Pool of Radiance: Ruins of Myth Drannor (single books)

by Carrie Bebris

  "How will we know whether the ceremony succeeded?" Ghleanna asked. "Whether the Mythal accepted the new gem?"

  "You will know."

  Corran started to put his helm back on his head. "We have much to do. We'd best get started."

  "Hold." The Protector looked as if he had something more to say but struggled over whether to reveal it. His gaze swept the group, then came to rest on the trunks that stood behind them. "Yes," he murmured, nodding to himself. "You need all the aid I have left within my power to give."

  He went to the trunks, brushed dust off the top of one and opened its groaning lid. "In this chest lie some of Myth Drannor's greatest remaining treasures, items given me by the coronal himself to help me safeguard the Gem of the Weave. Though I have failed that duty, perhaps some item in here will help you succeed." Reaching inside, he called Corran's name. The paladin stepped forward.

  "Are you trained to fight with a shield?"

  "Aye, though I prefer to leave my left hand free."

  "You might prefer it to hold this." The Protector withdrew an oval shield etched with white stars along its border. "This is a mageshield, designed to protect its user from death magic. Necromantic spells that hit this shield will bounce back at their caster." His expression darkened, his gaze clouding with memories he alone could see. "'Tis no less than those cult sorcerers deserve." Corran accepted the gift and bowed low, looking as humble as Kestrel had ever seen him.

  Silverblade collected himself and turned to the others. "Ghleanna Stormlake." The half-elf walked to stand before the baelnorn. "Is that a magical staff you carry?"

  "No, Protector."

  "This is." He produced a six-foot wooden staff covered with ornate symbols and runes, most of them resembling flames and bolts of energy. "A spellstaff. Solid as oak, light as balsa. Use it as you would an ordinary quarterstaff. But should anyone send fire or lightning your way, the staff will absorb it. Tap it twice to release the energy at a target of your choosing."

  Ghleanna's eyes shone with gratitude. "I have suffered terrible burns from fire magic these past days. I thank you, Protector."

  More gifts followed: bracers of protection from paralysis for Faeril, a ring of regeneration for Jarial, a trio of bronze-tipped arrows for Durwyn.

  "Finally you, Kestrel." Tremors raced up Kestrel's arm as the Protector lifted her right hand. The silver ring she'd inherited from Athan's band caught the light. "Do you know what this is you wear?"

  She shook her head. "There's nothing special-looking about it I thought it was an ordinary silver ring."

  "On the contrary. You wear a mantle ring, a piece of magical jewelry crafted in the glory days of Myth Drannor. No doubt your ring earned its battered appearance from centuries of owners who engaged in dangerous missions like yours. The carvings have been worn until they look like mere scratches, but its power remains strong. This ring will shield you from injurious sorcerers' spells."

  Kestrel thought of the magical hits she'd taken from the cultists and drow. "But it hasn't protected me from anything."

  "Mantle rings must be worn in pairs. Its mate is probably lost to time." He opened his hand to reveal another silver band of the same size. This one had a smooth surface engraved with tiny runes. "Wear this ring on your left hand, and a dozen spells will wash over you harmlessly."

  He dropped the ring in her palm. She stared at it, her intrinsic distrust of magic making her reluctant to put it on. Would she feel different? Would it have some other, unknown effect on her? She met the Protector's gaze and, at his commanding nod, slipped the ring on her finger. Nothing dramatic happened. In fact, within moments she scarcely noticed its presence.

  "Now go," the baelnorn said, meeting each pair of eyes one by one. His face held a look of desperation. "Save the Mythal. For if Mordrayn and the cult use it for the great evil they intend, the City of Song can never be redeemed."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Back again, are you?" Harldain Ironbar greeted them as they entered his tower. "Did you find the old Protector?"

  "We did indeed," said Corran. "Now we've another favor to ask."

  "Name it."

  Corran told the old dwarf about the sapphire's destruction at the baelnorn's hands and their need for a new stone. Harldain stroked his beard. "Well, I'll be damned." He shook his head as if in disbelief. "Centuries ago, when we mined for the sapphire, Caalenfaire advised me to secure three gems. He said we would need more than one to ensure the Mythal's survival. At the time, I thought he wanted some backups in case somethin' went wrong during the incantation ceremony. But now I'll wager he saw this day comin'. Imagine that! Way back then."

