Ruins of Myth Drannor (33 page)

A sound arrested the cult leader’s attention. From what Kestrel could see, the cloud had evaporated. If her ears judged aright, both Athan and Corran now scaled the wall, still trying to gain the ledge.

Another arrow whistled through the air. Mordrayn ignored it—to her detriment. When the shaft embedded itself in the archmage’s thigh, Kestrel recognized it as one of the bronze-tipped bolts Durwyn had received from the baelnorn.

Fresh anger distorted Mordrayn’s features. She snapped the shaft in half and flung the fletched end aside. The remaining half protruded from her leg, blood oozing around it to streak down the length of the limb. She tried to step forward, but the wounded leg buckled. She flailed to catch herself from falling. “Damn you all!” she screamed. With a wave of her hand, a volley of conjured arrows sailed back at Durwyn.

The archmage might still have her magic, but she was losing her composure. Unfortunately, Kestrel hadn’t any means of using that observation to her advantage. She could only hope the others also saw that Mordrayn was unhinged.

Athan at last reached the top of the ledge. He immediately rushed Mordrayn, but pulled back about ten feet away. He tried again to close in, but was once more repelled by an unseen force. The archmage cackled in wicked delight. “You’re just longing to touch me, aren’t you, darling?”

The sickened look that crossed Athan’s face made Kestrel wonder about the extent of the torture he’d suffered at Mordrayn’s hands, but the warrior recovered quickly. “Only with dwarven steel.”

A cry from Faeril ended the exchange. “Lady of Mysteries! Visit your divine fire upon this creature who corrupted your golden Weave!” At the cleric’s summons, a column of fire descended from directly above Mordrayn, enveloping her in flames.

As the sacred blaze seared the onetime communicant, Corran cleared the ledge. He crossed to Kestrel quickly and applied his hands to her torn flesh. His voice wrapped her in a prayer of healing. When he finished, he met her gaze. “I have healed your wounds, but I cannot remove paralysis by laying on hands.”

She stared at him hard, willing him to somehow understand her thoughts. Try, Corran. Try for one of your miracles.

He sighed. As if he’d heard her, he closed his eyes and made a second supplication to Tyr. A moment later, Kestrel waggled the fingers of her right hand. She could move once more. The paladin shook his head in amazement. “By Tyr’s grace…”

They hadn’t time to celebrate. The pillar of holy flames sputtered out, revealing a Mordrayn badly burned but still standing. Running blisters covered her withered skin. Her singed hair, what was left of it, had come unbound and floated wildly about her head. She fixed Faeril with a feral gaze. “You will follow my bidding now, worship at my altar!” The archmage barked out an arcane command.

At first, it appeared that Mordrayn’s spell had no effect on the cleric. She merely stared, unblinking, at the archmage. A moment later, Faeril pointed a finger at Athan. “Hold!”

The warrior froze in place, both arms raised in a futile attempt to break his sword through the barrier Mordrayn had established. Kestrel gripped Borea’s Blood. She’d penetrated that barrier once—she could do so again.

Durwyn launched another arrow at Mordrayn. The cleric turned on him. “Hold!” He, too, froze where he stood. One hand held his short bow, the other hung suspended in the process of reaching back for another bolt.

The bronze-tipped arrow struck Mordrayn in the shoulder. The archmage, her eyes blazing with the fever of the insane, did not even notice. She wheeled on Corran. “You next!” She raised her dragon claw to shoot a thin red beam of light at him.

The paladin raised his shield, positioning it to shelter both himself and Kestrel. The ray struck the shield squarely and bounced back straight at Mordrayn. “No!” she screeched. The beam hit her in the chest, knocking her to the ground.

For a fleeting moment, Kestrel thought the witch had been defeated by her own magic, but Mordrayn climbed to her knees and aimed her talons at Corran once more. Laboring for breath, she uttered the ancient words of another incantation.

From below, Kestrel heard Ghleanna’s voice also raised in spellcasting. When the half-elf fell silent, Mordrayn’s speech changed. Her words became inarticulate babbling, sounds more primitive than the language of the basest humanoids. She spun about, looking from one party member to another with dilated pupils, snarling like a trapped animal. Her claw lashed out wildly at each person she faced.

Whatever Ghleanna had done, it broke Mordrayn’s hold on Faeril. The cleric shook her head as if to clear it, then called out a command to free Athan and Durwyn from her spells.

Athan, however, still couldn’t draw near Mordrayn. Corran leaped up to engage her. He scored two hits on her dragon arm but could not sever it.

