Ruins of Myth Drannor (31 page)

At the far end of the cavern, on a recessed ledge overlooking the pool, stood Kya Mordrayn. The Gauntlets of Moander hung from a belt at her hips. Beside her, a stone pillar rose out of the ledge to about waist level. The Sapphire of the Weave rested atop it, pulsing with brilliant blue light. The illumination dappled the cavern walls and bathed the archmage’s face, lending it a deathly paleness that contrasted sharply with the expression of intense concentration she wore. Her eyes stared unblinking at the gem as she cupped it with her dragonlike claw.

Mordrayn was locked in communion with the Mythal. Tiny blue-white flames danced around the edges of the Sapphire, bathing the gem in supernatural fire. The flames also licked Mordrayn’s claw, but the archmage either did not feel their heat or could not respond. She stood entranced by the sapphire’s aura, her mind one with the Weave.

There was no sign of the dracolich Pelendralaar. Yet.

Kestrel listened closely to the sounds emanating from the cavern. The sapphire—at least she thought it was the gem from this distance—emitted a low hum. The cultists droned in time with the stone’s pulsations. Though Kestrel couldn’t distinguish the arcane words, they resonated with blasphemy.

She backed away from the opening, her heart racing. This was it—their only opportunity to destroy the Pool of Radiance. There would be no second chances.

“We are so outnumbered I don’t even want to think about it,” she said as she and Corran returned to the others. “The cavern is filled with cultists. And all of them stand between us and Mordrayn.”

Corran removed his helm. He ran a hand through his dark locks, grasping the roots at the back of his head and closing his eyes. He looked as weary as Kestrel felt.

“We need not defeat them all,” said Ghleanna. “We just have to get someone on the ledge to touch the sapphire and speak the Word of Redemption.”

“Destroying the gem is only our first objective.” Corran opened his eyes and let his hand drop to his side.

“Afterward, we still need to defeat Mordrayn to get the Gauntlets of Moander and destroy the pool.”

“Not to mention deal with the dracolich if he makes an appearance,” Kestrel added. Her collarbone tingled so much she could barely stand still.

“He will,” Athan asserted. “If Mordrayn summons him or we harm her, he will come.”

Corran knelt and traced a representation of the pool cavern in the dust, marking the positions of the pool, Mordrayn, the sapphire, and the cultists. “Ghleanna is right about the gem being our first priority. We must create a distraction to enable one of us to get up on that ledge. There’s a section of dry floor between the pool and the ledge wall.” He glanced up from his tracings. “Kestrel, do you—”

He stopped short staring at her. She squirmed under his scrutiny. “What? What is it?”

“Your invisibility is wearing off.”

Kestrel looked down at her body. It appeared translucent, like those of Anorrweyn or Caalenfaire, but solidified more each second. A glance at the others showed Faeril reappearing as well. Only Durwyn—cloaked by the original invisibility spell, not Ghleanna’s modified version—remained unseen. Kestrel swore under her breath.

“No matter,” Corran said calmly. “Better now than unexpectedly during battle. We’ll work around it.”

Somehow, in the face of everything, Kestrel found Corran’s matter-of-fact tone reassuring. For all their differences and the grief he’d given her, the paladin had proven himself a valuable comrade-in-arms. She wondered if the party ever would have made it this far without Corran’s steadiness and faith in their cause. Certainly not if it had been left up to her.

Corran drew an X in the dust. “We are here. I suggest five of us create a distraction in this part of the cavern—” he traced a circle—“while one person skirts the perimeter and scales the wall to reach the gem.”

At the party’s nods of agreement, Corran continued. “This room provides both cover and a good view of the cavern. Faeril and Ghleanna, cast as many spells as you can from here until the range of your remaining magic forces you to move to more exposed ground. Athan, Durwyn, and Kestrel, once the cult realizes where the magic is coming from, the spellcasters will need your defensive help. With luck and Tyr’s favor, I will have reached the sapphire by then.”

Kestrel frowned. Corran darting through cultists and scrambling up a wall? She was far better suited for the assignment than the brawny paladin. Once again he was underusing her skills. “Corran, that ledge is at least forty feet high. I’m smaller and lighter, not to mention more experienced at this sort of thing. I can scale it in half the time it would take you.”

