Carrie Bebris - Pool of Radiance - Ruins of Myth Drannor

"I thought that was your job," Kestrel said. "When we last saw you, isn't that where you and your band were headed?"

"The cult captured us before we could succeed. But we got as far as the Vessel Chamber-I've seen the wicked thing with my own eyes."

As much as Kestrel would have liked to leave Nathlilik to the cult's mercy-or lack thereof-she reluctantly opened the lock of the dark elf's cell. Nathlilik strode out of her prison without so much as a "thank you."

"We defeated a Kilsek patrol a hundred yards or so down the passageway," Corran said. "You can retrieve one of their weapons. Since we're on the same side, would you like to join forces?"

Kestrel's eyes widened. She found the thought of spending any more time in Nathlilik's company abhorrent. Before she could voice an objection, however, the dark elf sneered. "Ha! Walk in the company of surface-dwellers? I'll take my chances alone." Without another word, she disappeared into the darkness.

The party stared after her. "That is one disagreeable woman," Durwyn declared.

They continued past the cell blocks, most of which stood empty. Apparently, the cult didn't hold prisoners long before using their blood to slake Pelendralaar's thirst. In the last cell, however, they found the crumpled form of a man passed out in the corner. He lay facedown, nearly naked, his blond hair matted with blood and his body covered with bruises. Whip marks swelled his back and oozed pus.

"Oh, by my Lady's grace!" Faeril cried. "Kestrel, let me in to help him!"

"Is he even alive?" Jarial asked.

Ghleanna dropped her staff and clutched the prison bars, peering intently into the dark cell. "He's a large man," she said softly. "A warrior…"

The cleric started uttering prayers of healing while Kestrel struggled with the locks. There were several mechanisms, all more complex than the sole lock that had secured Nathlilik's cell. Apparently, this was one prisoner the cult wanted to keep.

She sprung the last lock and swung open the door. Faeril rushed to the captive's side, followed closely by Ghleanna. The sorceress touched his hair with a shaking hand. "It is Athan." She choked back a sob. "Oh gods, what have they done to him? Can you save him?"

"Mystra, lend me your light, that I may tend your servant." Instantly, Faeril's hands glowed with a soft blue-white light The glow illuminated Athan's dark cell just enough for her to examine him. The cleric quickly assessed her patient running her hands along his limbs and torso. She checked his head and neck, then with Corran's help gently rolled the warrior onto his side to better examine his chest.

Ghleanna watched Faeril in scared silence until she couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Well?"

"His pulse is weak, and he's barely breathing," Faeril said. "He's got a skull fracture and numerous broken bones-his right arm and hand, half a dozen ribs. His right leg is broken in two places, and both lower legs are smashed into pulp." She wrinkled her nose. "From the smell, I think gangrene has set in."

"But you can save him, right?" Ghleanna asked anxiously. "You can heal him?"

Faeril raised her gaze to Ghleanna's. "He is too badly injured for me to heal him fully. I think I can keep him from death."

"Do you hear that Athan?" Ghleanna stroked a lock of his hair, her voice tremulous. "Faeril's going to help you."

Corran cleared his throat. "Can I assist?"

Faeril shook her head. "If you speak of laying on hands, let's see what I can do alone. We don't know what lies ahead-your healing powers may be needed later. But you can help me bandage his wounds." She turned to Kestrel. "I will also need your hands. Durwyn, Jarial, stand watch. This may take a while."

The cleric uttered a prayer-spell asking Mystra to heal Athan's gangrenous legs and lacerated back. "'Tis best to leave him unconscious until I can alleviate some of his pain," she explained to Ghleanna. When the decay was gone and the bone fragments fused, she beseeched the goddess to mend the other breaks in his leg and hand. Finally, she entreated Mystra to heal the warrior's head injury.

Athan's eyes fluttered open. He warily regarded the unfamiliar faces surrounding him until his gaze rested on the sorceress. "Ghleanna," he whispered.

She took his good hand in hers and pressed it to her wet cheek. "Brother."

Despite Faeril's care, Athan remained weak. The sight of his sister, however, appeared to hearten him beyond anything the cleric could do. His blue eyes quickly lost their glassiness, and the lines pain etched in his face seemed to fade as the minutes passed. After Ghleanna made introductions, he asked how she and the rest of the party had found him.

"Happenstance," she admitted. "Though I prayed you might still live, we had no way of knowing for sure."

He encompassed them all with his gaze. "I thank the gods you arrived when you did. After my last beating, I might never have awakened." He tried to rise but winced and settled back down against Ghleanna.

"Your ribs are broken," Faeril said. "I shall have to bind them, for your other injuries exhausted my healing powers. We'll also have to splint that arm." She opened a small pack and withdrew several rolled-up strips of cloth. "Kestrel, cut me several one-foot lengths from this roll." Corran, meanwhile, scouted around for some stray pieces of wood.

"The Cult of the Dragon has perfected the art of torture." Athan studied his right hand, flexing his fingers as if amazed to see them work once more. "You spend the first half of the interrogation afraid you'll die, and the last half afraid you won't." He glanced up to catch a stricken look cross Ghleanna's face. "You would have been proud, Lena-they never got a word out of me."

Corran returned with an extinguished torch and Durwyn's axe. He measured Athan's forearm and chopped off the charred end of the torch to match its length. "What did they want to know?"

"At first, who had sent us and how much we knew about Mordrayn's plans." He inhaled sharply as Faeril grasped his injured arm and reset the broken bone. "Lately, though, all their questions have been about you folks. Of course, I had no answers to give them even if I wanted to-I didn't even know my sister was among you. All I knew, I gleaned from my captors' own questions. Your activities have agitated the whole cult."

The news brought a grin to Kestrel's lips. "Good. I hope we have Mordrayn's drawers tied in knots." She handed the lengths of cloth to Faeril and returned her dagger to its hidden sheath.

Athan's face became deadly serious. "Do not underestimate Kya Mordrayn. She single-handedly controls the Mythal now through some sort of gem and uses the corrupted ancient magic to expand the Pool of Radiance."

"Yes, we've seen evidence of the pool's expansion." Corran secured the torch shaft to Athan's arm to form a makeshift splint. "Spawn pools are popping up in random cities outside Cormanthyr."

"There's nothing random about them," Athan said. "Mordrayn and the dracolich are using the pool to drain the life force from key cities throughout the Realms. They intend to first gain control of the Heartlands' main trading and port cities-Phlan, Mulmaster, Hillsfar, Zhentil Keep. Once they achieve a strong foothold, they plan to expand their domination until the whole continent falls under their power."

When the splint was complete, Faeril and Ghleanna eased Athan into a sitting position so the cleric could bind his ribs. "If Mordrayn controls the Mythal and the Pool of Radiance, what does she need the dracolich for?" Kestrel asked. "Is she really doing this all just so he can rule the world?"

"Pelendralaar is her general." Athan groaned as Faeril wound cloth strips around his bruised and battered torso. "He masterminds all the cult's military strategy. The dracolich has already waged successful campaigns against the alhoon, phaerimm, and baatezu of Myth Drannor and has now started deploying forces outside the city. He crushed the first counterattacks of Mulmaster and Zhentil Keep."