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Authors: Mary H. Herbert
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and a pitifully small pile of personal items lying on the platform. There were no weapons, no bags of salt or dishes for food, no trappings befitting a chieftain-nothing to reveal who lay within the coffin. The clansmen looked in every deep shadow and dark corner and found only dust.
"What's in there?" one man shouted from outside. There were still quite a few waiting for their turn to come in.
"Not much,” replied Lord Terod. Disappointed, he and several more men went out to make room for others. One by one, the men filed through to look at the results of their work. Some were interested in the chamber; others were disappointed at the lack of things to see.
"It's as if whoever buried this man didn't like him," remarked Savaron.
Ordan turned from studying the sarcophagus. "Why do you say that?" he asked, his voice sharp with interest.
The Khulinin warrior picked up a small comb from the pile on the platform.
"There's so little here. A respected chieftain or priest is always buried with his belongings. It looks like this man was given only a few grudging tokens."
"An interesting observation, young man. Tell me what else you notice."
"The walls have been painted," Rafnir spoke up. He held a torch up close to one wall. "Most of it has flaked off, but you can still see bits of color through the dust and mildew. I think it's red."
"What do you make of all this?" Athlone asked Ordan.
"Precious little. I've never seen anything like this. The red paint on the walls indicates this was probably a priest of Sorh, but there are no items of his office, no staff, no prayer scrolls, no jars of incense. Your son is likely right---this man was thoroughly disliked." He peered around at the walls and went on. "What I want to know is why he was buried out here in this empty, forsaken canyon? Why is his grave unmarked and forgotten? Why has his identity been so carefully hidden?"
"We could open the sarcophagus," Rafnir suggested. "Maybe there is a name on the coffin or some writing that could help us."
Ordan nodded. "Do it. Carefully. I do not want to disturb the body."
Savaron, Rafnir, and two others stepped forward, lifted the heavy slab off the top of the stone box, and gently set it on the ground by the platform.
"Good gods!" exclaimed Athlone. "Why did they do that?"
Inside the sarcophagus lay a large, full-length wooden coffin. Its lid was nailed with heavy iron spikes and chained with thick bronze links at both ends. On top of the wood lid was carved a string of ten runic letters similar to the ones on the doorframe.
One of the young men tried to shove the chain off one end of the coffin. To his dismay, the chain was also nailed in place. He started to yank hard at the bronze links.
"No, stop!" Ordan commanded. But he was too late. The man pulled with such strength that the coffin slid toward him and slammed against the stone. The wooden lid, rotten and weakened by time and moisture, cracked at one end.
"There is no need to open the coffin," Ordan said harshly. "It is best left alone."
The young man looked guilty. "Why? Don't you want to know who's in it?"
The old priest shook his head. "No. Any man sealed in his tomb with magic and nailed in his coffin is best left undisturbed."
"I agree," Athlone said, staring at the chained box.
The men glanced at one another and saw the same uneasy look on all their faces.
"I want this mound sealed shut again. Rebury it. There is nothing here for us,"
said Ordan.
Savaron glanced outside. "That will take hours and it's almost dark. Could it wait until morning?"
Ordan nodded his assent and silently left the burial chamber. The rest of the men hurried after him into the open air. The meadow was filling with darkness by that time; a few stars twinkled in the evening sky. While the men brought their horses and mounted, Savaron and Rafnir closed the stone door.
"We'll send some men in the morning to rebury the mound," Athlone told the other chiefs. They quietly agreed.
The mound
"What's in there?" one man shouted from outside. There were still quite a few waiting for their turn to come in.
"Not much,” replied Lord Terod. Disappointed, he and several more men went out to make room for others. One by one, the men filed through to look at the results of their work. Some were interested in the chamber; others were disappointed at the lack of things to see.
"It's as if whoever buried this man didn't like him," remarked Savaron.
Ordan turned from studying the sarcophagus. "Why do you say that?" he asked, his voice sharp with interest.
The Khulinin warrior picked up a small comb from the pile on the platform.
"There's so little here. A respected chieftain or priest is always buried with his belongings. It looks like this man was given only a few grudging tokens."
"An interesting observation, young man. Tell me what else you notice."
"The walls have been painted," Rafnir spoke up. He held a torch up close to one wall. "Most of it has flaked off, but you can still see bits of color through the dust and mildew. I think it's red."
"What do you make of all this?" Athlone asked Ordan.
"Precious little. I've never seen anything like this. The red paint on the walls indicates this was probably a priest of Sorh, but there are no items of his office, no staff, no prayer scrolls, no jars of incense. Your son is likely right---this man was thoroughly disliked." He peered around at the walls and went on. "What I want to know is why he was buried out here in this empty, forsaken canyon? Why is his grave unmarked and forgotten? Why has his identity been so carefully hidden?"
"We could open the sarcophagus," Rafnir suggested. "Maybe there is a name on the coffin or some writing that could help us."
Ordan nodded. "Do it. Carefully. I do not want to disturb the body."
Savaron, Rafnir, and two others stepped forward, lifted the heavy slab off the top of the stone box, and gently set it on the ground by the platform.
"Good gods!" exclaimed Athlone. "Why did they do that?"
Inside the sarcophagus lay a large, full-length wooden coffin. Its lid was nailed with heavy iron spikes and chained with thick bronze links at both ends. On top of the wood lid was carved a string of ten runic letters similar to the ones on the doorframe.
One of the young men tried to shove the chain off one end of the coffin. To his dismay, the chain was also nailed in place. He started to yank hard at the bronze links.
"No, stop!" Ordan commanded. But he was too late. The man pulled with such strength that the coffin slid toward him and slammed against the stone. The wooden lid, rotten and weakened by time and moisture, cracked at one end.
"There is no need to open the coffin," Ordan said harshly. "It is best left alone."
The young man looked guilty. "Why? Don't you want to know who's in it?"
The old priest shook his head. "No. Any man sealed in his tomb with magic and nailed in his coffin is best left undisturbed."
"I agree," Athlone said, staring at the chained box.
The men glanced at one another and saw the same uneasy look on all their faces.
"I want this mound sealed shut again. Rebury it. There is nothing here for us,"
said Ordan.
Savaron glanced outside. "That will take hours and it's almost dark. Could it wait until morning?"
Ordan nodded his assent and silently left the burial chamber. The rest of the men hurried after him into the open air. The meadow was filling with darkness by that time; a few stars twinkled in the evening sky. While the men brought their horses and mounted, Savaron and Rafnir closed the stone door.
"We'll send some men in the morning to rebury the mound," Athlone told the other chiefs. They quietly agreed.
The mound
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