"Pool of Radiance: Ruins of Myth Drannor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bebris Carrie)

CHAPTER TWO

Helpless, Kestrel and Corran bobbed along, unable to speed their progress toward the shrinking exit. They were near enough now that they could see the broken cobblestones of the street where Athan's band fought, but at this rate they'd never reach it before the window closed.

Kestrel's mind raced. They needed something, some fixed object, off which to push.

Or pull.

It was a long shot, but it just might work. She shrugged out of her backpack and brought it around so that she could dig through it with her free hand. In the wan light coming from the exit, she groped through the contents until her fingers brushed against a metal claw.

Corran saw her withdraw the grappling hook and nodded in understanding. He maneuvered her ahead of him to give her a clear shot at the window, then shifted his grip to her waist to free both her arms.

She'd never made such a long throw before, but they were running out of time. She cast the hook. Unencumbered by air resistance, it sailed through the exit and caught hold of an upturned cobblestone. Thank the gods!

She began to pull herself forward. Corran released her and also grabbed the rope. As the portal rumbled and flashed orange light, they desperately pulled themselves hand over hand, the rope trailing behind them as they reached the exit. They tumbled through. Kestrel rolled to an abrupt stop, striking a solid object

A body.

She sat up, quickly assessing the scene. Three more bodies-all of them motionless-lay sprawled in the street. A band of five orcs scavenged two of the corpses.

They'd arrived too late.

"Get your filthy claws off them!'' Ghleanna shouted from behind her. She turned in time to see the mage lift her hands and send three bursts of magical energy speeding toward the snouted humanoids.

The orcs dove to the ground, but the missiles corrected their course and hit three of the creatures. One orc, struck in the head, died instantly. The other two suffered chest wounds but managed to climb back to their feet, axes in hand. With a cry of retribution, all four remaining orcs now rushed Ghleanna.

Kestrel rolled out of their path, yanked a dagger from her boot and threw it. The weapon caught one of the orcs in the neck. Her victim sank to its knees, but with a series of inhuman grunts, it struggled to its feet. Tightly gripping its short sword, the beast staggered toward Kestrel. Its eyes held the expression of a mad animal.

Kestrel bent to reach her second dagger. A second hit would finish off the humanoid. Before she withdrew the blade, however, the orc collapsed.

She glanced around to see whether any of the remaining orcs approached. Corran, who'd landed several yards away when he tumbled out of the gate, had engaged two of the beasts. The skill with which he deflected the orcs' blows bespoke the superior training of a nobleman. He fought with controlled, precise strokes that countered his opponents' brute swings.

A thunderclap boomed so loud that it shook the street. Kestrel spun to discover the sound came from the gate, which now wavered violently and glowed flaming red. The rope attached to her grappling hook still trailed inside. What would happen to her tool if the portal shut with the rope still inside? The gods only knew when they might need it next

A quick glance toward Ghleanna, who was releasing another volley of sorcerous missiles, indicated that the mage held her own for the moment. Kestrel grasped the rope and tugged.

It was stuck.

She pulled harder. The rope remained taut, but she could feel vibrations along it coming from within the gate. What was going on inside?

A moment later, a familiar figure tumbled through and landed at her feet Kestrel yanked the rope out of the portal. Within seconds, the gate shuddered and imploded, disappearing from sight. At the same time, the sounds of combat ceased.

She offered Durwyn a hand. "I thought you weren't going to leave your post?"

He grasped her arm and rose. "I got lonely."

She looked toward Ghleanna and Corran, who had dispatched the last of the orcs. "I can think of many places I'd rather seek company than here," Kestrel said, turning back to Durwyn. "We're lucky we even made it."

He nodded toward her grappling hook. "I saw you and Corran ahead of me and grabbed the rope as soon as I could. That was quick thinking on your part. I never would have made it out in time."