  "So you have another sapphire?"

  "No. We couldn't find two perfect sapphires. Once we had the first, all others seemed flawed-the color was off, or they lacked clarity, or some such thing. So we mined an emerald and a ruby instead. The ruby was destroyed by the nycaloth when the Armies of Darkness swept the city, but we still have the emerald, down in the Hoard."

  "The what?"

  "The Hoard of the Onaglym Dwarves. Our private stash of treasure."

  Kestrel felt her energy flag. "Don't tell me it's back in the dwarven dungeons." She couldn't bear the thought of still more backtracking.

  "Nope. It's right below the courtyard. You know…" He cast a knowing look at Kestrel. "The one with your favorite statue."

  Kestrel remembered the animated, axe-swinging dwarf only too well. Even with the passkey to disable it this time around, she'd given the stone guardian a wide berth when they arrived. "Where's the entrance to the Hoard?" she asked. "I searched the whole courtyard and didn't find any secret doors or hidden stairways."

  "Did you check the statue itself?" He shrugged. "No matter. Even if you had, you couldn't get at the Hoard without the Ironbar."

  Durwyn regarded the ghost in confusion. "Without you?"

  Harldain winked and slipped a small baton out of a pocket in his robe. "No, this ironbar." He handed the object to Kestrel. It was an ordinary-looking rod about twelve inches long, half an inch in diameter, and-judging from its weight-made of solid iron. "There's a hole at the base of the statue. Push the rod into the opening to unseal the entrance."

  They hastened back to the courtyard, where they immediately put the ironbar to use. A great grinding sound echoed through the courtyard as the statue slowly slid backward to reveal a shaft about twenty feet deep. Rungs embedded in the wall formed a ladder. At the bottom was a passage opening, but from their vantage point they could not see where it led.

  Kestrel stared down into the blackness, then swung herself over the edge and scaled the ladder. When her feet touched ground, the passage flared with sudden brightness.

  "What's that?" Corran called down.

  She peered through the portal. The passage extended just three feet before opening into a large chamber lined with flaming torches. "Some sort of automatic lighting system. The treasure room's right here. You can come down if you want, but the doorway's only about four feet tall." She crawled through the entrance and let out a low whistle. "Wow! Get a load of this…"

  Her exclamation sent the party scurrying down the shaft for a look at the legendary Hoard of the Onaglym Dwarves. Durwyn elected to remain above standing guard, but the others soon joined her wide-eyed survey of the scene. Jewels by the trunkful, gold by the ton, exquisitely crafted armor and weapons all lined the room. In the center, surrounded by glass, a palm-sized emerald hung suspended in mid-air, slowly rotating in place, its facets catching the torchlight and sending deep green rays dancing along the walls.

  Kestrel walked toward the glass. "That must be what we're looking for."

  "Aye, that it is."

  They all jumped at the sound of Harldain's voice booming behind them. Without another word, the ghost approached the emerald, leaning on his cane as if it still supported the weight of a body. Though his hand penetrated the glass effortlessly as he reached toward the stone, he did not touch it

  "I wanted to see
it one last time." His gaze caressed the gem reverently. "You'll not lay eyes on a finer emerald in all the Realms." With obvious reluctance, he tore his eyes away from the stone. "The dwarves of Myth Drannor kept this emerald safe all these years, awaitin' the need Caalenfaire foresaw. I now put it in your hands."

  In one fluid motion, he raised his cane and smashed the glass. Thousands of shards fell to the ground in a circle around the gem, which still levitated and spun.

  Undaunted by the sharp fragments, Corran crushed them beneath his armored feet as he claimed the emerald. "We shall defend the gem with our lives until a new Protector guards it."

