Ruins of Myth Drannor (4 page)

Corran shook his head in disgust. “Don’t you have the least concern for anyone besides yourself?”

“I saved your arse in that damn gate, didn’t I?”

“Enough!” Ghleanna, her expression strained, stepped between them. “Corran, she’s right—you shouldn’t have forced her to come. Kestrel, now that we are here, can we at least search for clues to what happened?”

“Sure,” Kestrel responded, her gaze remaining locked on Corran. She’d settle this later.

The adventurers appeared to have been dead for hours. Ghleanna hypothesized that time had become distorted in the malfunctioning gate, suspending the travelers in limbo much longer than the few seconds usually required to journey through one. The party also looked to have suffered wounds the orcs could not have inflicted.

“I believe their opponents wielded magic,” Ghleanna said. “Look at those deep burns on Allyril, the party’s sorceress. Ordinary fire doesn’t burn skin quite that way—I suspect lightning bolts. The cleric over there seems to have had the life drained right out of him, as does Loren. Athan is missing. I—I fear he was disintegrated altogether.” She cleared her throat and looked away.

Corran uttered the opening words of a prayer for the ill-fated band’s souls. Kestrel, never one to take much interest in religious observances, rolled her eyes but remained silent during the invocation. As she waited, paying little attention to the words, she noticed a smooth rectangular bulge under the cloak of the man Ghleanna had called Loren. When the paladin finished his prayer, she bent over the body to investigate.

“Have you no respect?” Corran hissed.

“What? I thought you were done.”

“You would steal from the corpses of fallen comrades?”

She clenched her jaw, fresh ire rising within her. If Ghleanna or Durwyn had reached for that object, he wouldn’t have said a word. “I thought we were investigating what happened here.” Pointedly turning her back on him, she unclasped Loren’s cloak, slipped her hand into its inside pocket, and withdrew a slim book. She opened its leaves, quickly skimming the pages. “It’s a journal.”

Corran reached for it. “Let me see.”

Kestrel snatched the volume out of his grasp. “I can read.” She flipped to the end, hoping the last few entries would prove the most informative.

Elminster was right,the last page read. A new Pool of Radiance exists somewhere in Myth Drannor. The pool’s creators know our mission and already send agents to stop us, even though we have not yet learned who’s behind the plan. Fortunately, we still have the Gauntlets of Moander, and once we find the pool we shall use them to destroy it. Mystra — and Fate— willing.

Kestrel read the passage aloud. When she finished, Ghleanna turned to Corran.

“I saw no gauntlets when we examined the adventurers,” the mage said, a note of panic in her voice. “Did you?”

“No, but we weren’t looking for them, either,” he said. “Let’s check again.”

Their search yielded several vials of bluish liquid, a plain, battered silver ring sized for a woman’s hand, an assortment of weapons, and numerous other provisions—but no Gauntlets of Moander.

“Well, we will just have to tell Elminster what happened and let him worry about it,” Kestrel said. She turned to Ghleanna. “So go ahead and do your thing.”

The mage regarded her quizzically. “My thing?”

“You know,” she prompted. “Conjure up one of those gate things so we can get out of here.” As much as she hated the thought of trusting another magical portal, twilight approached, and she was even less enamored with the idea of spending the night in this haunted city overrun with the minions of some unknown foe.

Ghleanna was silent a moment. “I cannot do that, Kestrel,” she said finally. “I have not the power.”

“What do you mean?” A sick feeling spread through her insides. “We’re not stuck here, are we?”

“You’re welcome to try to find your way out of the city and walk home,” Corran said. “As for me, I choose to take up this party’s mission. The cause of good cannot afford the time it would take us to reach Elminster. We must instead pick up where these fallen worthies left off.”

Kestrel stared at him. The paladin really had an over-inflated sense of his own honor. Fallen worthies, indeed. Did anyone actually talk like that?

“Yes, we must!” Durwyn exclaimed.

She closed her eyes. Of course Durwyn would follow the knight. He was lost without a commander, and apparently he’d settled on Corran as his new one.

“I’m glad you both agree,” Ghleanna said. “I would have taken up this quest alone if I had to.”

Kestrel sighed. Was she alone possessed of sense? “Aren’t you all forgetting a few facts?” she asked. “Our foes already defeated the original party—we’re fewer in number and less prepared. Even if we do manage to find this new pool, what are we going to do when we get there? Skip stones across it? The bad guys have the gauntlets.”

“But we have the advantage of surprise,” Corran said. “They won’t be expecting a new party so soon. We can figure out the rest as we go along—we haven’t even read the whole journal yet.”

She bowed her head, rubbing her temples. They were insane. All of them. They would end up dead, and they wanted to take her with them.

Yet would she fare any better trying to make it out of the city, through the forest, and back to civilization alone?

“Kestrel, you were really smart back there in the portal,” Durwyn said. “We could sure use your help.”

As if she had a choice. Get killed here or get killed trying to leave here. Nonetheless, if she was stuck on this suicide mission, there was one thing she wouldn’t tolerate. She looked up at Corran. “No more insults from you.”

“Agreed.”

She glanced at Durwyn and Ghleanna. “All right then.”

Ghleanna responded by suddenly raising her palms and hurling a spell at her. Kestrel dived to the ground. “What the—”

A burst of light appeared about ten paces behind her, followed immediately by an inhuman cry. A hideous creature stumbled out of the shadows, clutching at its eyes. The thing appeared to have once been human but now was a disfigured shell of its former self. Sharp, elongated teeth protruded from its mouth like fangs; the nails on its withered hands had grown into talons. Its dried-out flesh, visible through tattered clothing, hung tight on its bones.