"None of us would have." She harbored a bellyful of resentment toward Corran. How dare he force her into that malfunctioning magical gate, nearly killing them both? She shuddered to think of her fate had she been trapped inside during the final implosion.

Durwyn joined Corran and Ghleanna, who were checking the fallen adventurers for signs of life. Kestrel hung back. As she coiled her rope, she thought about how much she wanted to wrap it around Corran's neck. Instead she stowed it and the grappling hook in her pack. She retrieved her dagger, noting her surroundings as she cleaned it

They'd arrived on a street lined with buildings in various states of destruction. Even in its ruined condition Kestrel could see that Myth Drannor had once been a city of incredible beauty. The wood, stone, and glass buildings of the former elven capital had been constructed as extensions of the very trees that sheltered them, wondrous feats of architecture that enhanced nature even as they altered it. Spires soared toward the sky, prompting Kestrel to raise her eyes. In doing so, she discovered a network of bridges that spanned the trees.

Now many of the bridges were destroyed, and the buildings below looked like an earthquake had violently shaken them. Broken spires lay in fragments on the ground, their jagged stumps rising no higher toward the stars than did human constructions. Collapsed walls exposed the rooms they had been meant to protect, inviting creatures mundane and malicious to make their homes within. Statues of exquisite elven maidens lacked limbs or heads and stood watch over dry fountains choked with moss and debris. Weeds and thorns overtook the gardens. Rubble littered the streets.

A feeling of sadness, unfamiliar but genuine, washed over Kestrel. Something more than a city had been lost here.

At last she approached the others.

"You certainly took your time coming over," Corran said. He gestured toward the adventurers. "They're all dead-if you care."

"Good thing we almost killed ourselves getting here, then," she responded. "You had no right to force me into that portal."

"You would stand idly by while others suffered?"

"This isn't my problem."

"You did volunteer," Durwyn piped up.

Was he ganging up on her too, now? She fixed him with a withering gaze that caused the burly man to step back a pace. "My commitment began and ended in Phlan," she said.

Corran shook his head in disgust. "Don't you have the least concern for anyone besides yourself?"

"I saved your arse in that damn gate, didn't I?"

"Enough!" Ghleanna, her expression strained, stepped between them. "Corran, she's right-you shouldn't have forced her to come. Kestrel, now that we are here, can we at least search for clues to what happened?"

"Sure," Kestrel responded, her gaze remaining locked on Corran. She'd settle this later.

The adventurers appeared to have been dead for hours. Ghleanna hypothesized that time had become distorted in the malfunctioning gate, suspending the travelers in limbo much longer than the few seconds usually required to journey through one. The party also looked to have suffered wounds the orcs could not have inflicted.

"I believe their opponents wielded magic," Ghleanna said. "Look at those deep burns on Allyril, the party's sorceress. Ordinary fire doesn't burn skin quite that way-I suspect lightning bolts. The cleric over there seems to have had the life drained right out of him, as does Loren. Athan is missing. I-I fear he was disintegrated altogether." She cleared her throat and looked away.

Corran uttered the opening words of a prayer for the ill-fated band's souls. Kestrel, never one to take much interest in religious observances, rolled her eyes but remained silent during the invocation. As she waited, paying little attention to the words, she noticed a smooth rectangular bulge under the cloak of the man Ghleanna had called Loren. When the paladin finished his prayer, she bent over the body to investigate.

"Have you no respect?" Corran hissed.

"What? I thought you were done."

"You would steal from the corpses of fallen comrades?"

She clenched her jaw, fresh ire rising within her. If Ghleanna or Durwyn had reached for that object, he wouldn't have said a word. "I thought we were investigating what happened here." Pointedly turning her back on him, she unclasped Loren's cloak, slipped her hand into its inside pocket, and withdrew a slim book. She opened its leaves, quickly skimming the pages. "It's a journal."

Corran reached for it. "Let me see."

Kestrel snatched the volume out of his grasp. "I can read." She flipped to the end, hoping the last few entries would prove the most informative.