Kestrel saw her opening. With Corran keeping the paralytic talons at bay, the thief darted forward. She raised Borea’s Blood high in the air, then plunged it with all her strength into Mordrayn’s black heart.

The sorceress’s eyes widened in sudden sanity. She sank onto the stone floor as choked, gurgling sounds issued from her throat. “No…” she finally managed to gasp out. In the distance, a rumbling commenced. Cracks split the rocky cavern base, from which dancing orange firelight spilled.

Suddenly, ebon tentacles and a host of dragon claws rose out of the floor. They wrapped themselves around Mordrayn’s limbs and torso, pulling her into the rock itself.

“No! Not yet!” She struggled against their grasp, demons and her own horror seizing her with equal strength as payment came due for an ancient bargain. “No! Pelendralaaaarrr!”

Her cry, like the rest of her, was swallowed up by the earth.

Only the Gauntlets of Moander—divine artifacts unfit to accompany Mordrayn to her new abode—remained. Corran stepped forward and lifted the gloves from the floor. He offered them to Athan. “I believe Elminster entrusted these to your care.”

Athan donned the metal gloves. The mouth images on their palms opened wide as the gauntlets stretched to conform to the warrior’s large hands. “At last.” he said. “Now it but remains to use them.”

Strangely, the thundering continued. It grew louder, until vibrations shook the whole cavern. Ghleanna peered at the cavern roof. “Not another cave-in?”

Before anyone could respond, the noise rose to a deafening crescendo. Kestrel fell to the ground, knocked off balance by the strength of the tremors. Rocks and rubble broke away from the east wall of the cavern and splashed into the Pool of Radiance. Then the whole wall gave way. An overpowering roar echoed through the chamber.

Pelendralaar had arrived.

The mighty dracolich filled the pool cavern. His body easily extended a hundred feet, his spiked tail another eighty. He stretched his tattered, leathery wings halfway to the ceiling, draping Faeril, Ghleanna, and Durwyn in his long shadow. He towered over them, not quite close enough to snap them up in his jaws. The trio froze in terror, rendered helpless by the very sight of the living dragon corpse.

Behind the beast, cool air and starlight filtered into the cavern through dust that had not yet settled. In his rush to answer Mordrayn’s summons, Pelendralaar had burst right through the cliff face. When he saw Athan wearing the Gauntlets of Moander, he realized he’d arrived too late.

Red flames burned in his empty eye sockets. The dracolich opened wide his jaws in a bellow of rage. “Arrogant hatchlings! You know not what you have done!” Puffs of smoke escaped through rows of razor-sharp teeth. “But you shall pay for it.”

The frightful fire-breathing creature inhaled deeply. Were Corran not so near, Kestrel knew fear surely would seize her as completely as it had her friends below. Fortified by the paladin’s aura, she was able to dive to one side before flames burgeoned from the dracolich’s mouth.

Pelendralaar blasted his burning cloud straight at Athan. Heat licked Kestrel’s limbs, searing her skin as she tumbled away from the vicinity. Her body sweated beneath the leather armor, but it was protected from further harm.

She rolled until she reached the recess wall. Two hard objects jabbed her from beneath. Her daggers. They must have landed here when she threw them at Mordrayn. Gratefully, she grabbed the weapons and assumed a defensive posture as she cast a wary look back at the dracolich.

Pelendralaar advanced toward the ledge, ignoring the fear-stricken adventurers on the cavern floor. Somehow, Faeril managed to shake off enough of her dragonawe to cast a prayer-spell beseeching Mystra to imbue them with courage. Apparently, the Lady of Mystery granted the cleric’s petition, for Ghleanna and Durwyn recovered their composure. Durwyn reached for another arrow.

Faeril’s prayer and its results went unnoticed by Pelendralaar, whose sinister gaze focused on Athan alone. The fair warrior had been badly burned and lay unmoving on the floor. Kestrel saw that his chest yet rose and fell—life remained within him.

Corran, also burned, crawled toward the fallen hero. Even as the dracolich neared to finish off Athan, the paladin laid his hands on Ghleanna’s brother and spoke words of healing. Athan stirred.

Pelendralaar growled.

From below, a ghostly, oversized warhammer sailed through the air to strike the dracolich’s head. With a hiss, Pelendralaar turned his menacing gaze on Faeril. He lifted his claw to swipe at her and was struck in the underbelly by a bronze-tipped arrow.