“That’s true.” His gray eyes met hers. “But Mordrayn will be waiting for whoever reaches the top.”

Well, of course she would. That went without—

Kestrel’s thoughts stopped abruptly as she realized the paladin’s motive. He was taking the most dangerous assignment upon himself. Looking back, she realized that many of their arguments had arisen because he had tried to sacrifice his own safety first.

“I know she will,” Kestrel said. A week ago she never would have volunteered for the job, never would have put herself at greater risk than she had to—certainly never would have offered to face an evil archmage alone. Still they could not fail, and she knew in her heart that of them all, she had the best chance of reaching the sapphire. “This is my battle, too. Let me fight it to the best of my ability.” As she spoke, her collarbone vibrated so hard it ached. Had she just written her own death sentence?

Corran searched her face for a long moment. Respect lit in his eyes. “All right, then.”

At his words, the tingling in her collarbone subsided, and with it her fear. Courage washed over her, chasing away the shadows of self-doubt and cynicism, filling her with the belief that victory was indeed possible. Despite the incredible odds, they might just pull off their mission.

She regarded the paladin with a mixture of surprise and new understanding. This must be the aura of which Ghleanna spoke—the reason the others had followed Corran almost without question from the beginning. The sorceress had been right. Until now, Kestrel had never allowed herself to feel it.

Their circle broke up as each person made individual preparations. Ghleanna readied her spells, Faeril and Corran offered devotions to their gods, Durwyn arranged his arrows near the doorway for easy access. Athan paced impatiently, eager to wet his sword with cult blood.

Kestrel withdrew a small pouch and sprinkled white powder onto her hands. The chalk would help her maintain her grip as she scaled the wall. Her rope and grappling hook hung from her belt, but she hoped to find enough natural holds in the rock to free climb. Mordrayn might be entranced now, but once the sorcerers set off their fireworks, Kestrel didn’t want to risk the archmage kicking her grappling hook loose while she dangled from a rope.

She went to the doorway once more and studied the cavern, plotting her course. Fewer cultists gathered on the west side of the pool, but approaching the ledge from that direction required her to leap over a stray arm of the vile amber liquid. The east side held no water trap but twice as many human obstacles. She would dart west.

Behind her, Corran drew near. “Don’t let even a drop of the pool touch your skin,” he cautioned.

She gazed at the insidious lake, recalling the horrible fate of the bandits she’d observed in Phlan. “I’ve seen what it can do.”

He leaned on his sword and cleared his throat. “I was thinking… perhaps I should follow you to the ledge. In case the cultists spot you. And so that when you face Mordrayn—”

“No.” She turned toward him, struck by the look of genuine concern she discovered in his eyes. “You will slow me down, Corran. Or attract attention.” Besides, she preferred to work solo—at least, she always had before. As tempting as she found his offer to cover her back, she shook her head. “If I’m to succeed, I must do this alone.”

Reluctantly, he nodded his agreement. “After you destroy the sapphire, the rest of us will close in as quickly as we can.”

Quickly enough to save her from a cruel death at the archmage’s hands? Standing here with the paladin, she actually believed it was possible. “I’ll see you there.”

“Take care, Kestrel.”

She shrugged. “Always do.” But as she walked away, she cast one last glance at her former adversary. “Corran,” she called. The paladin turned. “You, too.”

Kestrel slipped out of the antechamber and slunk into the nearest shadows. Though Ghleanna had cast a hastening enchantment on her, she crept down the slope slowly, relying on stealth instead of speed. Once she reached the outer wall of the cavern she stuck close to it, darting from shadow to shadow as she made her way toward the ledge. And Mordrayn.

The cultists’ chanting muffled her movements. She realized, after she reached the cavern floor and could observe them more closely in the dim light, that only some of the cultists were participating in the Mythal ritual. The sorcerers all had their eyes on the Sapphire of the Weave as they repeated their profane mantra. The cult fighters, however, who comprised at least half the assembly, stood quietly on alert. She would have to proceed very cautiously as she wended her way past their ranks.

