"Durwyn—the ring!" Kestrel cried. "Pick up the ring!"
Durwyn scanned the floor, spotted the arm, and rushed toward it The cult leader's voice increased in volume, sounding as if he were nearing the end of the spell he wove. As Ghleanna spoke the final word of her own spell, his shifting image solidified. The cultist stood only feet from the ring. He uttered the final thunderous syllable of his spell and reached for the skeletal arm.
Durwyn snatched it first. The sorcerer shrieked in anger.
And disappeared.
Knowing the cult sorcerer could return any moment with reinforcements, the party did not tarry in the Room of Words. Kestrel, Corran, and Jarial quickly downed blueglow moss potions for their injuries, and the band headed back through the tower to the dungeons.
They reached the Circle of Mythanthor—their gateway out of the dwarven undercity and up to the surface of Myth Drannor. Kestrel could feel the adrenaline pumping through her as they all gathered beside the golden circle on the floor. As much as she'd resisted joining this mission, she was swept up with the others in the excitement of at last completing the first stage of their quest. Finally, they could leave the dark dungeons behind them.
Durwyn handed Ghleanna the skeletal arm. She traced her fingertips around the Ring of Calling, lingering on the starstone gem. Then she tilted her chin up, closed her eyes, and spoke the Word of Oblivion in a steady, clear voice.
"Resheshannen!"
The bones crumbled to dust, leaving only the ring in the sorceress's hand. The white starstone sparkled in the torchlight as Ghleanna slipped it on her finger. "Come," she said. "Let us leave the darkness."
One at a time, they entered the circle. Ghleanna crossed the boundary last. The moment she stepped inside, a sphere of light appeared and hovered before them. It widened until it reached the size and shape of a doorway. Sunlight shone through from the other side, where Kestrel could make out the towering spires and elaborate architecture of the ruined but still impressive Heights of Myth Drannor. In the distance, the parapets of Castle Cormanthor rose toward the sky as if seeking release from the evil that gripped the fortress.
The city surface—and with it, Mordrayn and Pelendralaar—awaited.
BOOK TWO
Myth Weaver
CHAPTER EIGHT
As the party emerged into full daylight, Kestrel squeezed her eyes shut, then forced open two narrow slits. After days spent in the dim torchlight of the dwarven undercity, the sudden brightness of the sun's rays stung her eyes. Several minutes passed before she could open her lids wide enough to behold Myth Drannor's acropolis.
They entered the Heights at the base of a large statue of a wizard. The elderly elven spellcaster was half-enveloped in a finely-woven mantle, its threads seemingly swirling about him. He stood with his hands thrust skyward and his head thrown back, an expression of intense concentration or ecstasy—Kestrel could not tell which—etched on his face. The pedestal on which the statue rested bore the name "Mythanthor."
Behind them, the Speculum rose up in all its majesty and mystery. As Jarial had described, the structure was indeed shaped like a dragon. An enormous horned head dominated the main entrance, its jeweled yellow eyes glowering at all who dared enter the doors below. As Caalenfaire had told them, huge boulders and other piles of rubble blocked the entrance. Fore- and hindlegs projected out in high relief from the stone walls, and a curving exterior staircase formed the creature's tail and back. The mighty beast lay curled around a large "egg"—a domed room in the center of the building.
Next to the Speculum stood an amphitheater. Its seats, many of them crumbling from age or assault, rose fully half the height of the Speculum dragon in a half-circle that matched the curve of the dragon's tail. The stage was a large, but simple, white disc-shaped stone.
To the east lay the Onaglym, its intact state a testament to the unequaled engineering talent of the dwarves who constructed it so many centuries ago. While hundreds of Myth Drannor's lesser buildings lay ruined by the ravages of war or years, the House of Gems yet remained, a strong, silent sentinel to the changes wrought by time and mortal vanity.