  "Let me help." Harldain crossed to a collection of prominently displayed armor and weapons. "These are the finest items our dwarven craftsmen ever produced, augmented by the spells of the coronal's best wizards for those who defended the City of Song in the Weepin' War. Rather than let such powerful articles fall into enemy hands, they were enchanted to return here if their bearers fell in battle." Harldain brushed his fingers along the edge of a breastplate that seemed to glow with inner light. His eyes held a far-off expression, as if he were remembering the soldier who last wore the piece. He cleared his throat. "They've been in this chamber ever since, and they aren't doin' anyone any good just sittin' down here," he said gruffly. "Take whatever you can use."

  Kestrel gazed at the collection in awe, her eyes drawn in particular to a set of leather armor about her size, which looked more supple than a pair of ladies' kid gloves. Was it truly hers for the taking?

  Harldain noted her admiration. "That suit will protect you much better than what you're sportin' now and let you move much easier. You'll think you're wearin' silk pajamas."

  She laughed at the absurd statement-no armor could feel like that.

  "Try it on if you don't believe me."

  To her astonishment, she found Harldain hadn't been exaggerating. The pieces fit as if they'd been made for her and felt light as an ordinary shirt. "Take it," he urged. She couldn't argue.

  The others each selected lighter, better protection than what they'd been wearing. Even the sorcerers found cloaks enchanted to repel enemy attacks. Durwyn, still standing watch above, was not forgotten-Harldain himself chose a suit of lightweight plate sized for the warrior's large build.

  The ghostly dwarf had become increasingly gruff as they changed equipment. Kestrel thought it was because he didn't really want to part with the armor, but he revealed the true source of his anxiety as they departed.

  "You're runnin' out of time," he said. "I can feel it. Find Anorrweyn and get that emerald to the top of the Speculum just as quick as you can. The cult's control of the Mythal is strong. The city is dyin' around us."

  The scent of gardenias manifested before Anorrweyn Evensong's spirit. Kestrel inhaled deeply. The sweet perfume soothed her frayed nerves as she waited for the priestess to appear. Would the ghost agree to serve as communicant? She fervently hoped so, for she didn't know what they would do if Anorrweyn refused.

  A pensive silence hung over the group. Faeril had just finished some invocations to Mystra. Corran had joined her in the prayers, then offered a few of his own to Tyr. The events of the past several days had made it difficult for the paladin to perform his regular devotions, and he took advantage of this interlude to reconnect with his patron deity. The rest of the group, Kestrel included, had maintained a respectful quiet and used the time for contemplation.

  Anorrweyn materialized moments after the telltale fragrance. She seemed less translucent this time, a little more solid. Her face bore a radiant smile. "You have found my skull."

  Faeril knelt before her. "Yes, priestess. We've interred it with the rest of your bones in the grave outside."

  "I thank you all. Now I may occupy this plane of time and better follow events of the present instead of forever reliving the past." The priestess made eye contact with each of them in turn, her eyes further expressing her gratitude. When her gentle gaze met Kestrel's, the rogue felt a sense of peace flood her soul.

  With a gesture, Anorrweyn invited them all to sit in the half-circle of benches that still remained from their last conference. Kestrel found it curious that the ghost always sat down along with them, as if she too benefited from rest. Perhaps it was a habit carried over from her mortal days or an attempt to put them at ease in her undead presence. This time Anorrweyn sat beside Faeril, who regarded her idol with reverence.

  "Did you also find the Protector?" the spirit asked.

  "We did, priestess," Corran said. "But he could not help us."

  Anorrweyn's eyes widened. She sat forward as if she hadn't entirely heard him. "Miroden Silverblade refused to aid your quest?"

  "The Gem of the Weave is no more. The Baelnorn destroyed it to keep the cult from seizing its power."

  "Impossible!" Anorrweyn shook her head vigorously, as if doing so could negate the truth of the statement. She rose and paced restlessly. "You are sure you understood him correctly?" She cast her gaze from one person to the next, but all gave affirmative nods.

  "The Protector said he cannot commune with the Mythal because the sapphire no longer exists," Corran explained. "We found him imprisoned by the cult, who tried to steal it when they captured him."

