Carrie Bebris - Pool of Radiance - Ruins of Myth Drannor

"That is not a cause for shame," Corran said softly. "You are but one person. She had a whole cult to help her steal it from you."

Silverblade raised his head sharply. A pained expression crossed it. "She did not steal it. I–I gave it to her."

Kestrel gasped. She was not the only one-all of them regarded the so-called Protector with shock. How could he have done such a thing? She wanted to shout a thousand questions and a hundred epithets but held her tongue. The baelnorn shut his eyes against their incredulous expressions.

"Continue, Miroden," Anorrweyn bade. "Tell us how it happened."

"When the archmage first came to me, she spoke eloquently of Myth Drannor's lost beauty and grace-of the silvertrees in the courtyard of the Maerdrym, of how the Windsong Towers brushed against the stars. Oh, how her words made me long for the old days, Anorrweyn! Times so long past even the People have started to forget."

The baelnorn's eyes held a faraway expression.

"Mordrayn told me she had discovered a way to restore the City of Song to its former splendor. By using the Mythal to summon a Pool of Radiance, we could infuse new life into the city. The fading Mythal would grow strong once more, and Myth Drannor, in turn, would rise to greatness again."

The dreamlike trance faded as the Protector's thoughts returned to the present. He ran his fingers along the edge of the empty gem case. "She told me that the fate of Myth Drannor rested in my hands alone, and in my foolish pride I believed her. I did not ask the questions I should have asked." He met Anorrweyn's penetrating gaze. "I wanted so much for her words to be true, for myself to be the one whose faith and perseverance restored the city, that I did not probe into the details of her plan."

"I know that hope for the city's revival has sustained you through centuries of lonely isolation," Anorrweyn offered.

"That can never excuse my actions," he said. "I surrendered the Sapphire of the Weave-the treasure entrusted to me so long ago by more worthy lords than I-to Mordrayn. I taught her the incantation. Mordrayn contacted the Mythal and directed its ancient power to create a Pool of Radiance deep within Castle Cormanthor. Only afterward did she reveal herself as an archmage in the Cult of the Dragon. By the time I realized the horror of what I had done, I could not stop her. The pool brought life, yes-stolen life. It spawns tendrils of itself in other cities and drains the spirits of the living to fuel the tainted Mythal."

"A diabolical cycle," Corran said. "What is her final purpose?"

"I do not know." The baelnorn shook his head in bewilderment. "By Our Lady, this is not what I intended! I sought to redeem the City of Song-instead, I have damned it."

"Nay, Miroden," Anorrweyn said gently. "Hope lives. We have created a new Gem of the Weave."

Some of the anguish left his face. He gazed at the party in amazement. "You succeeded? Then you can undo some of the damage I have wrought. You must break Mordrayn's link with the Mythal." The baelnorn passed his hand in front of the wall. An opening formed, revealing a passage behind. "This tunnel leads to the castle. Find the sapphire. Destroy it by touching it while speaking this word: Ethgonil. It is the Word of Redemption."

Kestrel and the others hesitated, still trying to absorb all they'd heard. Kestrel felt she ought to be angry with the Protector for his betrayal, for setting in motion the events it now fell to her and her companions to stop. Yet, as she looked at the baelnorn's shriveled form, his face wracked with shame, she felt only pity.

"Make haste," Anorrweyn urged. "The cult cannot be allowed to poison the Mythal any further. I will return to the Speculum. When the sapphire is destroyed, I shall use the emerald to turn the Mythal's power against our enemies. Then you can seize the Gauntlets of Moander from Mordrayn to destroy the pool."

As they filed into the passage one by one, Kestrel stole a last glimpse at Miroden Silverblade. The elf lord who had for centuries defended the Sapphire of the Weave with strength and wisdom-who had willingly sacrificed his own life to protect the Mythal-once again huddled on the floor. Anorrweyn knelt beside him, drew his head into her lap and gently rocked the tortured spirit.

Kestrel felt she was observing grief too intense and private for an audience. She turned and entered the passage, leaving the ghosts to mourn in solitude. She and the others had no more time to dwell on the past.

Not if they were going to save the future.

"You can admit it any time now."

Corran's jocular tone took Kestrel by surprise. She frowned at the paladin as they stepped over the bodies of yet another soulless drow band. The winding passage beneath Castle Cormanthor was simply too tight to move the enthralled Kilsek aside after defeating them. "Admit what?"

"We were right to trust Nathlilik," the paladin said, muting his voice in case other patrols lurked nearby. "That Staff of Sunlight has proven invaluable."

She glanced at the sacred weapon in Jarial's grip. They'd encountered so many cult patrols since leaving the baelnorn that without the staff they would have exhausted themselves getting this far. "We would have found it anyway," she said with a shrug. "As for Nathlilik, if she had done what she promised and released all her kin into true death, we wouldn't even need the staff. She probably gave up and skipped town."

"Or got caught."

Kestrel followed Corran's gaze. Ahead, the corridor widened into a long, narrow chamber lined with prison cells carved into the rock like small caves. The pens, separated from each other by about six feet, stretched as far up the passage as Kestrel could see. In the closest cell, Nathlilik herself paced like a caged panther.

The drow leader stopped abruptly when she saw them approach. "We meet again, humans." She grinned mockingly, gesturing at her cell with a sweep of her hand. "Welcome to my new abode. Can I offer you tea? A glass of wine?"

Kestrel ignored her sarcasm. "What happened?"

"What do you think?" Nathlilik snapped. "The cult captured us. Killed all my men one at a time and fed their blood to the dracolich as an appetizer. I'm the main course-at least I was until you came along. What are you standing around for? Let me out."

Nathlilik's attitude made Kestrel's hackles rise. "I don't think I like your tone."

The dark elf barked a harsh laugh. "Don't expect me to beg, human. Not to you." She strutted to the corner and plunked down on the floor. "The cult has taken my life-mate. They've taken my men, and they've taken my weapons, but I'll hold my pride until the last drop of blood leaves my body."

Kestrel shrugged. "You do that." She walked past the cell, fighting the urge to turn around to see whether the rest of the group followed. If someone else wanted to free the arrogant drow witch, let them try to get past that lock. She knew exactly which tool it would require.

She heard Corran's footsteps behind her. "Kestrel…" he murmured.

"Corran, we haven't the time, and I haven't the inclination." She continued marching away.

"Wait!" Nathlilik cried.

Kestrel turned. To her amazement, the whole party had followed her lead. Nathlilik had watched all six of them pass her cell "I've learned more about the cult's activities during my imprisonment," the dark elf said. "Free me and I'll tell you what I know."

"Tell us what you know, and we'll free you," Kestrel replied.

Nathlilik, clearly incensed at having lost the upper hand, hesitated. Kestrel waited. Finally the drow spoke. "In the upper part of the castle stands an enormous urn. The Vessel of Souls, they call it. That's where the cult keeps the spirits of all the creatures whose blood they drain. My kin are trapped in there. Kedar's soul is in there. Destroy the vessel, and the cult's enthralled slaves will trouble you no more."