Ghleanna tapped one of the ice formations with her staff. "Solid."
"Can you free it from the alhoon's spell?" Corran asked.
"We can try." She raised a brow at Jarial. "What do you think? Should we attempt to dispel the magic or counter it?"
"The alhoon are powerful spellcasters. I don't know if either of us has the experience to dispel such strong sorcery." Jarial circled the rune, running his hands along some of the icicles. "It looks like the sphere could withstand a fireball, which would probably melt some of the ice..."
Ghleanna nodded pensively. "Perhaps if we all stood outside the chamber, a lightning bolt could break through the thicker ice formations."
As the two discussed additional possibilities, Kestrel noticed Durwyn shifting impatiently. The warrior concentrated on the icicle nearest him, his fingers absently stroking the haft of his axe.
Corran joined in the mages' discussion. "If you weaken the ice with your spells, I'm sure Durwyn and I could then—"
"Enough talk. We waste time!" Durwyn raised his battle-axe and swung at the closest icicle. The force of the blow sent a huge crack running along the ice from top to bottom. As it weakened, its center seemed to take on a bluish hue. Durwyn struck again, this time breaking through the formation. Embedded in the jagged layers of ice rested a thin blue shard that twinkled in the torchlight
They all moved closer for a better look. "Well, I'll be pickled," Nottle said. "What do ye suppose that is?"
Jarial furrowed his brow in concentration. "It looks like ..." He extended a hand, running his fingers along the crystal's edge. "It is. This is an ice knife, identical to one Ozama often conjured through spellcasting. Only hers wasn't blue."
"Borea's Blood," Nottle whispered.
"You've heard of it?"
The halfling's eyes glowed as he regarded the ice sliver almost reverently. "It's said that Borea's Blood—" He stopped suddenly, as if remembering himself. His eyes regained their usual mercenary glint, and he shrugged casually. "Jest a blue knife, that's all. Nothin' you folks would wanna fug around with ye." He reached toward it "Here, I'll jes—"
"I don't think so." Kestrel batted away his arm. Obviously the knife had some value if the peddler took interest. "I'm sure lugging this around won't prove a burden to us at all." She grabbed the crystal and tugged, expecting it to remain frozen in place. To her surprise, the blue knife slid from the icicle as smoothly as a sword from its scabbard.
The moment Borea's Blood cleared its icy sheath, every shard of ice in the room immediately disappeared. The large ice formations vanished, while the broken chunks on the floor melted into small puddles. Only the blue crystal remained unchanged, resting coolly in the palm of Kestrel's hand. Above the rune, the colored lights danced like faeries on Midsummer Night
"You did it—you unfroze the Rohnglyn," Durwyn said.
She regarded the fighter. Had he not taken matters into his own hands, they might have wasted an hour debating strategy. She was developing new respect for the quiet but dedicated warrior. "No, it was your no-nonsense approach that found the crystal in the first place."
At the compliment, the corners of Durwyn's mouth twisted in a self-conscious half-smile. He appeared unused to praise. "Now that it's thawed, how do you suppose it works?"
As in the room they'd entered earlier, the far wall of this chamber held a carving of four diamonds stacked right on top of each other, with a small gem—an opal—in the bottom-most point. Kestrel, Ghleanna, and Corran studied the pattern, while Jarial, Durwyn, and Nottle examined the floating golden sphere and the lights.
"Four diamonds, four dungeon levels," Ghleanna said finally. "I'm guessing the gem in that pattern indicates the current position of the Rohnglyn. The bottom diamond is the bottom level of the dungeon, and so on. Perhaps it's simply a matter of moving the gem to the level we want to reach."
"That tells it where we want to travel," Corran said, "but how do we activate the device?"
"I think that's what this sphere is for," Jarial said, poking at the globe. "Maybe once the opal is repositioned, we push or rotate the sphere."
"We'll never figure it out just standing here. Let's give it a try." Kestrel pulled the gem out of the wall and moved it up to the next vertex. "If Ghleanna's theory is correct, we should wind up one level above, in the room we entered before."
They all entered the dancing lights and moved to the center of the rune. Jarial reached toward the globe. "Ready?"
