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

elf’s hands off of his shoulder. “That
is my decision to make, Ger, not yours. When I’m ready for such a journey, I’ll
take it.”
    “Perhaps,” Gerwyth replied, “if you were an elf, such a
sentiment would hold true. But the life-flame of your kind burns fast, and I
would not see you carry such pain to the grave. You are a true friend, Kaerion,
and I will bend every ounce of my power to help you.”
    “Like you’re doing with Phathas?” Kaerion said Bitterness
burned like a hot coal on his tongue.
    Gerwyth raised an eyebrow at his response. “Phathas is an old
friend. And yes, I would do anything I could to help him—even brave your wrath.”
A trace of that familiar mocking smile crept upon the elf’s face.
    Despite himself, Kaerion found his anger abating somewhat.
“You could have told me about Phathas,” he said with just a trace of pettiness.
    “That was another lifetime, Kaer,” Gerwyth responded. “And
truth be told, I didn’t think you’d be that interested. Besides, if I regaled
you with all of the details of my life, you’d be half-dead before I finished.”
His smile grew even wider.
    “Yeah,” Kaerion replied, a grin forming on his own face, “no
doubt from boredom.”
    The elf’s almond-shaped eyes widened in a poor imitation of
innocent shock, and he let out a sharp laugh before offering Kaerion his sword
arm. “So,” he asked, “shall we still travel together as shield-mates?”
    Kaerion regarded his companion’s outstretched arm. He was
still a bit angry with Gerwyth, but only because the elf’s actions forced him to
deal with things he had wished remained hidden. It was the way of friends to
speak and act truthfully toward one another. He thought that in a strange way,
by hiding the truth from him, Gerwyth might have been revealing an even deeper
truth—a revelation that would not have been possible when the world existed in
black and white.
    Finally, Kaerion grasped the elf’s forearm. “Always, my
friend,” he said. “Always.”
    “Then come,” the elf said. “Let us lend our own considerable
scholarship to the debate raging in this very room.” He slapped Kaerion once on
the shoulder and then rose, heading toward Vaxor and Phathas, who were now
engaged in a heated exchange over the scroll’s meaning.
    May the gods have mercy upon all of us, Kaerion thought as he
joined the trio.
    Outside, the winter wind whipped hard against the painted
glass of the suite.
     
    * * *
     
    Death lurked in the shadows of the room.
    Durgoth couldn’t quite see the cloaked figures skulking in
the dark beyond the pulsing light of the silver-wrought lamp, but he could sense
their presence—crossbows poised, watching, waiting for a sudden movement or a
silent signal. He knew that Jhagren detected their presence as well, for the
monk sat completely and utterly still in his wide-backed chair, gazing calmly at
the flickering shadows. The cleric had spent enough time with Jhagren to
understand that this calm demeanor belied an almost unearthly focused mind and a
body trained to uncoil like a serpent in an explosive attack at the first sign
of violence.
    Let them try. Durgoth was tired of dealing with this rabble.
He had already warded himself with a quietly whispered spell. All it would take
would be a swift command to his golem, hulking silently behind him, and blood
would flow. Unfortunately, that would not get them any closer to their goal. The
cleric expressed his disappointment with a sigh and leaned back in his chair.
    They had arrived here nearly an hour ago. A quick
conversation with their hostage had revealed that the simpering fool was far
more interested in living than he was in protecting his guilds secrets, and so
they navigated their way through the maze of sewers toward one of the guild’s
main hideouts, using their captive as a key to bypass all manner of traps and
checkpoints. News of their impending arrival must have preceded them, for when
they