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 the 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."
"Tell that to Durwyn." Even in his new lightweight armor, the big man was having trouble picking his way along the narrow, rubble-strewn staircase. He sent scree cascading with every other step. Kestrel observed the steep incline and smaller width of the stairs yet ahead—and the craters where steps used to be—and prayed the warrior would maintain his balance. Even she had trouble finding footing in some places.
Kestrel heard Ghleanna's voice call from behind Corran. "How do we find the 'focal point' the baelnorn mentioned once we reach the top?"
"No idea," Corran confessed, to Kestrel's surprise. She could not recall a previous instance of the paladin admitting to ignorance, "I'm hoping Anorrweyn will be waiting for us when we get there."
Kestrel paused and glanced around. They had climbed about a third of the way to the top and reached an elevation that provided a panoramic view of the Heights. Shadows dappled the structures below and grew longer with each passing minute. The setting sun also played tricks on her eyes—she could have sworn she saw movement on the ledge of a nearby building, but on second look she saw only grim statues perched watchfully along the rooftop. Gargoyles. She'd heard stories of the winged, horned beasts animating and taking flight, but she'd never put any stock in the accounts. Nursery tales, meant to scare children into staying indoors after dark. That's all she'd ever believed them to be.
She was starting to reconsider that opinion.
They climbed higher. The faint breeze that had tousled her hair now became a steady wind. The sun dipped behind the horizon, leaving only its upper hemisphere visible. Kestrel hated this time of day—twilight made the eyes play tricks. Were they halfway up the staircase, or further? Was that movement just now, off to the left? Though dusk could often prove a thief's best friend, right now she wished for full dark rather than the murky, ambiguous half-light
She stopped once more and listened to the wind. She'd swear on Quinn's grave that she heard low, guttural voices followed by the flapping of wings. Was that too an illusion, a trick of the atmosphere? "Do you hear that?" she asked Corran.
The paladin never had a chance to answer.
A woosh from above was all the warning they had before a pair of gargoyles swooped down at them. Kestrel ducked instinctively, while Corran raised his shield to block the sharp stone claws that reached toward him. The creatures shrieked at the failure of their surprise attack, then circled for another run.
"What in blazes was that?" Durwyn asked.
"Gargoyles," Kestrel and Corran answered in unison. Kestrel glanced around wildly for cover, but there was none to be had—the party was completely exposed. Faeril began to chant a prayer-spell that Kestrel hoped would offer some protection. Ghleanna and Jarial, mean
while, started muttering words of their own.
The gargoyles descended again. This time two more had joined their ranks. One swooped at Ghleanna just as she completed her spell. The creature suddenly went rigid, unable to control its dive. It crashed against the side of the building and smashed to bits that rained onto the ground below.
Two other gargoyles met the same fate. The fourth plunged toward Corran with both its claws outstretched. The paladin struck the beast with his warhammer, but the weapon glanced off without so much as chipping the stone. The gargoyle's claws lashed out but could not penetrate Corran's new armor.
Undaunted, the creature circled and dove once more. As its horns rushed toward the paladin, Corran grabbed Pathfinder. Glowing with magical light, the sword impaled the beast as its head struck the paladin's shield. The creature dropped to Corran's feet, where it took the combined strength of Corran and Durwyn to shove it off the stairs and send it tumbling to the ground.
Kestrel cast her gaze skyward as the fighters disposed of the body. She did not see any more of the creatures approaching, but the hazy gray light camouflaged the stone beasts so well that she couldn't be sure. "We've got to move faster," she said.
They climbed only a few steps farther when more wingbeats echoed through the air. Half a dozen beasts approached this time, each targeting a different person. Ghleanna released another spell, paralyzing three of the beasts and sending them plummeting to earth.
Two of the remaining gargoyles suddenly reared up as Jarial completed a casting. They hovered three or so feet away, advancing then retreating, as if they had forgotten what they were supposed to do. One of them uttered a guttural word that sounded like a curse in any language, and flew away. The other flew in confused circles.