Elminster was right, the last page read. A new Pool of Radiance exists somewhere in Myth Drannor. The pool's creators know our mission and already send agents to stop us, even though we have not yet learned who's behind the plan. Fortunately, we still have the Gauntlets of Moander, and once we find the pool we shall use them to destroy it. Mystra- and Fate-willing.

Kestrel read the passage aloud. When she finished, Ghleanna turned to Corran.

"I saw no gauntlets when we examined the adventurers," the mage said, a note of panic in her voice. "Did you?"

"No, but we weren't looking for them, either," he said. "Let's check again."

Their search yielded several vials of bluish liquid, a plain, battered silver ring sized for a woman's hand, an assortment of weapons, and numerous other provisions- but no Gauntlets of Moander.

"Well, we will just have to tell Elminster what happened and let him worry about it," Kestrel said. She turned to Ghleanna. "So go ahead and do your thing."

The mage regarded her quizzically. "My thing?"

"You know," she prompted. "Conjure up one of those gate things so we can get out of here." As much as she hated the thought of trusting another magical portal, twilight approached, and she was even less enamored with the idea of spending the night in this haunted city overrun with the minions of some unknown foe.

Ghleanna was silent a moment "I cannot do that, Kestrel," she said finally. "I have not the power."

"What do you mean?" A sick feeling spread through her insides. "We're not stuck here, are we?"

"You're welcome to try to find your way out of the city and walk home," Corran said. "As for me, I choose to take up this party's mission. The cause of good cannot afford the time it would take us to reach Elminster. We must instead pick up where these fallen worthies left off."

Kestrel stared at him. The paladin really had an over-inflated sense of his own honor. Fallen worthies, indeed. Did anyone actually talk like that?

"Yes, we must!" Durwyn exclaimed.

She closed her eyes. Of course Durwyn would follow the knight. He was lost without a commander, and apparently he'd settled on Corran as his new one.

"I'm glad you both agree," Ghleanna said. "I would have taken up this quest alone if I had to."

Kestrel sighed. Was she alone possessed of sense? "Aren't you all forgetting a few facts?" she asked. "Our foes already defeated the original party-we're fewer in number and less prepared. Even if we do manage to find this new pool, what are we going to do when we get there? Skip stones across it? The bad guys have the gauntlets."

"But we have the advantage of surprise," Corran said. "They won't be expecting a new party so soon. We can figure out the rest as we go along-we haven't even read the whole journal yet."

She bowed her head, rubbing her temples. They were insane. All of them. They would end up dead, and they wanted to take her with them.

Yet would she fare any better trying to make it out of the city, through the forest, and back to civilization alone?

"Kestrel, you were really smart back there in the portal," Durwyn said. "We could sure use your help."

As if she had a choice. Get killed here or get killed trying to leave here. Nonetheless, if she was stuck on this suicide mission, there was one thing she wouldn't tolerate. She looked up at Corran. "No more insults from you."

"Agreed."

She glanced at Durwyn and Ghleanna. "All right then."

Ghleanna responded by suddenly raising her palms and hurling a spell at her. Kestrel dived to the ground. "What the-"

A burst of light appeared about ten paces behind her, followed immediately by an inhuman cry. A hideous creature stumbled out of the shadows, clutching at its eyes. The thing appeared to have once been human but now was a disfigured shell of its former self. Sharp, elongated teeth protruded from its mouth like fangs; the nails on its withered hands had grown into talons. Its dried-out flesh, visible through tattered clothing, hung tight on its bones.

"A ghoul!" Corran drew his sword and attacked. His first blow severed one of its skeletal arms. Black liquid spewed from the stump. Sightless, thanks to Ghleanna's spell, the ghoul could only blindly lash out with its remaining claw in defense.

Durwyn joined Corran's side and swung his battle axe. He hit the creature in the side. The ghoul moaned and swiped its talons at the guard.