  Anorrweyn sat down once more. She seemed lost in thought as she stared though the doorway of the temple at the ruined city beyond. Several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence as the ghost remained in reverie and the mortals hesitated to disturb her. Faeril waited in rapt attention. Durwyn traced the handle of his axe with his thumb. Ghleanna picked lint off her cloak. When Kestrel turned her gaze to Corran, she was startled to find him regarding her. Surely her didn't expect her to do something? She frowned in question, but he looked away.

  Were the others as conscious as she of time ticking away? Ultimately, it was the paladin who took the plunge. "Priestess…" Corran began tentatively.

  Anorrweyn broke her trance. "My apologies. I hoped to sense confirmation of your news through my own, limited, attunement to the Mythal, but I cannot. These tidings deeply unsettle me. Either Miroden is mistaken about the fate of the sapphire, or he lied to you. I can think of no other explanation. The Protector's very existence is linked inextricably to the Gem of the Weave-that is what it means to be a baelnorn. If the sapphire was indeed destroyed, he would have died along with it." She frowned in puzzlement. "Did he say anything else?"

  "He told us that a new Gem of the Weave could be made, with a new stone and a new communicant. The replacement gem could be used to reverse the Mythal's corruption and free it from the cult's hold."

  Anorrweyn's brows rose at the suggestion. Guarded interest danced across her delicate features. "This replacement gem-how is it to be created? Where are you to locate an appropriate jewel?"

  "Harldain provided us with a new stone." Corran brought the emerald forward for Anorrweyn to see. Its color was a near-perfect match to the shade of her gown.

  She reached toward the gem, caressing the air just a hair's breadth away above its surface. "An emerald this time…" The jewel caught a ray of afternoon sunlight and held it, appearing to glow from within. Anorrweyn raised her eyes and met Corran's gaze once more. "And the new communicant?"

  "The Protector thought that you might be persuaded."

  Her eyes widened. "Me? I-" She fell silent again, apparently pondering the unexpected proposal. She glanced around the ruined shell of her temple, her gaze lingering on each small sign of destruction-the missing ceiling, wall cracks, rubble piles, vestiges of the nagas' occupation. Her face settled into an expression of sadness so intense it pained Kestrel to behold it

  "There is nothing left here for me," she said finally. "Of course I shall answer this new call to Mystra's service." She rose, her incorporeal form already starting to fade from view, "Since you have the gem, all that remains is to carry it to the top of the Speculum. There shall we attune the emerald. Pass through the Gate of Antarn to begin your climb up the dragon's back. I give you now my blessing, that t
he gate will open to admit you."

  Anorrweyn closed her eyes and raised her hands over the party. In a low, soft voice she murmured the words of her invocation. Kestrel and the others bowed their heads to receive her blessing. Faeril dropped to her knees.

  When the priestess finished, she lowered her arms and opened her eyes once more. "Farewell for now, my friends." Only the faintest outline of her figure remained, but her voice yet carried strong and steady, mingling with the heady scent of gardenias. "I shall meet you at the crest of the dragon's spine."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  On previous visits to the Speculum, the party had not even noticed the Gate of Antarn. Under Anorrweyn's blessing, however, they clearly saw the solid pair of wooden doors that barred access to the building's winding exterior staircase. As soon as they neared the tip of the dragon's tail, the ancient oak doors creaked open to grant them entry.

  Before proceeding, Kestrel cast a wary glance at the sky. "Let's be quick about this." Already, the sun dipped low. In an hour's time dusk would settle on the city. She'd no wish to stand exposed on the roof of the Speculum at all, let alone once darkness fell. Already, shadows gathered on rooftops and behind clouds.

  The spiraling stone staircase proved narrow and in poor repair. Ballistae had smashed many of the steps, leaving some sections impossible to surmount without Kestrel's rope and grappling hook. They climbed single-file, with Kestrel leading the way and Durwyn bringing up the rear. Kestrel repeatedly studied the sky, unable to shake the feeling that someone watched them from above.

  "Do you see something?" Corran, immediately behind her, also raised his gaze heavenward.

  "No. Not yet." She searched the clouds a moment longer. How often did Pelendralaar leave his lair to swoop through the skies? "This just seems too easy."