The last gargoyle dived headlong into Durwyn. Though its horns did not penetrate the warrior's armor, the force of impact knocked him off balance. He struggled to regain his equilibrium, tottering precariously on the edge of the staircase.
"Durwyn!" Kestrel watched him in horror. They were well over a hundred feet above the ground—it would be a long fall, with a deadly landing. She willed the fighter to catch himself.
Faeril lunged toward him, trying to reach an arm and pull him to surer footing, but the guard lost his battle with gravity and toppled over the edge. Faeril managed to grasp only his ankle as he disappeared from view. Reacting quickly, Jarial grabbed her legs before Durwyn's weight could pull the cleric over the edge as well.
"I... can't.. . hold him ..." Faeril's face turned red with exertion as she struggled to keep her grip. Several highly unladylike grunts followed. Every muscle in her arms and neck bulged.
Corran scurried to help, but before he could reach them the gargoyle swooped again. The paladin's blade rang as he struck the creature. Faeril, meanwhile, had turned purple. Her perspiring hands were sliding off Durwyn's armor. "I'm losing him!"
"Hang on!" Kestrel couldn't aid her—too many people were in the way, and the space was too narrow. She could help Jarial, who also struggled to maintain his grasp. As she grabbed Faeril's legs, she heard the sorcerer beside her muttering another spell.
Ghleanna also uttered another casting, this one directed at the remaining gargoyles. Both creatures suddenly ceased moving. Their wings fell still. Then, as had the rest of their pack, they dropped like rocks.
Corran reached Faeril and added his strength to hers. "You all right?" he called to Durwyn.
"I can't find a handhold," he shouted. "It's a sheer drop."
"Don't worry. We'll get you up somehow." After reassuring the warrior, he tried to help Faeril pull him to safety. His efforts, however, were thwarted by Durwyn's sheer bulk. Corran lowered his voice so only those still on the stairs could hear. "We can't get enough leverage to pull him up."
Kestrel felt her heart skip a beat "I think Jarial is working on something."
Faeril released a groan. "Tell him to work faster."
A moment later, Jarial finished mumbling.
"Oh!" the cleric exclaimed. "Kestrel, Jarial... you can let go."
"W—what?" Kestrel stared at her in shock.
"I've boosted her strength," Jarial said.
Kestrel looked from him back to Faeril and reluctantly loosed her grip. Faeril rose to a crouch, some of the strain gone from her face. "Help me lift him," she said to Corran in a steady voice.
As the others watched in mute amazement, the cleric rose to her feet, bringing Durwyn's legs with her. Had she been taller, she could have lifted his whole body over the edge, gripping him by the ankles like a plucked goose. As it was, Corran guided the warrior's chest and head over the edge of the staircase while Faeril pulled him to safety.
"Damn . . ." Kestrel muttered. Magically boosted or not, she'd never seen a woman perform such an incredible feat of strength. Her voice was swallowed by the wind, which had changed direction and now carried a chill. The sun sank lower behind the horizon.
They continued up the stairs with as much haste as they could. Ahead, Kestrel saw a circle crowned by bony-looking spires. The dragon's spine, Anorrweyn and the Protector had called it, and now she understood why. The spindly arches looked like the vertebrae of a great beast They rose toward the darkened sky, somehow untouched by the missiles that had bombarded the stairs. The circle had to be their destination.
The higher they climbed, the more the wind buffeted them about. By the time they reached the apex, their hair whipped about their faces and they had to shout to be heard. Lingering rays of sunlight streaked across the sky.
The party entered the circle with more desperation than reverence. Runes and intricate knotwork, similar to what they had seen inside the Hall of Wizards, covered the stone floor. About ten feet above, the bony spires arced toward a central hollow just large enough for a certain gem.
"Let's do this and get out of here," Kestrel said. Though she scanned the shadows, she saw no sign of the priestess. "Where's Anorrweyn?"