The moment he touched the golden sphere, the lights spun wildly about the perimeter of the rune, circling a half dozen times before returning to their usual state. The party waited expectantly, but nothing more happened.
"Maybe it's not as easy as we thought," Durwyn said.
Kestrel went back to study the diamond pattern again. She frowned in concentration. "Perhaps we need to do more than merely reposition the ruby."
"Ruby?" Ghleanna said. "It was an opal, was it not?"
Kestrel glanced at the sorceress in surprise. "You're right—the ruby was in the first room." She turned back to the pattern, now noticing the tiny scratch marks at the bottom of the pattern. "Here are the marks I made trying to pry it out."
Corran walked to the doorway and peered into the corridor. "Sure enough. We're back on the third level."
"Ha! That's a pretty good trick," Nottle said. "Gettin' around the dungeons will be a piece o'cake now." The halfling fairly skipped toward the door. "I'm gonna check on my wagon. See you folks later." He nearly exited before turning around once more. "Oh—if ye ever git tired o' toting around Borea's Blood, ye know where t'find me."
They watched him depart. "Let's get back to the House of Gems," Corran said.
Kestrel plucked the ruby out of the wall and inserted it in the topmost vertex. She reentered the dancing lights and nodded at Jarial. "Go ahead."
The wizard touched the golden sphere. This time the lights raced so quickly and flashed so brightly that Kestrel squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them a moment later, expecting to find herself in another identical room.
Not in the belly of a dragon.
CHAPTER SIX
The unpredictable Rohnglyn had landed them in an enormous oval-shaped hall. Elaborate murals and mosaics of dragons covered the walls, some studded with precious stones to depict gem dragons. Small round windows served as the dragons' eyes, allowing the first sunlight they'd seen in days to spill into the room. The hall's beams and columns were intricately carved in the same motif. Blue, red, green, and black dragon tails spiraled white pillars, while silver dragon claws cradled glowing orbs at fixed intervals along the walls. On the ceiling, two great wyrms—one red, one gold—were locked in eternal combat
Corran fixed Kestrel with an annoyed glare. "This isn't the entrance to the House of Gems. What in blazes did you do?"
"Nothing! I just moved the gem to the top—I'm hardly an expert on this Rohnglyn thing, you know," she retorted.
"Obviously."
Durwyn turned in a slow circle, taking in their surprising new surroundings. "Where are we?"
Good question, Kestrel thought. Woven among all the dragon images were mysterious-looking runes and intricate knotwork patterns. The gilded railing along a second-floor balcony featured the most elaborate of these patterns. Similar designs were also set into the floor. Two rows of statues flanked the main walkway. These depicted sorcerers—some human, some elven, some of other races—all of whom appeared powerful, wise, and formidable.
"Wherever we are, this is a place of great magic," Ghleanna murmured. "Can you feel it surround us?"
After witnessing Emmeric's brutal death, magic was the last thing Kestrel wished to be surrounded by.
"Clearly, we've left the dungeons and are now above ground," Jarial said. "I wonder if we have stumbled into the Speculum—the old wizards' guildhall. When Ozama and I first came to Myth Drannor we saw the building perched near the castle in the city's Heights. It is shaped like a giant dragon curled
around an egg. The hall we now stand in is large enough to constitute most of the dragon's body."
"It's so—still," Kestrel said quietly. Something about the room inhibited speech, making her reluctant to use any but muted tones.
"I imagine the protective magics cast in and around this hall long ago have kept it safe from the desecration overtaking other parts of the city," Jarial responded.
Durwyn stepped off the Rohnglyn rune. "As long as we're here, let's look around. Maybe the wizards left something behind that can help us."
Kestrel let the others advance well into the room before she left the security of the Rohnglyn, not needing to look at the familiar scar on her wrist to recall the nasty surprises sorcerers could leave lying in wait. The injury in her thigh served as ample reminder of magical treachery, though the pain had subsided enough that she no longer favored the leg.
