The paladin stepped forward, hands raised to show his peaceful intentions. "I am Corran D'Arcey. These are my companions Ghleanna, Jarial, Durwyn, Faeril, and Kestrel. We are come to free Myth Drannor of the evil that has overtaken it."
"So yer not part of that dragon cult?"
"Nay! In fact we are sworn to defeat them," Faeril said.
Harldain lowered his axe but continued to regard them suspiciously. Corran removed his helm and tucked it under his arm to allow the dwarf a clear look at his face. Following his lead, Durwyn did likewise. Harldain seemed to appreciate the gesture and studied his unexpected visitors.
"The priestess Anorrweyn Evensong advised us to seek your counsel," said Corran. "So did the diviner Caalenfaire."
"So you said earlier." Harldain rested the axe head on the floor and leaned on the shaft as if it were a cane. "Friends of yers, are they? Anorrweyn's a gentle soul, but that Caalenfaire-he gave me the shivers even before he was dead. The old sorcerer's never done me a bad turn, though, so I reckon if he and Anorrweyn are on yer side, then yer on mine. 'Bout time someone came to drive those dragon-lovin' vermin out of my city." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So, the priestess and the fortune-teller have teamed up, have they? Things must have gotten pretty bad while I was frozen there. I think that nasty water cloggin' the pump had somethin' to with it. Seems like polluted pools are poppin' up everywhere a glimmer of good remains in this city. Anyway, what have they sent you to talk to me about?"
"We need access to the catacombs," Corran said.
"Do you, now? Well, that's a simple enough matter to help you with. But what are they sendin' you down there for?"
"To find the Protector. We need to talk to him about the Mythal."
Some of the fire left Harldain's eyes. He let out a deep sigh. "They've gone and done it, haven't they? Those dragon worshipers, they've done somethin' to the Mythal." He shook his head sadly. "I'd always hoped that somehow we could use the Mythal to restore the City of Song to its former glory. But now…"
"You may yet," Ghleanna said gently. "If we act quickly to defeat the cult. We need your help."
Harldain nodded. "Yes, of course. Anything I can do." He stroked his beard again. "Dark elves have infiltrated much of the first catacomb level, so don't even try to use the main entrance-I'll send you a secret way. You'll have to face enough of 'em just to move deeper inside."
He crossed the room and pointed to one of the bricks in the wall. "That block is loose. Pull it out." Corran pried out the stone, revealing a hidden cubbyhole. "Now reach inside and get the stone that's in there. The key-take the key out, too. It's a passkey. It'll disable the statues downstairs, make it easier for you to leave."
Corran withdrew the key and a gem similar in appearance to the one set in the Ring of Calling. The gem sparkled with inner white light.
"That's a starstone," Harldain said. "Used to be that lots of folks in Myth Drannor had at least one. The starstones were set in different pieces of jewelry. When the wearer stood in specific locations, magical gates opened to different parts of the city. Helped a body get around faster."
Ghleanna extended her hand so Harldain could see the Ring of Calling. "Is this a starstone?"
"It is, indeed," the spirit confirmed. "That's one of the more common starstones. It got folks to the City Heights from various parts of town." Harldain gestured toward the sparkling rock Corran held. "That's a rarer stone. Belongs in a neckpiece called the Wizard's Torc. Sorcerers of the Speculum used the torc to open a secret entrance from the amphitheater to the catacombs. Restore the starstone to the Wizard's Torc and wear it while standin' on the theater floor-in the Circle of Ualair the Silent-and the door'll open for you."
Harldain's expression grew troubled. "Of course, you have to find the torc first-last I heard, a dark naga in the dwarven dungeons had the thing." He narrowed his brows at Jarial. "What're you grinnin' about?"
"You mean this torc?"
CHAPTER TEN
"Drow," Kestrel whispered, squinting in the dim torchlight.
Ghleanna rolled her eyes. "Not more of them?"
"Afraid so." Kestrel shared the mage's sentiment This was the fourth such patrol they'd seen since entering the catacombs. The ebon-skinned, white-haired warriors seemed to swarm the undercity, their fierce war paint and lethally sharp halberds boldly declaring their right of occupation to anyone foolish enough to question their presence. Unlike the orogs Kestrel's party had observed in the dwarven undercity, the drow were a close-mouthed people. No stray snatches of conversation had revealed their purpose in Myth Drannor.
