Free The Tomb of Horrors by Undead), Keith Francis Strohm - (ebook by Flandrel

his way, and
though he was able to meet the clerics eyes, he found himself shrinking inside,
trying to hide his shame from that penetrating countenance. If the cleric had
discovered anything, he did not, thankfully, confront him.
    As time passed, Kaerion’s head began to ache and he found his
muscles trembling, as much from the onslaught of nightmares and sleepless nights
as from an absence of ale. Kaerion gritted his teeth and bore the pain. There
would be time for indulgences soon enough. He just hoped he had the strength to
survive until then.
     
    * * *
     
    A few nights before the group was supposed to leave the city,
Gerwyth tapped Kaerion lightly upon the shoulder and pointed to a secluded
corner of the suite. Phathas and Vaxor were engaged in a long discussion
regarding the implications of a verse on some ancient scroll, and both Majandra
and Bredeth were doing some final negotiations with one of the merchants who was
providing the draft animals for their expedition. Alone and, truth be told,
anxious for some company, Kaerion shrugged and followed Gerwyth. For once, the
elf’s face did not bear a mocking smile. His demeanor was uncharacteristically
serious.
    Kaerion stared at his friend. The silence and hurt of the
last few days stretched out between them like a yawning chasm. There had been
several attempts at normal conversation between the two of them the day after
their arrival in Rel Mord, but each one had ended with shouting and the same
bitter feelings of hurt, anger, and betrayal. It took more than a few moments
for the silence to break.
    When it did, it was the elf who spoke first. “I hate seeing
you like this, Kaer.”
    His friend’s words were spoken softly, carefully, and try as
he might to deny it, Kaerion could hear the concern in the ranger’s voice.
    “You should have told me who we were supposed to meet,
Gerwyth,” he replied. “You should have told me everything.”
    The elf nodded and waited a bit before speaking. “You’re
right, of course. I should have. It was wrong of me to hold back on you like
that.”
    Kaerion sat stunned for just a moment. In all the years that
he had traveled with Gerwyth, this was the first time the free-spirited elf had
ever apologized for anything.
    “It’s just that I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you all
about this job, and I knew I would really need you on this one.”
    “There’s a reason why I wouldn’t have come, Ger,” Kaerion
replied, heat building in his voice. “All of this,” he indicated the lavish room
and the two nobles who dickered on oblivious of the two guides, “reminds me of
the life I left behind, the life that my own mistakes destroyed. It’s like
Galadorn….”
    He paused for a moment after he spoke the holy sword’s
name—even now, after everything he’d forsworn, he couldn’t speak about the blade
without experiencing a frisson of awe and reverence.
    “That sword reminds me of everything that I’ve lost. It’s a
damned curse. The last and final punishment meted out by the god I betrayed.
Only now, I have to spend months pretending to be nothing more than a hired
sword while traveling with a pack of nobles and their Heironean cleric.” Kaerion
pitched his voice even softer before continuing. “Do you know what Vaxor will do
if he uncovers my sin?”
    Gerwyth nodded and placed a hand upon Kaerion’s shoulder,
giving it a companionable squeeze. “I do understand, Kaer. Truly I do. We have
traveled many leagues together, my friend, and I have watched you suffer from
the mistakes you’ve made. You have rebuilt a part of yourself from the ashes of
your defeat, and that takes great strength and courage, whatever you may think.
But a half-life is no life at all. I’ve seen the way you drink, hoping that it
will fill the part of you that is still missing, the part that died over ten
years ago. The time has come for you to stop running and face that darkness
inside.”
    Kaerion shrugged the