"Don't let it touch you!" Corran warned. With a mighty swing to the ghoul's neck, the paladin made quick work of the weakened creature. Its head fell to the ground and rolled several feet. Kestrel was glad it stopped at an angle that hid its hideous face.

"I take it you've faced ghouls before?" Ghleanna asked Corran as he and Durwyn cleaned the ghoul's foul blood off their weapons.

The paladin nodded. "Several times. They're nasty creatures-their touch can paralyze. If you're killed by a ghoul, you'll become one too, unless it eats all your flesh first. They feed on corpses." He glanced at the dead adventurers and orcs. "It must have been attracted by the bodies. We should bury them before the sun fully sets, when the creatures will probably come out in droves. Where there's one there are sure to be more."

"Do we have time?" Ghleanna asked. "I'm almost out of spells, and we still need to find shelter for ourselves."

"I hate to leave them here unprotected," the paladin said. "These heroes died noble deaths-their remains deserve better than to become ghoul fodder."

Kestrel gestured toward one of the ruined buildings she'd studied earlier. "If we move the adventurers in there and leave the orcs out in the street, perhaps the ghouls will be satisfied with the easy meal." She expected Corran to dismiss the idea simply because she had suggested it. To her surprise, he agreed.

"We should also keep their equipment for our own use," she added. "It can't help them now."

He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to change his mind. "I suppose."

They distributed the goods amongst themselves. For the time being, Ghleanna carried the vials, planning to examine them later to see if she could identify their contents. Durwyn added several dozen arrows to his supply. Corran offered Kestrel an ordinary-looking dagger Loren had been carrying. "You seem to know how to use these."

"Thanks." She gestured toward the ring. "I'll take that too, if no one minds. It won't fit either of you."

"And it can be sold for a fair price when we return, right?" Corran said dryly. He glanced at the others, then tossed it to her. "It's yours."

She slid the dagger into a sheath on her belt and slipped the ring on her right middle finger where it wouldn't impede the dexterity of her dominant left hand.

They had just moved the last body into the makeshift crypt when a shout drifted out of another nearby building.

"Leave that alone! Hey-leave me alone! Scat! Scat, I tell ye! Git yer stinkin' carcasses outta here! Hey-help!"

They hurried off in the direction of the cries, following them to a well-fortified building that looked as if it might once have been an armory. A foul stench issued forth, one that reminded Kestrel of the undead bandit she'd seen last night beside Phlan's pool.

Within, they found a half dozen rotting, animated orc corpses in tattered clothing circling what appeared to be a peddler's wagon. Atop it, fending off the creatures with anything he could lay his hands on, perched a very irritated halfling. His leather armor seemed to deflect most of the zombies' claws, but a few scratch marks marred his arms and round, ruddy cheeks.

"Git back, I said!" He brained the nearest creature with a cast-iron frying pan, then tossed a basket over the head of another. "Whew! Ye need some perfume!" He unstopped a vial and flung its contents in the eyes of a third.

Durwyn moved to engage the undead beings, but Corran stayed him. The paladin stepped forward. "Foul creatures of darkness!" he called out in a commanding tone.

The zombies turned in the direction of his voice and staggered toward their new target, arms outstretched.

"Great," Kestrel muttered. Now the creatures were coming to attack them. At least these things moved slowly. Just as she was about to draw the twin daggers from her boots, Corran held a silver symbol of Tyr aloft.

"Begone!" he cried. "Trouble this man no more!"

The creatures moaned and tried to shield their eyes as they backed away. They shuffled jerkily toward a rear exit and out into the night. Within minutes the armory was free of their presence, though their odor lingered.

The halfling scrambled down from his perch and over to Corran. "Thank ye, sir," he said, removing his red knit cap and sweeping into a bow that revealed the start of a bald spot in the center of his thin brown curls. "Nottle's the name. Purveyor of the finest equipment and goods in all Myth Drannor." He straightened. "An' who might ye be?"