Once she started exploring the hall, however, she became caught up in the striking architecture and detailed renderings of dragon and sorcerer alike. Each depicted wizard appeared frozen in the process of casting a spell. An image crossed her mind of all the statues suddenly coming to life and the sorcery that would be unleashed. She shuddered. Thank the Lord of Shadows, they were all just sculptures.
At the end of the hall stood an empty pedestal, apparently still waiting patiently for the statue it would never receive. It stood about three feet high and had a wider base than the others, with recesses curling around its side that looked almost like steps. Curious about the view the elevated height would afford, she used the footholds to climb up.
The moment her foot touched the top of the pedestal, a series of chimes sounded. The musical notes so startled her that she nearly toppled off, but she caught her balance just as a wavering image appeared before her. The image solidified into a large two-dimensional floating oval mirror. Kestrel wrinkled her brow as her reflection came into focus. She looked like someone who'd spent the past several days traipsing through dusty old dungeons and fighting for survival. What she wouldn't give for a bath!
Corran, Durwyn, Jarial, and Ghleanna all hastened to the pedestal. "How did you do that?" Durwyn asked.
Kestrel glanced down at the warrior. "I don't know—I just climbed up on the pedestal and this mirror appeared."
When she looked back at the mirror, she found her reflection fading until the surface became completely black. "Hey, what—"
A new image appeared, this one an unfamiliar face. It was a woman's visage: piercing ice-blue eyes set under perfectly sculpted brows, angular cheekbones, and blood-red lips. Her honey-colored tresses were wound into a towering coil studded with gems. Her neck and shoulders were bare.
Durwyn let out a low whistle. "Wow. Who is that?"
Even Kestrel had to concede the magnetism of the woman's beauty. It captured one's attention and would not let go, seducing male and female viewers alike. Yet Kestrel sensed something predatory about the unknown woman's charm, as if the stranger were a spider inviting her into its web. The thief's collarbone tingled, a sensation that surprised her—in all the danger she'd faced since coming to Myth Drannor, she'd not felt the intuitive warning signal until she gazed at this woman's face.
As they watched, more of the stranger's body became visible. The woman reclined against some kind of dark red, leathery, curved bolster or throne, her limbs carelessly draped over its sides. She wore a red leather bodysuit slit to the navel—and little else. Body piercings on her thighs marred the otherwise smooth lines of her long legs, which ended in a pair of high-heeled red leather boots. The piercings resembled those Kestrel had seen on the cult fighters. Was this woman involved in the Cult of the Dragon?
Soft wavering light emanated from a source Kestrel couldn't see, casting a warm but eerie glow on the white skin of the woman's face and arms. The mysterious figure pensively gazed at the source of the glow.
Pelendralaar, said a husky female voice, barely audible above a gurgling hiss-babble in the background. Though the enchantress's mouth had not formed the word, Kestrel was sure it had come from her.
"Child," boomed a deep masculine voice. A bright flash of orange light bathed the woman's face, then diminished.
The Pool has reached the port at Hillsfar. She closed her eyes and tossed her head back, exposing the curve of her throat. Her lips formed a slow, wicked smile. Can you hear the screams?
Her unseen companion offered only a deep rumble in response. More flashes of orange lit her face. The woman's eyes opened. She turned her head and sat forward, gazing up and off to the side. Something troubles you. Speak.
"They are not fools," said the thunderous voice. "They will send their heroes."
The seductress nestled into her seat once more as she turned her gaze back to the source of the wavering glow. The view broadened, revealing a body of amber fluid lapping the ground nearby. They will meet the Mythal. Our Mythal. Another smile, this one more sinister than the last, spread across her features. She lifted her right arm and regarded her hand—not visible in the mirror—as if inspecting her manicure. And then they will meet you.
At the word "you," the view expanded. Kestrel gasped, a sick feeling spreading through her stomach. The woman had no right hand but an enormous reptilian claw, far larger and sharper than any they had seen on the cultists. She stroked her razorlike talons along the curve of her throne, eliciting a deep, low groan from the mysterious masculine voice. A moment later, Kestrel saw that the sorceress sat not against an object of mortal construction but a great red dragon. The beast, however, looked horribly withered and disfigured. Its skin was dried and tight against its too-visible bones.