"If we double back and take that other fork, perhaps we can bypass their encampment altogether," Corran suggested.
Kestrel shrugged, unconvinced. So far they'd successfully avoided detection by the dark elves, but their luck couldn't hold out forever. They'd been fortunate enough to escape serious combat with the all the undead creatures wandering about Corran and Faeril had managed to turn away most of the shadows and zombies, and the cleric had even destroyed the skeletons they'd come upon with a single holy word.
As much as Kestrel disliked facing undead beings, she dreaded an encounter with the dark elves more. The drow had a reputation for cruelty toward their enemies-who, from what Kestrel understood, comprised just about everyone not drow. Even the unliving gave them a wide berth, lairing in separate parts of the dungeons.
They retreated down the rough-hewn tunnel. Once, Kestrel would have considered these dense subterranean warrens well constructed, but they couldn't help but suffer in comparison to the superior passages of the dwarves. Given their elven creators and their ancient age, however, the corridors and chambers remained in surprisingly good condition-from what she could see of them, anyway. The lighting was poor to say the least, with wispy flames barely clinging to widely spaced torches. She supposed they were lucky to have any light at all. Drow were known for their ability to see clearly in the dark, and the undead certainly hadn't lit the brands. The torches must be for the benefit of another mortal race. The cultists?
Corran led the group around a bend. A fork they'd passed previously lay just a few hundred feet beyond. Suddenly, the paladin stopped short-but not before a band of drow in the intersection spotted the party. "Hold!" one of them cried. "If you value your wretched lives!"
"They've nowhere to go, Razherrt!" came a voice from behind them. "We heard their noisy clanking all the way down at our post."
Beshaba's bad breath! They were surrounded! Kestrel tensed, swearing silently at the Maid of Misfortune as she prepared to grab Loren's Blade and hurl it in a single swift movement should the need arise. Corran's hand rested on his sword hilt, while Durwyn gripped his axe more tightly. Faeril stood with hands on hips, her fingers inches from the hilt of her new sword.
"Humans. How such a primitive race has survived this long baffles the mind." The dark elf Razherrt laughed humorlessly as he approached. Six other warriors accompanied him. All wore black leather armor emblazoned with the symbol of a phoenix rising toward a dark green moon. Similarly marked bracers on Razherrt's arms set him apart from the others. Their patrol leader, Kestrel guessed.
The drow fighters pointed their halberds at Kestrel's party, but Razherrt held his weapon upright as if unconcerned by the possibility of any sudden moves by the lowly adventurers. His gaze swept the party, rapidly assessing each member, lingering on Ghleanna. "A half-breed. I see the People continue slumming."
The half-elf remained silent under the draw's insults. Corran, regarding the patrol leader warily, removed his hand from his weapon to indicate peaceful intentions. "We seek only to pass through."
A sneer crossed Razherrt's chiseled features. "You presume too much, human. The House of Freth does not appreciate vermin trespassing through its territory." As he spoke, he almost absently moved his hands in a series of gestures, as if he spoke in sign language.
"We did not realize the House of Freth laid claim to these halls."
Razherrt studied Corran
with an intensity that Kestrel thought would bore holes through the paladin's forehead. The leader of the other patrol said something in a language Kestrel had never heard before. Whatever he said, the statement elicited a low chuckle from Razherrt, who responded with several quick hand signals. The waiting drow warriors raised their blades.
"You find me in a good mood today, human," Razherrt said. "I deal with matters too important to waste time exterminating rodents. Get thee gone from my sight. No-better still, we shall escort you out of the Freth domain, so you do not 'accidentally' wander in again. Turn around."
Corran hesitated, apparently reluctant to expose his back to the drow.
Razherrt lowered the point of his weapon until it touched Corran's chin. "Are you hard of hearing or just simple? You have already trespassed on Freth territory- do not trespass on my patience."
The paladin turned, the expression in his eyes instructing the others to do likewise. Kestrel had rarely found herself so happy to travel in the middle of a party-as far away as possible from the drow on either end.
"Lead us to the stairs," Razherrt told the other patrol. "I don't know where our friends were headed, but they're going down now. We'll see how they like strolling below."