"Corran D'Arcey, Defender of Tyr. These are my companions, Durwyn, Kestrel, and Ghleanna Stormlake."

"Well met!" Nottle bowed again in greeting, then stooped to retrieve his merchandise. He hung the frying pan back on the wagon and picked up a quarterstaff from the floor. "Usually I can fend off the beasts m'self, but t'night they got m'staff away from me."

"This happens all the time?" Kestrel asked. "Why do you stay?"

"Business is good here, m'dear," he said. "Adventurers comin' and goin', all thinkin' they're gonna strike it rich, then discoverin' they ain't as prepared as they thought they were. That's where I come in. Actually, the place has gotten a little less dangerous lately-them dreadful alhoon and phaerimm creatures have left this part of the city. The baatezu, too. 'Course, now we have the drow and undead to put up with, so it's not exac'ly paradise. Say, are ye needin' anythin? I'll cut ye a deal, seeing as Corran here saved my wagon just now."

"Drow?" Ghleanna asked.

"Indeed, m'dear. They mostly stay below, in the dungeons, but I've seen a few here on the surface. At night, a'course."

Kestrel shuddered. She'd never encountered a drow before, but she'd heard tales of the ruthless subterranean elven race. They were said to have dark skin, shockingly white hair, and no mercy.

"An adventuring band was killed today not far from here," Corran said. "Did you ever do business with them?"

"Athan's band? Sad thing, that-them gittin' killed. I hope they weren't friends of yers?" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Word is, the scarred mages got 'em."

At the mention of scarred mages, a tingle raced along Kestrel's collarbone.

"Who are the scarred mages?" Though she asked the question, she wasn't sure she wanted to learn the answer. "No one knows for certain. We jes' started seein' 'em one day. I think they got somethin' to do with the goings-on at the castle. Dunno why they killed yer friends, but I might be able to find out" He paused, a mercenary glint creeping into his dark eyes. "That kinda information… it don't come cheap."

"They weren't our friends," Kestrel said. Corran looked at her sharply, probably ready to accuse her of betraying the heroes' memory or some nonsense like that, but she didn't care. This little guy was a talker, and if the ill-fated party had disfigured wizards after them, she didn't need word spread around town that friends of the dead adventurers had come to avenge them. "We just saw them lying in the street and wondered."

"Curiosity ain't generally healthy in Myth Drannor," he said. "But I owe ye for scarin' off those zombies, so if ye find yerselves needin' information, come to me. If I don't know the answer, I can usually find out."

"Have you heard anything about a Pool of Radiance?" Durwyn blurted.

Gods! If he hadn't been wearing armor, Kestrel would have kicked the big, dumb warrior for being so obvious.

Nottle scratched his head. "Can't say as I have." He pulled a canvas tarp over the wagon. "That some sort of landmark round here? You wanna to talk to the elves up at the shrine-coupl'a Mystra clerics, Beriand and Faeril. They can maybe tell ye more." He lifted his staff and muttered a word Kestrel couldn't discern, apparently securing his goods for the night.

The peddler turned back to the group. "The shrine's hidden in a big tree stump. Head down the street-ye'll see it." He patted the many pockets of his oversized vest, then reached inside one to withdraw a scroll. "Ye'll be needin' this. Study the word on it afore ye git to the shrine. That should git ye in."

Corran reached for the proffered scroll. "Thank you, Nottle."

The halfling paused before handing it over. "We're square now, right? Ye helped me, I'm helping ye, and that's the end of it."

The paladin appeared bemused, but Kestrel knew where Nottle was coming from. He didn't want to be in their debt. "Yep, Nottle, we're even," she said.

He released the scroll to Corran's grasp. "Best of luck to ye, then. An' remember, if ye find yerselves needin' any goods…"

They found the ruined shrine as Nottle described. An enormous tree trunk-easily as wide as any ordinary church Kestrel had seen in Faerun's human cities-stood at the end of the road. Mystra's symbol, a circle of seven stars, had been carved into the bark, and a walkway had been hewn out of the wood about one story up. It wasn't much, as far as temples went, but at least the building was intact Kestrel could not, however, discern an entrance to the shrine or any stairs up to the walkway.

