Carrie Bebris - Pool of Radiance - Ruins of Myth Drannor

"Consider us your servants." Corran sprung to his feet. "Tell us what we can do to help. Do you need any special materials?" The others also rose.

"Only a gem," the baelnorn replied. "Harldain Ironbar provided the original sapphire. He can direct you to a new stone. But you also must find a new communicant."

Kestrel frowned. "Why? What about you?"

Miroden Silverblade shook his head wearily. "My time as Protector is over. A new Gem of the Weave requires a new guardian, someone who possesses the wisdom to guide the Mythal, the strength to survive symbiosis with the Weave, the power to keep the stone safe. And, of course, the willingness to spend eternity bound inextricably to the gem."

The party exchanged glances. Kestrel knew she sure as hell wasn't suited for such responsibility. None of them were. "Is there anyone in Myth Drannor who meets that description?"

"There is," the baelnorn said. "No mortal could withstand the Mythal's fire, but one exists who already knows the blessings-and curse-of immortality. Anorrweyn Evensong. The priestess is steeped in the lore of the Mythal, and her spirit has survived the trials of time and adversity. She would serve as the perfect communicant."

"We shall hasten to ask her as soon as we finish with Harldain," Corran said. "Assuming Anorrweyn agrees, how does she become bound to the new gem?"

"Once you obtain an appropriate stone, you must carry it up the spine of the Speculum to a focal point in the dragon's back. With the gem in place, the new communicant recites the Incantation of the Weave. Anorrweyn knows the words-she was present at the first binding. This spellsong bonds the chanter to the gem and attunes the gem to the Mythal."

"How will we know whether the ceremony succeeded?" Ghleanna asked. "Whether the Mythal accepted the new gem?"

"You will know."

Corran started to put his helm back on his head. "We have much to do. We'd best get started."

"Hold." The Protector looked as if he had something more to say but struggled over whether to reveal it. His gaze swept the group, then came to rest on the trunks that stood behind them. "Yes," he murmured, nodding to himself. "You need all the aid I have left within my power to give."

He went to the trunks, brushed dust off the top of one and opened its groaning lid. "In this chest lie some of Myth Drannor's greatest remaining treasures, items given me by the coronal himself to help me safeguard the Gem of the Weave. Though I have failed that duty, perhaps some item in here will help you succeed." Reaching inside, he called Corran's name. The paladin stepped forward.

"Are you trained to fight with a shield?"

"Aye, though I prefer to leave my left hand free."

"You might prefer it to hold this." The Protector withdrew an oval shield etched with white stars along its border. "This is a mageshield, designed to protect its user from death magic. Necromantic spells that hit this shield will bounce back at their caster." His expression darkened, his gaze clouding with memories he alone could see. "'Tis no less than those cult sorcerers deserve." Corran accepted the gift and bowed low, looking as humble as Kestrel had ever seen him.

Silverblade collected himself and turned to the others. "Ghleanna Stormlake." The half-elf walked to stand before the baelnorn. "Is that a magical staff you carry?"

"No, Protector."

"This is." He produced a six-foot wooden staff covered with ornate symbols and runes, most of them resembling flames and bolts of energy. "A spellstaff. Solid as oak, light as balsa. Use it as you would an ordinary quarterstaff. But should anyone send fire or lightning your way, the staff will absorb it. Tap it twice to release the energy at a target of your choosing."

Ghleanna's eyes shone with gratitude. "I have suffered terrible burns from fire magic these past days. I thank you, Protector."

More gifts followed: bracers of protection from paralysis for Faeril, a ring of regeneration for Jarial, a trio of bronze-tipped arrows for Durwyn.

"Finally you, Kestrel." Tremors raced up Kestrel's arm as the Protector lifted her right hand. The silver ring she'd inherited from Athan's band caught the light. "Do you know what this is you wear?"

She shook her head. "There's nothing special-looking about it I thought it was an ordinary silver ring."

"On the contrary. You wear a mantle ring, a piece of magical jewelry crafted in the glory days of Myth Drannor. No doubt your ring earned its battered appearance from centuries of owners who engaged in dangerous missions like yours. The carvings have been worn until they look like mere scratches, but its power remains strong. This ring will shield you from injurious sorcerers' spells."

Kestrel thought of the magical hits she'd taken from the cultists and drow. "But it hasn't protected me from anything."

"Mantle rings must be worn in pairs. Its mate is probably lost to time." He opened his hand to reveal another silver band of the same size. This one had a smooth surface engraved with tiny runes. "Wear this ring on your left hand, and a dozen spells will wash over you harmlessly."

He dropped the ring in her palm. She stared at it, her intrinsic distrust of magic making her reluctant to put it on. Would she feel different? Would it have some other, unknown effect on her? She met the Protector's gaze and, at his commanding nod, slipped the ring on her finger. Nothing dramatic happened. In fact, within moments she scarcely noticed its presence.

"Now go," the baelnorn said, meeting each pair of eyes one by one. His face held a look of desperation. "Save the Mythal. For if Mordrayn and the cult use it for the great evil they intend, the City of Song can never be redeemed."

"Back again, are you?" Harldain Ironbar greeted them as they entered his tower. "Did you find the old Protector?"

"We did indeed," said Corran. "Now we've another favor to ask."

"Name it."

Corran told the old dwarf about the sapphire's destruction at the baelnorn's hands and their need for a new stone. Harldain stroked his beard. "Well, I'll be damned." He shook his head as if in disbelief. "Centuries ago, when we mined for the sapphire, Caalenfaire advised me to secure three gems. He said we would need more than one to ensure the Mythal's survival. At the time, I thought he wanted some backups in case somethin' went wrong during the incantation ceremony. But now I'll wager he saw this day comin'. Imagine that! Way back then."

"So you have another sapphire?"

"No. We couldn't find two perfect sapphires. Once we had the first, all others seemed flawed-the color was off, or they lacked clarity, or some such thing. So we mined an emerald and a ruby instead. The ruby was destroyed by the nycaloth when the Armies of Darkness swept the city, but we still have the emerald, down in the Hoard."

"The what?"

"The Hoard of the Onaglym Dwarves. Our private stash of treasure."

Kestrel felt her energy flag. "Don't tell me it's back in the dwarven dungeons." She couldn't bear the thought of still more backtracking.

"Nope. It's right below the courtyard. You know…" He cast a knowing look at Kestrel. "The one with your favorite statue."

Kestrel remembered the animated, axe-swinging dwarf only too well. Even with the passkey to disable it this time around, she'd given the stone guardian a wide berth when they arrived. "Where's the entrance to the Hoard?" she asked. "I searched the whole courtyard and didn't find any secret doors or hidden stairways."

"Did you check the statue itself?" He shrugged. "No matter. Even if you had, you couldn't get at the Hoard without the Ironbar."

Durwyn regarded the ghost in confusion. "Without you?"

Harldain winked and slipped a small baton out of a pocket in his robe. "No, this ironbar." He handed the object to Kestrel. It was an ordinary-looking rod about twelve inches long, half an inch in diameter, and-judging from its weight-made of solid iron. "There's a hole at the base of the statue. Push the rod into the opening to unseal the entrance."