The tomb had lain undiscovered for untold years, its only resident the remains of a long-departed man, its only visitors the desert wind and sand. Now, life once again visited this place of death. The seal had been broken and the door pried open, as the first ray of harsh wilderness light in centuries pierced the interior of the simple tomb. And then two men, their heads and faces wrapped in scarves to protect against the heat of the sun, entered the burial chamber. Their eyes reflected the torchlight—one pair a deep brown, the other a piercing blue—both now radiating outward with flickering orange-gold flame.

The tomb itself was modest, barely more than a rough natural cavern evened out to form a square room; at the far end, a stone sarcophagus lay along the back wall. No other adornment decorated the walls, apart from the embellishments of spiders who long ago, in their distinct way, had woven their own intricate tapestries to commemorate the dead. But even in the simplicity of the tomb, the two men felt the magical energies still hanging in the dry, stale air, crackling like the static charge in the breeze from an approaching thunderstorm.

Silently, reverently, the men entered, barely daring to breathe lest it disturb the hallowed aura of the crypt. They tiptoed to the far wall, their feet making tracks in the thin layer of sand beneath them. The stone coffin at the far end of the chamber was itself modest, hardly ornate, imitating the tomb within which it resided. But etched expertly into the lid was an image of an owl—beak open, wide eyes staring outward, with wings outstretched and sharp talons reaching forward, as if capturing the likeness of a great bird of prey at the moment before it captures its quarry. And below the etching, engraved for all posterity, were the words:

Hér liggur galdramaðurinn mikli Udul-Ba’shum

Truflaðu ekki hina dánu og láttu þá hvílast

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

því allir verða að þola draumlausan svefn dauðans

They were written in the Old Tongue, the ancient language of the Giants; the dark-eyed man reached out a hand toward the script but stopped short, not daring to touch it, then looked to the other: “What does it say?”

The blue-eyed man kept his eyes fixed on the engraving as he translated. “Here lies the great wizard Udul-Ba’shum. Disturb not the dead and let them rest, for all must endure the dreamless sleep of death.” Then, after speaking the words, with no further hesitation he stepped forward and pushed the heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus off its base, revealing the decayed remains within. Inside, only a parched skeleton survived the centuries; yet clutched in its osseous arms was a book with a dark leather cover, covered in dust. He firmly gripped the book and pulled it from the skeleton’s unresisting hands, carefully brushing off the layer of dust. Underneath, now, arcane runes were visible, expertly inscribed on its cover. The book itself showed no sign of decay or degradation despite the centuries, preserved by its ritual enchantments. The man inspected his find, an unseen smile appearing behind the scarf covering his face. This was the object of his search, after months of directing teams to comb through the wind-swept deserts of Zir.

Then, the blue-eyed man peered back down into the coffin again, and noticed a gold ring on the bony left index finger. He reached down and brusquely took that as well. The finger, now held only in place by the forces of time and history, broke off its joint and clattered further down into the coffin.

The brown-eyed man gasped and wrung his hands. “Sir, do you think that is wise?”

Blue eyes stared back at him, filling the room with silent contempt. Then, passing over the unanswered question—“Did any of the other work teams know of this location?”

“Ahh, no sir, just you and me, sir.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” A glint of steel reflected in the torchlight, just for a moment, as the cutting blade of a silver dagger swiftly plunged into the dark-eyed man’s belly. He fell to the ground, clutching at his wound, gasping and crying out, as blood pooled onto the floor.

And then the light that pierced the tomb slowly waned as the blue-eyed man sealed the door once again, a sepulchre now for two.