Though they had all studied the scroll, they'd agreed Ghleanna should speak the password. The sorceress possessed the most knowledge of things magical and had elven blood besides. In her distrust of the arcane arts, Kestrel was perfectly happy to leave the task to the half-elf.

As they approached the stump, a deep, booming masculine voice rent the air. "Tam-tamak!" They all jumped, startled, at the thunderous enunciation. The word resonated as if one of the gods themselves had uttered it.

Before their eyes, the tree stump transformed into an exquisite celebration of Mystra. Intricate renderings of the goddess and other decorative carvings emerged from the bark. A wide staircase leading up to the walkway also emerged. At its head appeared double doors marked with Mystra's symbol. Ionic columns with flowing scrollwork flanked the opening.

They hastened up the stairs. When they reached the top, the doors slid open to reveal a small antechamber. The party had barely passed through when the wall sealed itself shut behind them, leaving them in darkness.

"Who enters Mystra's house?" demanded a strong female voice. Kestrel searched the darkness but saw no sign of the speaker.

"Travelers who respect the Lady of Mysteries and seek aid from her faithful," Corran replied.

A moment later, a ball of light appeared, illuminating the room and the woman who had spoken. She was an elf, with shoulder-length braided hair the color of pure gold and a round face dominated by the bluest eyes Kestrel had ever seen. Golden flecks within them caught the light, as did a medallion around her neck engraved with Mystra's circle. The armor of a fighter protected her sinewy body, and she carried herself with strength and confidence. Had she been human, Kestrel would have guessed her to have seen thirty-five or more summers, but she had no idea how old that would make the woman in elf years.

"Then welcome, friends," the elf said. "My name is Faeril. How came you to learn the password to this safe house?"

"From a scroll given us by Nottle the peddler."

The corners of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Then Nottle must think well of you, though I am sure you paid him dearly. Here you will find shelter, food, and if you need it, healing. We merely ask that you share the password only with those of good heart."

"A promise freely given," Corran replied.

Faeril bade them follow her and led them through a short passage into a room with a makeshift altar, a cook-fire, and half a dozen cots that Kestrel guessed had been pews at one time. "This used to be the shrine's sacristy, but now we use it for everything-worship, nursing, and daily living," Faeril explained.

The chamber looked like a room hewn out of a tree trunk. Every surface was of wood-floor, walls, ceiling, furniture. The one exception was a pair of crystal cabinets etched with circles of stars. Though it appeared that the room had held windows at one time, the tree's outer bark had overgrown the openings. As a result, the shrine was well-fortified, but dark.

The cook fire provided the chamber's only light besides Faeril's free-floating orb. A moment's study revealed that it gave off no smoke. Kestrel suspected it was a magical flame, one that would heat food without burning down the shrine.

An older elf, perhaps the human equivalent of sixty-five, knelt before the altar but rose when the party entered. Unlike Faeril, he wore the simple garb of a cleric. A length of white cloth was wrapped around his waist and secured over one shoulder. His other shoulder and half his torso remained bare. He seemed to have begun losing muscle mass in his upper body, but his chest did not yet have the sunken appearance of an older man. The elf's graying hair flowed to his shoulders, and around his neck, barely visible beneath a pointed beard, he wore a medallion that matched Faeril's.

He took several steps toward them on bare feet. His eyes, dark as coal but warm as a summer rain, seemed to look not at the foursome but past them. After a moment, Kestrel realized why: The older cleric was blind.

"You are new in Myth Drannor, yes?" the holy man inquired. Though handicapped by blindness, he had a strong, self-assured voice. "I am Beriand, Mystra's servant. Welcome to our sanctuary."

