Carrie Bebris - Pool of Radiance - Ruins of Myth Drannor
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- Название:Pool of Radiance: Ruins of Myth Drannor
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They hastened back to the courtyard, where they immediately put the ironbar to use. A great grinding sound echoed through the courtyard as the statue slowly slid backward to reveal a shaft about twenty feet deep. Rungs embedded in the wall formed a ladder. At the bottom was a passage opening, but from their vantage point they could not see where it led.
Kestrel stared down into the blackness, then swung herself over the edge and scaled the ladder. When her feet touched ground, the passage flared with sudden brightness.
"What's that?" Corran called down.
She peered through the portal. The passage extended just three feet before opening into a large chamber lined with flaming torches. "Some sort of automatic lighting system. The treasure room's right here. You can come down if you want, but the doorway's only about four feet tall." She crawled through the entrance and let out a low whistle. "Wow! Get a load of this…"
Her exclamation sent the party scurrying down the shaft for a look at the legendary Hoard of the Onaglym Dwarves. Durwyn elected to remain above standing guard, but the others soon joined her wide-eyed survey of the scene. Jewels by the trunkful, gold by the ton, exquisitely crafted armor and weapons all lined the room. In the center, surrounded by glass, a palm-sized emerald hung suspended in mid-air, slowly rotating in place, its facets catching the torchlight and sending deep green rays dancing along the walls.
Kestrel walked toward the glass. "That must be what we're looking for."
"Aye, that it is."
They all jumped at the sound of Harldain's voice booming behind them. Without another word, the ghost approached the emerald, leaning on his cane as if it still supported the weight of a body. Though his hand penetrated the glass effortlessly as he reached toward the stone, he did not touch it
"I wanted to see it one last time." His gaze caressed the gem reverently. "You'll not lay eyes on a finer emerald in all the Realms." With obvious reluctance, he tore his eyes away from the stone. "The dwarves of Myth Drannor kept this emerald safe all these years, awaitin' the need Caalenfaire foresaw. I now put it in your hands."
In one fluid motion, he raised his cane and smashed the glass. Thousands of shards fell to the ground in a circle around the gem, which still levitated and spun.
Undaunted by the sharp fragments, Corran crushed them beneath his armored feet as he claimed the emerald. "We shall defend the gem with our lives until a new Protector guards it."
"Let me help." Harldain crossed to a collection of prominently displayed armor and weapons. "These are the finest items our dwarven craftsmen ever produced, augmented by the spells of the coronal's best wizards for those who defended the City of Song in the Weepin' War. Rather than let such powerful articles fall into enemy hands, they were enchanted to return here if their bearers fell in battle." Harldain brushed his fingers along the edge of a breastplate that seemed to glow with inner light. His eyes held a far-off expression, as if he were remembering the soldier who last wore the piece. He cleared his throat. "They've been in this chamber ever since, and they aren't doin' anyone any good just sittin' down here," he said gruffly. "Take whatever you can use."
Kestrel gazed at the collection in awe, her eyes drawn in particular to a set of leather armor about her size, which looked more supple than a pair of ladies' kid gloves. Was it truly hers for the taking?
Harldain noted her admiration. "That suit will protect you much better than what you're sportin' now and let you move much easier. You'll think you're wearin' silk pajamas."
She laughed at the absurd statement-no armor could feel like that.
"Try it on if you don't believe me."
To her astonishment, she found Harldain hadn't been exaggerating. The pieces fit as if they'd been made for her and felt light as an ordinary shirt. "Take it," he urged. She couldn't argue.
The others each selected lighter, better protection than what they'd been wearing. Even the sorcerers found cloaks enchanted to repel enemy attacks. Durwyn, still standing watch above, was not forgotten-Harldain himself chose a suit of lightweight plate sized for the warrior's large build.
The ghostly dwarf had become increasingly gruff as they changed equipment. Kestrel thought it was because he didn't really want to part with the armor, but he revealed the true source of his anxiety as they departed.
"You're runnin' out of time," he said. "I can feel it. Find Anorrweyn and get that emerald to the top of the Speculum just as quick as you can. The cult's control of the Mythal is strong. The city is dyin' around us."
The scent of gardenias manifested before Anorrweyn Evensong's spirit. Kestrel inhaled deeply. The sweet perfume soothed her frayed nerves as she waited for the priestess to appear. Would the ghost agree to serve as communicant? She fervently hoped so, for she didn't know what they would do if Anorrweyn refused.
A pensive silence hung over the group. Faeril had just finished some invocations to Mystra. Corran had joined her in the prayers, then offered a few of his own to Tyr. The events of the past several days had made it difficult for the paladin to perform his regular devotions, and he took advantage of this interlude to reconnect with his patron deity. The rest of the group, Kestrel included, had maintained a respectful quiet and used the time for contemplation.
Anorrweyn materialized moments after the telltale fragrance. She seemed less translucent this time, a little more solid. Her face bore a radiant smile. "You have found my skull."
Faeril knelt before her. "Yes, priestess. We've interred it with the rest of your bones in the grave outside."
"I thank you all. Now I may occupy this plane of time and better follow events of the present instead of forever reliving the past." The priestess made eye contact with each of them in turn, her eyes further expressing her gratitude. When her gentle gaze met Kestrel's, the rogue felt a sense of peace flood her soul.
With a gesture, Anorrweyn invited them all to sit in the half-circle of benches that still remained from their last conference. Kestrel found it curious that the ghost always sat down along with them, as if she too benefited from rest. Perhaps it was a habit carried over from her mortal days or an attempt to put them at ease in her undead presence. This time Anorrweyn sat beside Faeril, who regarded her idol with reverence.
"Did you also find the Protector?" the spirit asked.
"We did, priestess," Corran said. "But he could not help us."
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.
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