Read Online The Tomb of Horrors by Undead), Keith Francis Strohm - (ebook by Flandrel - Free Book Online Page B

the city that the
man had spoken.
    “What good is being noble-born if you can’t use it to your
advantage once in a while?” she said finally as they made their way through the
servant’s entrance to the Platinum Shield.
    A few of the serving lads and kitchen maids looked askance at
their condition, but Majandra paid them no heed. A few silver coins would keep
their tongues relatively quiet.
    She started to bring Kaerion up the side stairs to her room,
but stopped when she heard Bredeth’s arrogant whine close by. She cursed and
guided the listing fighter back down the stairs and through a side passage. It
wouldn’t do for any of her companions to see Kaerion like this—especially
Bredeth. That highborn dolt would make an issue of it, and she didn’t want to
risk the possibility of Kaerion walking away from their offer. They needed him.
    Or perhaps you need him, a small voice whispered in her mind.
She ignored the implications of that and tried once again to sneak him upstairs.
This time, Norebo, god of luck, smiled upon her. Majandra breathed a sigh of
relief as she led Kaerion to her bed and closed the door to her suite.
    Gently, she helped Kaerion out of his tunic, wincing at the
sight of fresh bruises and old scars that marred the sweeping cut of his massive
chest and broad back. By the time she tucked silk sheets around his girth, he
was half asleep, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
    “Didn’t answer… question,” he mumbled as she made to
leave. “Why… help… me?”
    When the answer came, it surprised even her. “Because you
have a tale to tell, and I’m a sucker for a tale. Especially,” she said, half to
herself, “when it comes wrapped in a gorgeous frame like yours.”
    But Kaerion hadn’t heard. Sleep had finally claimed him.

 
 

     
     
    The days passed with a quiet hum of intensity as Phathas and
his companions met with a seemingly endless array of merchants, provisioners,
caravan masters, and even a few of the old wizards colleagues from the Royal
University. The group checked and rechecked their calculations, measuring the
distance against their available stores and trying to plan for most emergencies.
Nights were spent poring over old maps and the notes from Phathas’ research,
verifying the probable location of the ancient tomb and the safest possible
route toward it.
    Kaerion watched the preparations from a distance, trying hard
not to remember spending his time similarly in the years when he commanded
battalions of armed men. For that’s what the activities of the last few days
felt like—preparations for a war. He just couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling
that they had already lost.
    Why then, he asked himself several times, am I staying?
    Ever since he had woken up the morning after his ill-fated
altercation at the Men O’Steel, he knew that he would accompany Gerwyth and the
rest of the group on their journey. Perhaps it was the perverse desire to
confound and antagonize the hot-headed Bredeth, who had spent a good portion of
that morning arguing with Majandra, Gerwyth, and Vaxor once he had learned about
Kaerion’s activities of the previous evening. Or perhaps it was the fact that,
despite his protestations to the contrary, a part of him still believed in the
power of friendship and honor. Perhaps it was even the desire to remain close to
the fiery-haired bard, the only person besides Gerwyth who, in the last decade,
had ever shown him a measure of true kindness. In the din and tumult surrounding
the last few days, it was difficult for him to identify his motivations. He only
knew that he had woken up that morning with a blazing hangover and a commitment
to the upcoming journey. Only one of those two things had eventually faded away.
    Now, he watched and waited, not quite sulking, but definitely
anxious to keep his distance from the Nyrondese party—especially Vaxor. A few
times, he had caught the priest of Heironeous casting a stern gaze