The group answered the elves' inquiry as to whether any of the party needed healing, and gratefully accepted an invitation to partake of an evening meal. Kestrel was so hungry she almost could have eaten the Bell's five-day potluck soup. Almost. Fortunately, the clerics' vegetable stew looked and smelled far more appealing.

Corran and Durwyn removed their armor before the meal. Eased of the burden of its weight, they relaxed visibly. Even their faces appeared less strained. Kestrel took the opportunity to study the paladin. Sweat dampened his short dark hair, which had been trapped beneath his helmet most of the day. Though he appeared less intimidating without his armor, Corran was still a formidable figure. His carriage revealed a man confident of his place in the world. He moved about as if he had a right to be there-wherever "there" was at the moment, be it the streets of Myth Drannor, the pool cavern of Valjevo castle, or this temple to a god not his own.

Durwyn, by contrast, appeared ill at ease in the shrine. He moved as if trying to confine his large body to the smallest space possible, a trait she hadn't noticed when they were in battle or out of doors. Was it the temple, she wondered? Did he feel out of his element because this was a holy setting, or was he comfortable only in a combat environment?

The makeshift shelter had only three chairs, so the whole group sat in a half-circle on the floor as they ate. Beriand and Faeril sat in the center, with Ghleanna and Corran on one side of them. Kestrel and Durwyn sat on the other.

During the repast, the clerics explained how they came to be in Myth Drannor. "Few elves venture to this haunted city," Beriand said. "Since the year our race finally abandoned Myth Drannor altogether, our leaders have discouraged return, and the evil creatures who overtook its streets and dwellings did their part to deter all but the most stalwart-or foolish."

"Yet you came," Kestrel said between hungry mouthfuls.

"We were called," he responded.

"Beriand had visions that led us here," Faeril explained. "He saw Mystra amid the ruins of Myth Drannor."

"I believe it was a 'genesis vision'-an image sent by Mystra to summon us here, back to where our sect began." Though sightless, Beriand's eyes shone with devotion to his goddess. "Our sect was founded in this city centuries ago by a priestess of Mystra named Anorrweyn Evensong."

"Several months ago we journeyed here with six other clerics," Faeril said. "But we never reached Anorrweyn's temple. When we arrived at the city Heights, someone launched a huge fireball at our party. It killed all but the two of us."

Corran gasped. "Unprovoked? Who would do such a thing to holy men and women?"

"We still do not know," said Beriand. "We retreated into an undercity complex carved out long ago by dwarves, only to find the so-called 'dwarven dungeons' crawling with drow. Such an abomination would not be possible if the Mythal were functioning properly."

Kestrel set aside her empty bowl. "The Mythal? What's the Mythal?"

"The city's ancient protective magic," Faeril said. "Centuries ago, Myth Drannor's most powerful wizards- including your human Elminster-came together to weave a protective spell that encompassed the entire city like a mantle. We suspect, however, that of late it has become corrupted."

"I believe that is why Mystra summoned us here," Beriand said. "As elves, we are naturally attuned to the Mythal. Though the magical Weave remains strong, many of its threads bear a foreign taint. The contamination has worsened in the time we have been here."

Faeril offered more stew to the travelers. When Corran and Durwyn accepted, she rose to serve it. "It has been rough going since our arrival," she said over her shoulder as she ladled the food. "We were forced to retreat to this shrine, and most days so much violence rocks the streets that we cannot leave. By day it is orcs, and by night, swarms of undead. But there are many here who need our ministry-we have saved many lives-and the Mythal must somehow be purified. So we stay." She returned with two more steaming bowls.

Corran thanked her as she handed one to him. "In your time here, have you heard any talk of something called the Pool of Radiance?"

Faeril glanced at Beriand, whose face betrayed no hint of recognition. "Only from another band of travelers like yourselves," she said. "They also seek it, but we had no information to help them."

"Athan and his band were allies of ours," said Corran, "but they were killed this day. Do you know what happened to them?"