She paused and pressed herself against the wall. She’d traveled about a third of the distance to Mordrayn’s ledge and had another third to cover before reaching the arm of the pool that obstructed her way. All the cultists had gathered on this side of the tendril, so once she passed that obstacle she’d have a clear path to the ledge. First, however, she had an army of dragon-worshipers to avoid.

She glanced up at the antechamber. Good—her companions betrayed no hint of their presence. She knew Durwyn, still invisible, watched her progress from the doorway. Faeril and Ghleanna were to initiate a distraction when she reached the pool arm, unless she had need of it sooner. With so many eyes focused on the sapphire, even she couldn’t climb all the way up the ledge unnoticed.

The pool hissed louder down here, a sinister murmur that sounded almost sentient. By the gods, she couldn’t wait to stop those foul whisperings from entering her ears. Still hugging the wall, she continued her surreptitious journey.

Ahead, three cult fighters leaned against the cavern wall, engaged in low conversation. She couldn’t make out their words, and she didn’t much care—she was more concerned about getting around them. She studied the shadows dancing across the cavern floor. There was no good route, but she found one that might work. If she was very lucky.

With a deep breath, she stepped away from the wall and into the pulsing blue light of the sapphire. She walked quickly and silently, hoping the combination of her speed and the strobe effect of the gem’s light would play tricks on the cultists’ eyes and obscure her exact position.

It didn’t.

The trio raised an alarm. Kestrel didn’t wait to see what happened next—she ran for all she was worth. Magically sped by Ghleanna’s prior incantation, she practically flew past the cultists as the sorceress’s lightning bolt streaked across the east side of the cavern to strike a cluster of unwary cult mages.

She’d expected the chant to stop abruptly after her party’s initial strike, but many cult sorcerers were so absorbed in the Mythal ritual that a second attack hit before all the dragon-worshipers mobilized. Fortunately for Kestrel, most of the cultists focused their attention on finding the source of the magical attacks. Units of fighters hurried around the edge of the pool, trying to reach the west side to uncover the renegade sorcerer in their midst. Those cultists on the target side, meanwhile, scurried out of the line of fire.

The resulting pandemonium enabled Kestrel to get nearly to the pool tendril before anyone else noticed her.

“You!” a cult sorcerer cried, his voice all but lost in the din. He pointed his sinister claw at her and unleashed a cone of swirling white vapor.

Kestrel tensed as the funnel enveloped her, but she felt no harmful effects. With a grateful thought for the baelnorn, she rubbed her thumb over the band of one of her mantle rings and hurried on.

As fire and ice, poisoned gas, and conjured missiles soared and billowed through the air, Kestrel lost track of which spells were cast by her friends and which were retributive strikes. She just did her best to ignore the chaos erupting around her and focused on reaching the ledge. Mordrayn remained locked in communion with the Mythal, oblivious to the mayhem that had overtaken the cavern. The blue aura, undisturbed by mortal turmoil, continued to surround the archmage and the sapphire.

She reached the pool arm—a slough, really, an extension of the main pool filled with watery muck. From the foul smell that greeted her, she wondered if the gray sludge comprised the remains of victims tossed into the wicked pond. The slough was about six feet across. With her running start, she should have no trouble leaping its breadth. She boosted her speed in preparation for the jump.

And landed on her face.

“Going somewhere?” The cult fighter who’d tripped her emerged from the shadows as she rolled to her feet and scrambled for a weapon. The enormous man towered over her, swiping his claw through the air like a second weapon. She snapped her club to its full length and swung it up just in time to block his first sword thrust.

He brought the blade around to strike again. Still under the hastening effects of Ghleanna’s spell, Kestrel managed to block the second blow with her right hand while freeing Loren’s Blade from its scabbard with her left. She hurled the dagger at her opponent. It caught him in the shoulder, then returned to her hand.

Enraged, the fighter attempted another blow, this time aiming for her throwing arm. The strike hit. Her armor saved her from injury, but Loren’s Blade slipped from her grasp. It clattered to the ground, landing at the cultist’s feet. The fighter kicked the offending weapon out of his way. It scudded across the floor toward the pool slough.

Kestrel leaped, trying to catch it in time. She missed by inches. The dagger slid into the mire and sank from view. Damn it all! The magical blade had become her favorite weapon.