Kestrel took advantage of the distraction to scurry over to Athan and Corran. Athan had recovered much of his strength, but the paladin looked ready to collapse. “I’ve healed him as much as I’m able,” Corran croaked out through blistered lips and a throat parched by heat. “Tyr answered my prayers beyond my imagining.”

“You should have saved some of those healing powers for yourself.” Kestrel pulled her last two blueglow moss potions from her beltpouch. “Drink these.” Corran accepted one vial but pushed the other away. “Both of them,” she admonished. “No arguments.” Athan voiced his agreement. Pelendralaar swiped his claws at Durwyn. At a word from Ghleanna, the burly fighter suddenly moved with lightning speed, easily dodging the knifelike talons. The dracolich jerked his head at the sound of the mage’s voice. “Your sorcery is nothing to what my queen’s was.” He fixed his gaze upon her and uttered a string of arcane syllables. Bursts of magical fire raced toward the half-elf, but a shimmering barrier surrounded Ghleanna, repelling the missiles. Durwyn, meanwhile, landed an axe blow on one of the creature’s claws.

Athan rose to his feet, anxious to reenter the battle. Corran too, now partially restored by the potions, looked for an opportunity to strike the dracolich. “Our swords can’t reach him from up here,” the paladin said. “And we’re vulnerable to another breath attack. We have to get off this ledge.”

Kestrel soberly assessed the steep drop. They’d kill themselves jumping, but she didn’t relish the idea of a slow climb down with her back to Pelendralaar. “We have no choice but to scale the wall,” she said finally. “Durwyn’s got the beast distracted—this may be our only chance.” She headed for the ledge and prepared to descend. Corran was right behind her, but Athan remained where he was.

“Go ahead,” Athan said, his eyes on Pelendralaar. “I’ve got another way down.”

Kestrel exchanged quizzical glances with Corran but had no time to ponder Athan’s plan. She slipped over the edge and scurried down the wall as fast as she could.

The dracolich batted at Durwyn like a kitten trying to catch dust motes. Faeril struck him with the spiritual hammer once more. With a roar, Pelendralaar twisted his long neck to capture the cleric in his sight. His mouth opened wide and rushed toward Faeril. Mystra’s servant stood her ground.

Just as his jaws were about to snap around her, Faeril shouted a command. Brilliant sunlight streamed from her staff. The dracolich howled as the pure rays eclipsed the unholy fire in his own eyes. The cleric thrust the weapon into his jaws, wedging them open. Thus disabled, the dracolich could neither bite nor speak—nor cast spells.

Pelendralaar’s whole body thrashed as he tried to shake loose the staff. He tossed his head wildly. Tendrils of foul-smelling smoke curled up from patches on his body where his undead flesh smoldered in the sunlight.

An evocation from Ghleanna draped an enormous, sticky web over Pelendralaar’s forelegs. Each time he raised his claws they became more enmeshed in the webbing. Unable to bring his forelegs up to his jaws, he tried lowering his head to meet the limited range of his claws and mired his snout in cobwebs. He flapped and twisted at the edge of the Pool of Radiance.

Kestrel, now safely on the ground with Corran, dashed out of harm’s way as Pelendralaar’s flailing brought him near the ledge where Athan yet stood. The dracolich beat his wings, scraping the ledge with the leathery appendages. Before Kestrel realized his intent, Athan leaped forward and grabbed hold of one of the wings.

Pelendralaar buffeted with new violence, now trying to throw off Athan. Somehow, the fighter held on. He gripped the wing with one hand while hacking at it with his sword in the other. Kestrel marveled at the feat of strength. Perhaps the gauntlets lent him magical aid—they and the spell Ghleanna had just uttered.

Durwyn backed away from the web ensnaring Pelendralaar’s claws and switched to his bow. He sank several bolts into the creature’s writhing neck, while Faeril struck him in the head with her spiritual hammer. Kestrel added one of her daggers to the assault, hurling a perfect strike in the dracolich’s underbelly. Corran attacked the beast’s tail, dodging its whiplike snaps.

In desperation, the dracolich breathed his fire once more—this time at his own limbs. The web fell apart, freeing Pelendralaar’s head. Though the flames had billowed against the dracolich’s skin, he’d suffered no damage from them.

The Staff of Sunlight, however, had. The inferno that blasted from the creature’s lungs burned hot enough to melt metal. The staff bent into a U as Pelendralaar slowly clamped his mouth shut. Its light faded away, then disappeared altogether as he swallowed the precious weapon.