Castle Cormanthor graced the highest point of the Heights. It rose up from the cliff on which it was built, its many graceful spires reaching higher into the sky than any others in the city. At one time, walkways apparently had connected the all spires to the main castle and to each other, but most of these had been destroyed or damaged beyond use. Those that remained looked like a precarious challenge to even an acrobat's sense of balance. The narrow spans, several hundred feet above the ground, had no rails, and nothing below to break one's fall.
Moments ago, Kestrel had flushed with a sense of accomplishment at managing to leave the dwarven dungeons at last. But now, scanning the center of Myth Drannor, she realized much more work lay ahead. They had to find Harldain Ironbar, the ally Caalenfaire had mentioned. They had a Mythal to cleanse, an archmage and a dracolich to defeat, and a pool to destroy. She stifled a sigh. "I suppose we ought to head back to the House of Gems?"
Corran glanced at the Onaglym, frowning at the wisps of smoke that still drifted out of the Round Tower. "I suggest we explore a bit before seeking out Harldain Ironbar. That sorcerer might come back to the House of Gems looking for us, and I'd like him to think we're long gone."
"So would I." Kestrel gingerly rubbed her right arm. Though healed of its worst injuries, her body still ached where the cultist's magical strikes had hit her.
They headed in the opposite direction of the Onaglym, to an area southwest of the Speculum. This part of the city lay in almost complete ruin. Its once-stable ground had become marshy, and now the stagnant water and damp air slowly completed the destruction that the wars had started. Large chunks of marble, granite, and crystal lay strewn about like dice from the hands of giants, their surfaces eroded by the elements and covered with green-gray moss and other vegetation. Few buildings retained enough of their structure to be recognizable as former dwellings, businesses, or temples.
One such ruin caught Kestrel's attention. A shell of white marble reached heavenward, the star symbol of Mystra etched into its largest remaining side. Mystra's sign was barely visible beneath the new symbols covering the crumbling walls. The name and image of Llash, a three-headed snake god, had been painted and scrawled all over the building in thick black lines.
Corran stopped in his tracks when he saw the sacrilege. "It's a mercy that Beriand's eyes cannot behold this," he said softly.
A light breeze stirred. From the ruined shrine came a sound like the whimper of an injured animal.
"Do you hear that?" Kestrel asked.
Ghleanna frowned in concentration. "Hear what?"
The sound drifted toward them again, this time resembling a crying woman. Kestrel glanced at each of her companions in turn, but all wore blank expressions. Could no one else hear that wail? "Never mind." She shrugged, trying to dismiss the unsettling feeling creeping up her neck. "It must be the wind whistling through cracks in the walls."
"Are you sure about that?" Jarial regarded her seriously. "If you think you hear something, Kestrel, we should check it out."
The vote of confidence surprised her. "All right, then. I think I hear something—or someone—crying inside."
They approached the shrine. The land surrounding it seemed particularly swampy. In fact, a large puddle of stagnant water had formed to one side of it. The closer they got, however, the more the hairs on the back of Kestrel's neck rose, until her collarbone tingled.
"Stop!" The party came to an abrupt halt as Kestrel peered at the puddle. Was it her imagination, or did the water have an amber glow to it? "Unless I'm mistaken, that's no ordinary water."
Jarial, the only one among them who hadn't seen Phlan's pool, edged closer for a better look. "We can't have found Myth Drannor's Pool of Radiance so easily?"
"I wouldn't stand so close if I were you," Kestrel warned. She recalled all too clearly the sight of the
bandit's life being sucked away by a stray splash.
Ghleanna studied the puddle from a safe distance. "It's too small and too exposed to be the source of the cult's growing power. I suspect this is an offshoot, like the pool in Mulmaster. A spawn pool, you could call it."
From within the ruined shrine, Kestrel once again heard the soft cry. This time, the wind carried words to her: "Where are the followers of Mystra?" And this time, the others heard it as well.
"Is that the cry you heard before?" Corran asked. At her nod, he started toward the entrance to what remained of the shrine. "Who's there?" he called. "Are you all right?"
"Simply marvelous, my good sir," answered a new voice. Though feminine-sounding, it was a harsher voice than the one they had heard previously. "So kind of you to ask."