"We'll have to wait for her," Faeril said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kestrel detected movement in the near-darkness. She turned, scanning the sky. More wings, and lots of them. "We don't have time to wait." She pointed. "There's a whole flight of gargoyles coming at us! Put the emerald in place!"
Corran hesitated. "We don't know the—"
"Just do it!"
The wind had become a gale, speeding the gargoyles closer each second. In the light of the dying sun, Kestrel could see a sinister gleam of hatred in their eyes. They hurled themselves at the party with frightening velocity.
Boosted by Durwyn, Corran slid the emerald into its setting. The gem caught the last ray of light just before the sun faded from view. The beam sparked a glow in the emerald that immediately radiated in a sphere so large as to encompass the entire Speculum in a pale green aura.
The gargoyles, too fast and too close to change their course, slammed into the intangible field. Their bodies bounced off the barrier like hail.
"Such creatures of evil deserve nothing less," said a soft voice behind them. Anorrweyn had materialized. Despite the force field, wind still whipped through the stone circle so hard that Kestrel and others had trouble staying on their feet. The ghost, however, appeared to exist in a state of perfect calm. Not a strand of her hair was disturbed.
Durwyn stared up at the green bubble surrounding them. "Is that the Mythal?"
"Nay, merely a force that protects us from predators whilst we conduct the incantation ceremony," Anorrweyn said. "Let us begin."
They parted to let her advance. When she reached the center of the circle, she offered a brief prayer to Mystra, then raised her hands toward the emerald and closed her eyes. "Qu'kiir vian ivae, qu'kiir nethmet." Her voice was barely audible.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Ivae marat vand Cormantkor," Anorrweyn chanted softly. "Mythal selen mhaor kenet. Qu'kiir vand tir t'nor."
Anorrweyn's hair and gown fluttered gently, as if stirred by a soft breeze. "Qu'kiir vian ivae, qu'kiir nethmet,"
she repeated, this time more loudly.
Kestrel shook off the words' hypnotic effect to edge closer to Ghleanna. "You speak Elvish, don't you?" she said just loudly enough to be heard above the roar of the wind. "What does she say?"
Ghleanna leaned close, but never took her eyes off the priestess. "The words are ancient, so my understanding is limited," she responded. "But roughly: Binding gem, awaken your light. Dance the weave of the Mythal. Bind it to me that I might drive corruption from our home."
Anorrweyn reached the end of the verse once more. "Qu'kiir vand tir t'nor." Another thunderclap boomed, much closer than the first. Without pause, she began again.
"Qu'kiir vian ivae, qu'kiir nethmet." The priestess tossed back her head, entirely given over to the incantation. She chanted the mystical words in a clear, strong voice that rose above the wind's howl. Her hair streamed behind her now, as if the natural forces of this plane finally touched her.
An enormous crack of thunder rent the air. Kestrel nearly jumped out of her skin as the echo reverberated through the night, but Anorrweyn never ceased in her chant. She shouted the words heavenward. "Qu'kiir vand tir t'nor!"
Slowly, Anorrweyn rose into the air as if drawn up by some unseen hand. When her fingertips touched the emerald, deep green light burst forth. The radiance spouted beyond the protective field and into the night sky, where it diffused into a wavery mantle of prismatic light that extended as far as the eye could see.
Kestrel gasped. Surely they gazed upon the Mythal itself.
The great Weave coursed with power beyond mortal comprehension, yet it was also a thing of overwhelming beauty. Strands of every hue interlaced in complex knot-work patterns that overlapped so tightly as to form an unbroken blanket of light and energy. The mantle enveloped the city as lovingly as a mother's arms encircle her child.
Yet as they watched, an oily blackness—darker even than the night sky—stole into the fabric of the Weave, oozing between its strands. The taint spread, appearing to open up gaping holes in the sacred shield. Beyond lay not the stars of the heavens, but nothingness.
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