As they wended through the dungeons, they passed several more bands of drow at work clearing out various chambers. Apparently the House of Freth intended to stay for a while and make itself comfortable in Myth Drannor's underworld. Dark elves threw debris-and any other items they considered valueless-into carts for dumping in other parts of the dungeon. On one such cart, piled high with refuse, a skull rested as if carelessly tossed there. Was it Kestrel's imagination, or did a faint blue-white glow surround the skull?
Without warning, she was knocked to the floor from behind. Faeril sprawled on top of her.
"Get up, you sun-worshipping dog!" Razherrt kicked the cleric. "Are you too stupid to even walk?"
"I–I tripped." She caught Kestrel's gaze. The skull, Faeril mouthed before Razherrt gripped her wrist and jerked her to her feet.
So it was indeed Anorrweyn's skull! Kestrel couldn't guess how the cleric knew for certain, but at the moment she didn't have time to care. The skull lay about eight feet away, and they wouldn't be passing any closer. "My knee!" She rolled onto her side with a groan. "You landed on my knee, you bumbling fool!"
Faeril's expression clouded with genuine contrition. "I am sorry! Here, let me-"
"Oh, save it!" Kestrel awkwardly climbed to her feet and stumbled toward the cart holding the skull.
Razherrt's blade stopped her. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To lean against that garbage cart, if you don't mind."
"Kestrel, watch your tongue. You insult our hosts by not seeking their permission," Corran said. Was it a true rebuke, or had he also spotted the skull? "Pray overlook my companion's rudeness, Razherrt. If you'll let her pause a moment, I'm sure she'll give you no more trouble."
Kestrel balanced on one foot, as if she couldn't bear to put weight on her right leg. Razherrt stared at her, undecided. Her heartbeat accelerated as nervous energy coursed through her veins. "My apologies, sir. You know that humans are weak. Pain clouds my judgment."
She nearly choked on the sycophantic words, but they seemed to work. The drow raised the tip of his halberd. "A minute's rest. No more."
Kestrel stumbled to the cart and leaned against it, her fingers inches away from the skull. Anorrweyn's remains seemed to radiate an aura of calm, removing the anxiety she'd felt. Now she needed but a few seconds' distraction to snatch the skull from its disrespectful perch and drop it in a deep inside pocket of her cloak.
A series of chimes sounded across the room. All eyes turned in that direction-except Kestrel's. One of the sorcerers must have figured out her ruse. If not, she'd take advantage of the diversion no matter its source.
"What's that?" Razherrt glared first at Corran, then at the sorcerers. "Do you play games with us?"
"Perhaps it is a charm of the dungeons themselves," Jarial said. "Magic long sheltered the city above. Why should that not hold true for the city below?"
Razherrt grunted. "Get moving, all of you." He pointed at Kestrel. "You, too."
Kestrel rejoined the party, remembering to hobble. The uneven movement helped hide the bulge in her cloak.
"Of all the insufferable-"
"We're alive and unharmed," Corran tossed over his shoulder. "And we retrieved Anorrweyn's skull to boot. Just count your blessings, Kestrel."
Kestrel found the paladin's condescension almost as galling as the Freth's arrogance. She simmered as they trod through the undercity's second level in search of another stairway leading down. "Well, I've had enough drow attitude for one lifetime, I'll tell you that. Primitive race, indeed! Razherrt can kiss my human-"
"Hush!" Faeril glanced around as if she'd heard something. "Did you-"
From out of nowhere, a huge ball of flame barreled down the corridor at them. Ghleanna immediately called out a command word and thrust her hand toward the accelerating flames. The blaze snuffed itself out, leaving only a few dying sparks scattered in the passageway- enough to illuminate the cult sorcerer on the other side.
Two drow bodyguards flanked the mage. As Corran and Durwyn moved to close in on the spellcaster, the dark elves immediately engaged them. The drow fought with mechanical precision, thrusting and parrying without so much as a grunt of exertion. Faeril tried to reach the sorcerer but wound up joining the melee instead, fighting by Corran's side.
The dark elves seemed utterly devoted to protecting the cultist. They could not, however, prevent Ghleanna and Jarial's magical attacks from reaching him. Kestrel decided to target the drow and leave the sorcerers to a spellcasting contest. She sent one dagger sailing toward each elven warrior.