Corran stopped short just outside the doorway. He seemed about to speak, when he was interrupted from within.
"Oh, come now. Is that any way to greet two lonely ladies?"
"Forgive me." The paladin appeared to recover himself. He cast a deliberate glance toward the rest of the group, then returned his gaze to the hidden speaker. "I believe we may have a common acquaintance. Are you friends of Preybelish?"
At Corran's mention of the dark naga, Kestrel stifled a groan. Not more of the creatures? They'd had a bad enough time handling the first one.
"A distant relation of ours," responded a second sibilant voice. "Sadly, we have not seen our cousin in years. How is he?"
"Quite peaceful, when last I left him."
Kestrel turned to the others. If these nagas had the same mind-reading ability as Preybelish, the party would have to rely on Corran to keep them distracted while the rest of them devised a plan. She only hoped the pair remained unaware that the paladin hadn't arrived alone.
At least this time, they had an idea of what kind of attacks to expect. They needed to stay clear of the nagas' tails, while also avoiding any spells they might hurl. Jarial and Ghleanna whispered hurriedly about what sort of sorcery to use. In spare moments of the journey, they'd been working to expand their arsenal, developing new spells based on magic that opponents had used against them, and they were eager to try out some of the new incantations in combination with their old standbys. Kestrel gave one ear to them while keeping the other tuned to Corran's conversation.
"Have you seen any activity around the castle?" one of the hissing voices inquired. "We hear a dracolich has made his lair there."
"Really? Where within the castle?"
Kestrel had to give Corran credit for improving his subtlety skills. The paladin injected a casualness into his tone that he could not have felt.
"Inside a cavern, far below. From what we understand."
Ghleanna and Jarial settled on their spellcasting plan. Jarial murmured to Kestrel not to forget Borea's Blood, which she carried in a beltpouch. "Ozama's ice knife had the power to paralyze. The shard blade may have a similar effect—worth a try, anyway."
The sorcerers waved their hands, casting protective spells, including one on Corran, who, from his spot in the doorway, now chatted with the nagas about a marble idol of Llash, the snake god of poisons, that they had raised in the ruined shrine. When the mages were finished, they nodded in unison. Kestrel glanced around, lifting her hand, then brought it sharply down, signaling the attack.
Jarial and Ghleanna moved in first, each casting an offensive spell on a different naga. From Jarial's fingers a lightning bolt seared one of the creatures with electrical energy, lifting her off the ground and propelling her across the room to land at the base of the statue. Before the other naga comprehended what happened to her sister, Ghleanna struck her with the same fiery evocation that Preybelish had used against the half-elf.
Durwyn followed the magical attacks with a pair of arrows. He missed Jarial's naga, but Kestrel caught the creature between the eyes with a dagger. The beast's head thumped to the floor.
"One down!" Durwyn shouted. Already, Kestrel breathed a little easier.
Beside her, Jarial began a second incantation. The injured naga rose, parts of her charred purple flesh still smoking. Hatred seethed from her gaze as she took in the party. "Vile humans!" She started a spell of her own.
Just as Jarial seemed about to complete his casting, he suddenly flew back and sprawled facedown on the ground. A hole in his back welled blood.
Kestrel spun around. A third naga had stolen up behind them, unheard in the noise of battle, and struck the human sorcerer with her tail.
"Arrogant wanderers!" the creature hissed. "How dare you bring violence into our place of worship?" She swung her tail again, this time aiming for Kestrel. The thief ducked and rolled away from the giant snake, but the creature drew back its tail for a second attack.
"Your place of worship?" Corran sputtered. "You blaspheme a house of Mystra with your profane idol!" He grabbed his warhammer and swung it against the black marble statue of the snake god, breaking off one of its three heads.
"No!" The naga's tail dropped in mid-swing, her attention fully drawn to Corran.
The injured naga finished her spell, directing it at Ghleanna. Three bursts of dark magical energy sped toward the half-elf. When they came within a foot of her, however, they bounced off a shimmering barrier and harmlessly sputtered out.
