Carrie Bebris - Pool of Radiance - Ruins of Myth Drannor

They shed their armor, grateful to be in a place of relative safety where they could rest and renew their strength. The elves tended the four wounded humans and also checked how well Ghleanna had healed under Corran's care after Preybelish's near-fatal attack. "I cannot even tell you were injured," Faeril declared. She turned to the paladin. "Your faith must be strong indeed."

Over a meal of roasted rabbit and hearty bread, Corran, Kestrel, and the others related their exploits in the dwarven undercity, ending with their ascent to the surface and their encounter at the shrine. "When the pool evaporated, a ghostly image of the intact temple appeared," Corran concluded.

Faeril gasped, her thick slice of bread dropping to her plate. "By Our Lady, you have seen Anorrweyn's shrine!" Her eyes shone with reverence.

"The shrine is one of several ghost buildings in Myth Drannor," Beriand said. "The wars destroyed many structures, but some were so sacred to the elves that they refuse to disappear completely. From time to time, under certain conditions, these buildings reappear intact. When you defeated the naga and destroyed the spawn pool, you must have triggered the temple's appearance." He paused to sip from his goblet. "Did you ever see the crying woman you spoke of?"

"Just heard her," Kestrel said, nibbling the last few shreds of meat off a bone. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she'd started to eat. " 'Where are the followers of Mystra?' That's all she said-over and over."

"How blessed you are-to have heard her voice!" Faeril exclaimed. She rose to pour more wine, beginning first with Durwyn's goblet and ending with Beriand's. Kestrel noted that she did not lift Beriand's cup to pour, as she had with the others, but brought the bottle to the sightless cleric's goblet

"That was Anorrweyn Evensong, the founder of our sect," Beriand said. "When evil magic destroyed the temple during the fall of Myth Drannor, its head priestess also perished. So strong was her devotion to Mystra that her spirit remained on this earth to continue her work. Whenever the ghost shrine appeared, so did she." Beriand reached for his wine, his practiced hand going straight to the goblet. "For centuries after the temple's physical destruction, followers of Mystra would visit the site and use talismans to invoke the apparition and speak to Anorrweyn. But in the past two hundred years or so, Myth Drannor has become so dangerous that pilgrims stopped coming. I doubt anyone has invoked the shrine in over a century."

Durwyn frowned thoughtfully as he chewed his food. Finally, he spoke. "If the priestess shows up whenever the temple does, why couldn't we see her?"

"I suspect because there was no follower of Mystra among you."

"Anorrweyn's cry must be answered!" Faeril said. She pushed aside her wooden plate, her supper forgotten in her zeal. "Let me return with you and prove to the high priestess that Mystra still has followers in Myth Drannor. We cannot leave her spirit to think that the city has fallen entirely to the nagas who debased her sacred shine."

Kestrel could tell by the expression on Corran's face that the paladin was about to take Faeril up on her offer. She shifted uncomfortably, pushing aside her own plate and drawing her knees up in front of her body. She had a feeling she was about to be labeled selfish again, but someone had to keep this mission on track. "Not that I don't feel sorry for your priestess and all," she began, trying to use more tact than she had previously, "but we have more pressing matters."

Corran turned toward her, his brows drawn in displeasure. Before he could speak, however, Faeril addressed her. "Anorrweyn can help your cause, Kestrel. I know she will!"

Beriand nodded his agreement. "Anorrweyn Evensong would prove a powerful ally against those trying use the Mythal for their own wicked ends. In life she was dedicated to the causes of unity and peace, and was among the city leaders most in tune with the Mythal. She may know of ways to cleanse it that we do not."

"In that case, we'd be honored to have you join us," Corran said to Faeril. Kestrel bristled. She'd been about to concede the point herself, but once again Corran had spoken for the whole party without consulting anyone. She began to feel less contrite about her earlier remark.

The others were apparently tolerant of the paladin's high-handedness. Ghleanna, in fact, extended the invitation to Beriand.

"Thank you for asking," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I would like nothing more. But I know that a blind man would slow you down, and time is too precious, your mission too vital." He rose from the floor, leaning on his staff, and made his way over to his cot. "No, leave here tomorrow morn without me. When the cult is defeated and the Mythal restored, then shall I meet Anorrweyn Evensong."

Long after the others retired, Kestrel remained by the fire, staring into the flames. Caalenfaire's words yet echoed in her mind, and she'd hardly had time to think about the whole strange interview since it took place.

Be of two minds but one heart. The diviner had looked straight inside her and seen the frustration building there. She missed the freedom of working alone, of deciding for herself the best course of action. She was tired of making nice with her companions, tired of compromising. Especially with Corran.

The others were tolerable. Durwyn didn't have the confidence to voice his opinion very often. Jarial, conscious of his status as the newcomer, didn't throw his weight around much either. Ghleanna usually had good ideas, and Corran respected the sorceress enough to listen to them. If only he'd show her, Kestrel, the same courtesy.

She raised her arms above her head and stretched. At times, the others' company seemed almost physically confining. When this quest was over-if she lived to see its end-she'd be on her own once more. She'd make her own choices again, do things her way. When she built up her fortune, when she finally had that easy life she craved, she'd be the one telling other people what to do.

Rustling near the cots interrupted her musing. Light footsteps followed, bringing Ghleanna into view. "May I join you?"

Kestrel didn't object. "Can't sleep?"

"Nay. My mind swirls with too many thoughts." The mage sat down cross-legged beside her.

She studied the half-elf. Ghleanna was a beautiful woman, combining the best features of her mixed heritage. The firelight glinted off the gold specks in her eyes and the highlights in her unbound golden hair. Kestrel could see the appeal the sorceress would hold for Athan, or any man for that matter. She wondered again if Ghleanna was romantically involved with the famed warrior. "Does Athan occupy some of those thoughts?" she asked boldly.

Ghleanna did not answer immediately, instead pushing a lock of hair behind one delicate, pointed ear. "Aye," she finally admitted, bringing her knees up and hugging them to her chest "Athan is very dear to me. News of his death would wound me deeply, but this not knowing… I think sometimes it is worse."

Though Ghleanna had confirmed her suspicions, Kestrel floundered for a response. Since Quinn's death she'd made a priority of keeping others at a distance. She'd never had the need-or felt the urge-to offer words of support to anyone on any occasion. A minute lapsed, then two, until a reply no longer seemed necessary.

"The man who raised you-" Ghleanna began tentatively, breaking her gaze away from the fire to regard Kestrel. "Was he a good man?"

"He was." She grinned, more to herself than Ghleanna. "Not an honest man, mind you, but a good man."

"Does he yet live?"

Her grin faded. "Quinn died in a tavern brawl when I was twelve. Slipped an ace up his sleeve once too often." She glanced toward the cots, where the others all seemed to have dozed off at last. "I can only imagine what Lord D'Arcey would think about that."