It was not a dragon, Kestrel realized, but the animated corpse of a dragon. The creature issued a final rumble, flames darting from its mouth.
The scene shrank, growing smaller and smaller until it appeared to be contained in a glass sphere the size of a child's ball. The sphere rested on a wooden stand atop a circular table. The glare of the dragon's flames illuminated several figures gathered around the crystal ball. Of them, Kestrel recognized only Elminster.
"Our heroes have already done well, taking up the fallen party's mission as their own. If only we could send additional help ..." the great mage said with a weary voice. "But the corrupted Mythal prevents us. They must seize the power of the Mythal for themselves. Otherwise, Moonsea is lost, and the Dragon Coast, and with them all our hopes."
The other figures nodded in assent as the mirror faded to darkness, then disappeared altogether. Kestrel remained, unmoving, on the pedestal. A long minute passed before anyone spoke.
"I believe we've just had our first glimpse of Mordrayn," Corran asked.
"And her pet dracolich. What did she call him—Pelendralaar?" Ghleanna said. "It seems Emmeric and Nottle were both correct about the cult's leadership. The two are working together."
Kestrel hopped off the pedestal so she could converse more easily with her companions. "Mordrayn said the pool has reached Mulmaster. Do you think she means another Pool of Radiance has appeared, like the one in Phlan?"
"Elminster suspected the Phlan pool was an offshoot of a larger, main pool here—not separate bodies of water, but somehow linked." Ghleanna leaned against a statue of the notorious wizard himself, captured in bronze unleashing one of his human spells in the elven hall. "When he left Phlan, he was on his way to Shadowdale to investigate tales of another offshoot there. If the pool has indeed reached Mulmaster, there is no telling how many other cities it might threaten. We must stop its spread, or we might not have homes to return to."
The mage's words chilled Kestrel. Until this point, she'd believed the Pool of Radiance was a menace confined to Myth Drannor and Phlan. She'd wanted to walk away and let those cities solve their own problems, figuring she'd just start over in a new town far from the Moonsea But if the pool could replicate itself anywhere, was there a safe place in all Faerûn?
Durwyn shook his head as if to clear it of confusion. "I don't understand—ho
w can the Pool of Radiance in Myth Drannor send tendrils of itself to cities tens of leagues away from here?"
"Maybe it has something to do with the Mythal," Corran said. "Beriand and Faeril told us it has been corrupted, and Mordrayn and Pelendralaar spoke of it as being theirs." He turned to Ghleanna and Jarial. "Suppose the cult gained control of it somehow. Could it enable the Pool of Radiance to expand in such a manner?"
The two sorcerers exchanged grim glances. The Mythal is woven of ancient magic," Ghleanna responded. "Such powerful sorcery holds possibilities we cannot even conceive."
Kestrel glanced around the hall. They stood in a place of powerful sorcery, after all—perhaps the answer could be found right here. The runes on the walls were indecipherable to her, but maybe Ghleanna or Jarial could read them. Too, they had not yet explored the second floor. She peered up at the balcony. Several rows of bookcases, extending back as far as she could see, rested about two yards away from the railing. Scrolls and tomes neatly lined their shelves. A library? She pointed toward the balcony.
"The second floor seems to have a lot of scrolls and books. There might be a history of the Mythal or something."
They climbed the stairway. The moment they reached the top, however, a cold breeze blew over them. Out of nowhere, a figure materialized.
Rather, almost materialized. A solid wooden throne appeared, but the man seated on it remained translucent, the back of the chair showing through his form. Kestrel sucked in her breath. A ghost. Her heartbeat accelerated, adding to the sick feeling that still lingered in the pit of her stomach.
Weren't ghosts supposed to appear the way they did in life? If so, this man—an old elven sorcerer, from the look of his ornate robes and headdress—must have been ancient when he died. The spirit's gaunt face, sunken eyes, and bony limbs lent him a skeletal mien. He rested on a cobweb-covered oak throne as gnarled as he and seemed so deeply settled into it that Kestrel wondered if he had risen from it in centuries. On his lap he held a gold bowl filled with water, and his right hand rested on a grinning skull with glowing red eyes.
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