Shouldering his shield, Kaerion raised a flickering torch and walked through the doorway.
23
Majandra stared at the room in awe. Around her, to the limits of the groups torches, stone columns reached up into the darkness, a forest of stonework as far as the eye could see. The party gathered in a knot by the entrance, their combined breathing echoing softly in the shadowy chamber. It had taken several minutes and the loss of three sword blades to gain entrance to this room, but the half-elf was sure they were heading in the right direction.
This must be the columned hall, she thought, before relaying her surmise to the rest of the group. Around her, she could feel her companions tension like a palpable itch at the base of her neck.
“If this is the chamber Acererak spoke of, then where is the throne?” Bredeth asked from somewhere behind her.
Her response was cut off by the sound of the adamantite door they had walked through only a few minutes ago slamming closed. Majandra spun around at the noise, ready to offer whatever assistance she could, but by the sound of Kaerion’s cursing, she doubted that there was much she could do.
“It’s jammed shut,” Kaerion said, confirming her fears.
It took a few moments for Gerwyth and the mage to investigate the sealed portal. After several attempts, both magical and mundane, at prying the door open, they gave up.
“The door only opens one way,” Phathas informed the group. “It appears that our path has been decided for us.”
Unwilling to waste energy cursing a situation about which she could do nothing, the bard gave the vast hall another look. Bredeth was right. If they had stumbled upon the columned hall, then they should be within bowshot of Acererak’s throne. Majandra shook her head in frustration as the chamber’s shadows defeated even the sensitivity of her half-elven eyes.
Gently, she hummed a succession of notes and sent a trio of bluish-green lights dancing about the hall. Around her, Majandra heard startled exclamations of wonder as her arcane illumination shredded the hall’s stubborn shadows as easily as a vorpal blade cut through bone. Beneath the pulsing glow of her lights, the columned hall’s true scope was revealed. Larger even than the royal throne room in Rel Mord, Acererak’s hall would have dwarfed even the tallest giant. Row upon row of columns rose up into the chamber’s vaulted heights, each one engraved with symbols and decorative stonework set off with colorful accents and bright jewels that would have made a master artisan cry out in pure delight. From where she stood, Majandra could also make out three simple stone doors spaced evenly across the north wall. The farther corners of the room also contained duplicates of the horrifying devil-face that had been carved into the stone of the tomb’s entrance chamber.
But it was the silver throne sitting atop a flawless ebony dais in the center of the southern wall that truly captured her attention. Moving carefully toward the object of her interest, she could see that the throne was composed of the same obsidian as the dais itself. Silver inlay glinted masterfully from every possible angle of the throne, and upon the edge of its back and along its wide armrests, ivory-carved skulls leered back at her.
It was Gerwyth who first saw the crown and scepter lying crosswise on the seat of the throne. Majandra caught sight of the glinting, jewel-encrusted crown after the elf’s exclamation. The others had spread out to search the rest of the room, but she called them back with a shout. “The throne is the key!” she explained as her companions drew closer to the throne.
Phathas waved a single hand before the throne and Majandra was forced to step back at the blast of bright light that pulsated from the crown and scepter. “Magic,” he warned as the group drew closer. Carefully checking the steps up to the dais for traps, the half-elf was relieved to signal that all was clear.
Kaerion and Bredeth had begun to ascend the ebony steps when Majandra heard a muffled curse behind her. Turning, she saw that the last remaining guard, a brown-haired woman named Keeryn, had brushed against one of the hall’s columns as she was approaching the throne, and now hung suspended in the air about ten feet off of the ground. As Majandra rushed to her, the guard floated higher into the air.
“Phathas!” the half-elf called to the mage. “Help!”
By the time the mage, Landra, and Gerwyth joined her, Keeryn had floated nearly thirty feet into the air. By now, the guard’s concerned look had transformed to one of alarm, and Majandra could see the color draining from her face.
“Try and hold on to something!” she called out to the unfortunate woman, but as the guard hastened to obey her, she began to drift toward the far corner of the room.
“She’s heading for the devil mouth!” Landra cried out as Keeryn, clearly frantic now, reached wildly at every column she passed.
“Gerwyth, I need your help!” the half-elf said, trying hard to keep herself beneath the trapped guard, but Keeryn had begun to pick up speed and was only about fifteen feet from the devil’s stone mouth.
To her relief, Majandra saw that the ranger had strung a thin rope to the shaft of one of his arrows and now aimed carefully for the wall near Keeryn. The shaft impacted hard against the thick stone, sending up a sharp cloud of dust as its glowing head bit deeply into the rock. Keeryn was close to the carved stone face when she reached out and grabbed the rope, stopping her forward motion. Majandra’s relief was shortlived, however, as the guard gave a strangled cry. A deep blue glow emanated from the devil face, surrounding the trapped woman. The half-elf watched in horror as the glow deepened, suddenly exploding into cobalt brilliance, and when Majandra could see once more, Keeryn was gone.
Numbness swept over the bard, and a familiar ache that she had come to associate with this evil place. She had little time to reflect on their loss, however, as Bredeth gave a sudden shout. The half-elf looked in his direction, terrified of what she might see. To her relief, both Kaerion and the young noble were still alive—though Bredeth held the gleaming scepter gingerly in his hand. Both of them stood gaping at the throne, which had begun to sink beneath the dais.
“There’s a passageway beneath the throne!” Kaerion shouted.
Wiping the burgeoning tears from her eyes, Majandra walked toward them, wondering just how many of them would have to die before they reached their goal.
Durgoth watched the Nyrondese from the shadows of the stair’s landing, a cruel smile playing upon his face. The fools had no idea how close they were to their doom—not even that overly perceptive elf. Only Bredeth, their unwilling accomplice, seemed to sense the presence of his party. The young fool kept glancing behind him, peering into the darkness. Having witnessed the power of the link forged into being between the nobleman and Durgoth’s pet sorcerer, he didn’t doubt that the pitiful man could in fact detect their presence. He was confident, however, in Sydra’s ability to silence the man’s tongue.
Beside him, wrapped in deep shadows like a cloak, Eltanel observed their enemies with a practiced eye. “Should we attack now, blessed one?” the thief asked, his voice barely a whisper. “They are completely unaware of us. It wouldn’t take much for us to kill them now.”
Durgoth shook his head, belatedly realizing that the thief could see his reaction. “No, Eltanel,” he whispered. “I need them alive just a little while longer.”
Which was a shame, he thought, for the thief had been correct. Ever since the Nyrondese had dropped into the passage beneath the throne, they had given little thought to their own protection. Durgoth and his followers had been only tens of feet away when that damned bard had scooped up a large cylindrical key from the steps leading farther down.