We must try and push on, Majandra,” Kaerion said to herafter a moment. “This chapel is especially evil, even for Acererak’s tomb. I’drather not spend any more time in here.”
She nodded and drew in a deep breath, trying to keep it from turning in to a sob. Gently, she placed her hands upon the rangers shoulder and tapped. Gracefully, Gerwyth withdrew his arms from around her.
“Thank you both,” she said, and then stepped down from thealtar area. As soon as she moved, she noticed that the once opalescent blue stone of the altar had turned a fiery blue-red.
“Gerwyth-”
“I see it,” was the ranger’s whispered reply. “Just keepmoving away.”
The bard backed away slowly, grateful that the elf was taking his own advice. Once clear of the fiery stone, Majandra let out her breath and cast a quick look around the chamber. The chapel itself was over sixty feet long and sixty feet wide, sculpted carefully from the surrounding stone of the tomb. Like other areas of the tomb, the walls of this chapel were covered in mosaics depicting scenes of everyday life. To her dismay, however, the people depicted in these scenes were horribly corrupted. Rotting flesh, skeletal faces, worm-ridden skin-each scene was more ghastly than the last.
Worse still, the whole area was set up like the temples she was familiar with in Rel Mord. Wooden pews filled the east and west portions of this room, while the whole layout drew the observer’s eye to the imposing stonealtar in the center of the south wall. Beyond the angry colored stone, the bard could see a tiered dais. Resting on top of the dais was a simple wooden chair-the ceremonial seat of the presiding cleric. Two large brass candelabrastood to either side of the dais, and Majandra could almost see the smoky flame coming from the five unlit white candles that sprouted from the candelabra like skeletal hands. She shuddered at this image, for every detail of the room spoke not only of evil, but also of goodness corrupted. Even the holy symbols on the walls, many representing the good gods and goddesses of the land, were not exact images. Each had some slight imperfection, and many were twisted to demonstrate the reverse of its intended meaning.
Worried, she scanned the room for signs of Phathas. She caught sight of the old mage leaning his bent back against the wood of the pew closest to the tunnel from which they had entered the tomb. She also saw the three remaining guards carefully searching the skeletal figure that lay upon the floor to the west of the altar, its outstretched hand pointing toward the mist covered expanse of another archway. Landra, the guards’ captain, conferredquietly with Kaerion, who had settled himself carefully near the edge of one of the pews.
“Well,” one of the guards said, “it looks like our next stepis clear. This archway is our only way out.”
“It would seem that way,” Phathas said, turning from hisexamination of the wooden pews, “but I would be very careful following throughon such an assumption.”
The old mage’s voice quavered across the chapel’s distance.Majandra thought that he sounded tired-more tired than she had ever heard him. Awave of sadness washed over her. She knew that as deeply as she grieved for those who had died, their loss would have cut the mage deeper-especially theloss of Vaxor. The two men had been close friends for decades, and now it looked as if the weight of those deaths bore down upon the mage with an implacable force. Majandra could see just how much the wizened mage leaned upon his staff as he made his way toward the center of the chapel.
“I agree,” the bard found herself saying. “The skeletonpointing toward that archway seems too obvious a clue. I say we split up and give the room another search. But be careful not to touch anything.”
Choosing the area behind the wicked altar, Majandra lost herself in the close examination of the stone wall. She had begun to lose track of time when a shout went up from the opposite area of the chapel. Turning, she saw one of the guards pointing to a small section of the wall, several feet in front of a large, stoppered urn. She made her way toward the guard but waited for the others to arrive before giving the indicated area a close examination.
Before her, about four feet off the ground, Majandra could see a small slot in the stone. Above the slot, the letter O was etched faintly into the gray wall. While the others congratulated the sharp-eyed guard, Majandra tugged at her lower lip, deep in thought. Something about this slot triggered her bardic memory, and she chased that elusive trigger through the twists and turns of her “inner library.” Around her, she could hear the groupdebating their next course of action. Voices rose and faded, points of view were exchanged, but she heard it all from a great distance.
At last, she honed in on the memory-and nearly shouted in herexcitement. “I’ve got it,” she said with such conviction that it stopped allconversation.
“Got what, little sister?” Gerwyth asked in a wry tone.
“I have the answer,” she responded. When she saw the blankfaces staring at her, she intoned, “‘If shades of red stand for blood the wise;will not need sacrifice ought but a loop of magical metal-you’re well along yourway!’”
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “It’s in the poem. Thatcircle is in the shape of a ring-a ‘loop’ of metal. All we need to do is place amagical ring on to that circle and something will happen.”
“Yeah,” one of the guards asked, “but do you know exactlywhat will happen?”
“Well, not exactly,” Majandra admitted. “But the poem hasguided us correctly so far. I say we risk it.”
The group conferred for a few moments before unanimously opting to follow her hunch. Grateful for their trust, she rummaged through her pouches, but found nothing. She turned to the assembled group. “I gave the ringwe found in the room with the three chests to Adrys,” she said. A knot formed inher throat as she said these words. Kaerion had tried to warn her, but she had ignored him, and now Vaxor was dead-quite possibly because of her unwillingnessto listen.
Thankfully, Kaerion laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Noone’s blaming you,” he said softly. “We just need a ring so that we can get outof here.”
“And I have just the thing,” Gerwyth said, breaking thetension. They turned to find the elf holding a small