Faeril gasped at the news. "These are ill tidings indeed. Athan was a fine warrior, one of the best men I have ever known."

Beriand's expression also saddened. "We had not heard-greatly we rue their passing. I know only that they had just come from the Room of Words, a chamber high up in the Onaglym, or House of Gems."

Kestrel wondered if the tales she'd heard of Myth Drannor's riches might prove true after all. A whole house full of gems? "What were they doing there?"

"They had recently found an item known as the Ring of Calling," Beriand said. "They believed it would grant them access to the city's acropolis-or the 'Heights'-but first they needed to break the ring's bond to its previous owner. They went to the Onaglym's Room of Words in hopes of finding a command word that would free the ring from the skeletal arm on which they found it I do not know whether their research proved successful."

At Beriand's mention of a ring, Kestrel removed her newly acquired one and put it in the cleric's hand. "We found this on one of the adventurers. Is it the Ring of Calling?"

He shook his head immediately. "Alas, no. The Ring of Calling is mysteriously bonded to the skeletal arm of its last wearer. No amount of physical force, nor any of the magic Athan's band attempted, could remove it." He gave Kestrel's ring back to her. "Did you find any such ring?"

"No."

He sighed. "Then I can only assume that whoever killed the party now has the ring, and searches for the enabling word themselves."

"Back in the Room of Words?" Ghleanna asked.

"That is the most likely place to find it," said Beriand. "The chamber is a repository of books containing words that power magical items. When Coronal Eltargrim Irithyl opened the elven capital city to other races, the dwarves came despite their distrust of magic. But later, when they built the House of Gems as their stronghold, they created the Room of Words to feel more empowered over the city's many magical devices." Beriand chuckled. "They thought if they could just collect all the enabling words in one place, they could somehow protect themselves."

Kestrel didn't think the dwarves' idea sounded all that silly-at least it was some action against the mysteries of sorcery.

"Why did Athan's band need the ring to reach the Heights?" Durwyn asked. "Couldn't they just walk there?"

"The wars that brought down Myth Drannor left the city's surface in such ruin that many sections are cut off from one another by huge piles of rubble from collapsed buildings and walls," Faeril said. "We are now in a section called the Northern Ruins; the Heights holds the Speculum, Castle Cormanthor, and other important buildings. The only way to move between the districts is through the undercity created by the elves and dwarves over the centuries. The Ring of Calling can unseal a door inside the dwarven dungeons that leads to the Heights."

"It sounds like our first step is visiting this Room of Words," Corran said. "If we're lucky, we'll find the band's killers there searching for the ring's enabling word and we can get the ring back from them."

No, if we're lucky, they will be long gone and we'll have to abandon this futile quest and go home, Kestrel wanted to say. Luck, however, didn't seem to be on her side these past few days.

"How do we get to the House of Gems?" Ghleanna asked.

"Through the dwarven dungeons," Beriand responded. "They connect to an isolated tower in the House of Gems. The tower is sealed from the outside, so the dungeons are the only way in. I must warn you, though-the undercity corridors are filled with orcs and undead. In fact, so many of the creatures were using the dungeons as a highway to this part of the city that I sealed the entrance. Rest here for the night to refresh your strength before challenging their numbers."

"In the morning, we will direct you to the doors," said Faeril. "Beriand sealed them with the Glyph of Mystra. Before you leave, study the book lying open on the altar. It contains the Word of Mystra, a command so powerful that it can be learned only through study, not by simply hearing it. Knowing the Word of Mystra will grant you entry through any portal marked with the goddess's symbol. Doors marked with other glyphs, however, require different words of opening."

Words of opening. The Mythal. Magical gates. The Ring of Calling. As Kestrel lay on her cot that night, her head swam with it all. This morning, her sole thought had been leaving Phlan. Well, she'd left it all right-and now only hoped to get back alive. How had everything spun out of her control so quickly?

Damn Nat's firewine!