Her aim held true. One blade struck its target in his side, the other hit Durwyn's opponent in his chest. Neither warrior cried out. She followed the double strike with Loren's Blade, hitting the first dark elf a second time. The dagger wounds did not seem to slow him down.
Kestrel had never seen combatants so fierce. Despite their injuries, the drow wielded their halberds with relentless vigor. The length of the weapon gave them an advantage over Durwyn's axe and the holy warriors' swords. Kestrel sucked in her breath. How could she fare any better with her club?
Durwyn's opponent backed him against a wall. Kestrel reached for her club, extended it with a flick of her wrist then advanced on the dark elf. She managed to execute one hard hit to the drow's shoulder before he turned to engage her. Even with two-on-one odds, Kestrel felt at a disadvantage.
Meanwhile, flashes of light signaled the magical battle unfolding between the allied sorcerers and the cultist. Parrying the drow's blows, Kestrel could not spare even a glance to see who dominated that contest. Please Mystra, let it be Jarial and Ghleanna!
Suddenly, Kestrel's opponent collapsed to the floor. She looked up to see that the other drow had also fallen. The cult sorcerer lay with one of Jarial's acid arrows embedded between his eyes.
"As soon as the cultist fell, so did the drow," Jarial responded to the question in her eyes.
Durwyn prodded his former opponent with one foot. The body rolled over from the warrior's force, but otherwise did not stir. "He's dead. Just like that."
Faeril shook her head. "No, not 'just like that.' Look at these dagger wounds-there's no blood. I suspect these drow have been dead for some time."
"Soulless," Corran said. "Like the orogs."
Kestrel shuddered. Now that she had leisure to examine these dark elves more closely, they did look paler than Razherrt and his party had. They also bore a different emblem on their armor, two yellow chevrons bisecting eight red dots. She pointed to the symbol. "Do you think that's significant?"
"I suspect it indicates their House affiliation," Ghleanna said. "I noticed that Razherrt brushed his fingertips over his symbol whenever he mentioned the House of Freth."
"I guess these two belong to the House of
Death," Kestrel quipped. No one laughed. Even to her own ears, the joke didn't seem funny. Only the gods knew how many legions of enthralled drow and orogs she and her companions might have to face before they completed their quest-if they ever did.
The party spent the next several hours avoiding patrols of enthralled drow. They also came across additional soulless orogs and stumbled upon more than one lair of spectres in their search for the third level of the catacombs. Somehow, luck or the gods were on their side, and they suffered few injuries. Dead-ends and winding passages slowed their movements, but at last they found the path of descent.
Deeper in the bowels of the dungeons, travel became still more difficult. Huge chasms blocked their progress, forcing them to repeatedly backtrack and seek other routes through the claustrophobic tombs and prison blocks. They now wended through a narrow passage that seemed to go on forever. Kestrel wondered if they would ever find the Rune of the Protector that marked the entrance to the baelnorn's level.
"The passage seems to widen ahead," Corran said over his shoulder.
"About time," Kestrel muttered. It couldn't get much tighter-Durwyn's armored shoulders already threatened to scrape the walls.
They emerged in an enormous chamber but could enter only a few feet. They stood on an apron overlooking a drop-off so steep they could not see the bottom of the chasm. Kestrel kicked some loose rocks over the edge. She never heard them land.
Across the chasm stood a raised wooden drawbridge. She quickly scanned the nearby walls, floor, and ceiling for some mechanism to lower the drawbridge from their side but spotted nothing. She ran a hand through her hair, gripping the roots in frustration. "We are not turning around yet again."
"You don't have to," echoed a voice from across the chasm. A female drow warrior stepped out from behind the drawbridge. She held a long, jagged-bladed dagger as casually as another woman might carry a spindle. A topknot secured her long white hair, exposing every angular line of her face. Sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and hard-cast eyes appeared carved in stone. Worn, ragged armor revealed a body so muscular that Kestrel doubted this woman had a soft spot inside or out. Though the dark elf bore the same chevron symbol as the enthralled drow they'd encountered earlier, her skin had the healthy black color borne by Razherrt's band of living drow.
Pool of Radiance: Ruins of Myth Drannor (single books) Page 16