"Llash damn you to the Abyss!" the thwarted creature swore.
Corran swung his warhammer at the base of the idol. The marble fractured, and the top-heavy sculpture wobbled. The paladin threw his weight against it, pushing it toward the monster. The idol tottered. Corran threw himself at the statue once more, this time toppling it onto the injured naga. It landed on her head with a mighty crash. The creature's body jerked spasmodically, then fell still.
"Llash! Aid your servant!" the remaining naga cried. Unable to tear her gaze away from the fallen statue, she seemed oblivious to the enemies surrounding her. She slithered toward the idol.
Kestrel took advantage of her distraction to hurl Borea's Blood. The ice knife caught the creature in the throat just below her head. The naga couldn't even scream before the paralyzing cold numbed her upper body. Her head fell to the floor, where Durwyn easily removed it with a stroke of his axe.
The moment he struck the death blow, a loud hissing commenced outside the ruined shrine. Not another naga? Kestrel didn't think so—this was a different sort of hiss, like that released by the last few drops of water in a pan boiled dry. She cautiously approached the doorway and peered out
The amber pool was evaporating so rapidly that steam billowed into the sky. As the foul water dissipated, the land around it returned to health. Greenery once again graced the area surrounding the ruined shrine, and patches of blueglow moss appeared.
Kestrel turned to the others. "The pool's gone!" Then an idea struck her. "I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder as she dashed out the door. She dug up a patch of the healing moss and brought it inside for Jarial. Ozama's boots had saved him once again from the naga's poison, but the creature's barbed tail had inflicted a nasty wound. As Kestrel applied the moss to the sorcerer's back, the air in the ruined shrine suddenly chilled.
"Where are the followers of Mystra?" beseeched a forlorn voice. The sound seemed to come from above. They all looked skyward—to find their view of the clouds veiled by a translucent ceiling.
The ruined walls of the shrine seemed to be restored, but in a shimmery, intangible state. At the same time, the Llash graffiti faded. All around them, features of the former temple reappeared—statues, tapestries, ritual objects. The ghostly shrine looked as it had centuries ago, before war brought it to ruin.
"Those faithful to the Goddess of the Weave—are they no more? Where are the servants of Mystery?" The plaintive voice echoed throughout the spectral building, but the speaker remained unseen.
"There are many who yet serve you in our time, my lady," Corran called to the air.
Kestrel stared at him. "You think that's actually Mystra's voice?"
He s
hrugged. "Perhaps."
"Where are the followers of Mystra?"
Kestrel didn't believe they heard a divine call. Wouldn't a goddess, of all people, know where her followers were? As it was, the voice held such melancholy that she didn't think she could listen to it much longer. "Can we leave before whoever she is drives us mad?" She retrieved her weapons and went to clean them on the grass outside while Durwyn helped Jarial to his feet.
When she returned, Corran still cast a searching gaze heavenward. "She sounds so sorrowful," he said. "We should try to help her."
The sad voice stirred a response in Kestrel as well—not that she'd ever admit that fact to Corran. Unlike the quixotic paladin, she knew they couldn't afford any more tangential delays. "Like we helped Nottle? Look what that cost us."
The words came out more sharply than she intended. Corran turned his head away, but not before she saw a look of bitter regret cross his features. Apparently, the paladin felt the responsibility for Emmeric's death more keenly than she'd realized.
"All right, then," Corran said quietly, his back to them all. "Let us go."
Injured, tired, and nearly out of spells, the party voted to visit Beriand and Faeril before returning to the House of Gems. Though the elven shelter lay out of their way, there they could find healing and a safe place to rest
Kestrel hadn't apologized to Corran for her earlier barb about Emmeric, though her conscience pricked her. The delight she'd expected to feel at having discovered a way to wound him hadn't materialized. She felt more hollow than anything else. There was no satisfaction, she realized, in causing a companion the chagrin his unguarded response had revealed.
Faeril greeted them warmly upon their arrival. "You have been busy!" she said as soon as she saw them. "Already, we feel a change in the Mythal."
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