“A ghoul!” Corran drew his sword and attacked. His first blow severed one of its skeletal arms. Black liquid spewed from the stump. Sightless, thanks to Ghleanna’s spell, the ghoul could only blindly lash out with its remaining claw in defense.

Durwyn joined Corran’s side and swung his battle axe. He hit the creature in the side. The ghoul moaned and swiped its talons at the guard.

“Don’t let it touch you!” Corran warned. With a mighty swing to the ghoul’s neck, the paladin made quick work of the weakened creature. Its head fell to the ground and rolled several feet. Kestrel was glad it stopped at an angle that hid its hideous face.

“I take it you’ve faced ghouls before?” Ghleanna asked Corran as he and Durwyn cleaned the ghoul’s foul blood off their weapons.

The paladin nodded. “Several times. They’re nasty creatures—their touch can paralyze. If you’re killed by a ghoul, you’ll become one too, unless it eats all your flesh first. They feed on corpses.” He glanced at the dead adventurers and orcs. “It must have been attracted by the bodies. We should bury them before the sun fully sets, when the creatures will probably come out in droves. Where there’s one there are sure to be more.”

“Do we have time?” Ghleanna asked. “I’m almost out of spells, and we still need to find shelter for ourselves.”

“I hate to leave them here unprotected,” the paladin said. “These heroes died noble deaths—their remains deserve better than to become ghoul fodder.”

Kestrel gestured toward one of the ruined buildings she’d studied earlier. “If we move the adventurers in there and leave the orcs out in the street, perhaps the ghouls will be satisfied with the easy meal.” She expected Corran to dismiss the idea simply because she had suggested it. To her surprise, he agreed.

“We should also keep their equipment for our own use,” she added. “It can’t help them now.”

He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to change his mind. “I suppose.”

They distributed the goods amongst themselves. For the time being, Ghleanna carried the vials, planning to examine them later to see if she could identify their contents. Durwyn added several dozen arrows to his supply. Corran offered Kestrel an ordinary-looking dagger Loren had been carrying. “You seem to know how to use these.”

“Thanks.” She gestured toward the ring. “I’ll take that too, if no one minds. It won’t fit either of you.”

“And it can be sold for a fair price when we return, right?” Corran said dryly. He glanced at the others, then tossed it to her. “It’s yours.”

She slid the dagger into a sheath on her belt and slipped the ring on her right middle finger where it wouldn’t impede the dexterity of her dominant left hand.

They had just moved the last body into the makeshift crypt when a shout drifted out of another nearby building.

“Leave that alone! Hey—leave me alone! Scat! Scat, I tell ye! Git yer stinkin’ carcasses outta here! Hey— help!”

They hurried off in the direction of the cries, following them to a well-fortified building that looked as if it might once have been an armory. A foul stench issued forth, one that reminded Kestrel of the undead bandit she’d seen last night beside Phlan’s pool.

Within, they found a half dozen rotting, animated orc corpses in tattered clothing circling what appeared to be a peddler’s wagon. Atop it, fending off the creatures with anything he could lay his hands on, perched a very irritated halfling. His leather armor seemed to deflect most of the zombies’ claws, but a few scratch marks marred his arms and round, ruddy cheeks.

“Git back, I said!” He brained the nearest creature with a cast-iron frying pan, then tossed a basket over the head of another. “Whew! Ye need some perfume!” He unstopped a vial and flung its contents in the eyes of a third.

Durwyn moved to engage the undead beings, but Corran stayed him. The paladin stepped forward. “Foul creatures of darkness!” he called out in a commanding tone.

The zombies turned in the direction of his voice and staggered toward their new target, arms outstretched.

“Great,” Kestrel muttered. Now the creatures were coming to attack them. At least these things moved slowly. Just as she was about to draw the twin daggers from her boots, Corran held a silver symbol of Tyr aloft.

“Begone!” he cried. “Trouble this man no more!”

The creatures moaned and tried to shield their eyes as they backed away. They shuffled jerkily toward a rear exit and out into the night. Within minutes the armory was free of their presence, though their odor lingered.

The halfling scrambled down from his perch and over to Corran. “Thank ye, sir,” he said, removing his red knit cap and sweeping into a bow that revealed the start of a bald spot in the center of his thin brown curls. “Nottle’s the name. Purveyor of the finest equipment and goods in all Myth Drannor.” He straightened. “An’ who might ye be?”

“Corran D’Arcey, Defender of Tyr. These are my companions, Durwyn, Kestrel, and Ghleanna Stormlake.”

“Well met!” Nottle bowed again in greeting, then stooped to retrieve his merchandise. He hung the frying pan back on the wagon and picked up a quarterstaff from the floor. “Usually I can fend off the beasts m’self, but t’night they got m’staff away from me.”

“This happens all the time?” Kestrel asked. “Why do you stay?”

“Business is good here, m’dear,” he said. “Adventurers comin’ and goin’, all thinkin’ they’re gonna strike it rich, then discoverin’ they ain’t as prepared as they thought they were. That’s where I come in. Actually, the place has gotten a little less dangerous lately—them dreadful alhoon and phaerimm creatures have left this part of the city. The baatezu, too. ‘Course, now we have the drow and undead to put up with, so it’s not exac’ly paradise. Say, are ye needin’ anythin? I’ll cut ye a deal, seeing as Corran here saved my wagon just now.”

“Drow?” Ghleanna asked.

“Indeed, m’dear. They mostly stay below, in the dungeons, but I’ve seen a few here on the surface. At night, a’course.”

Kestrel shuddered. She’d never encountered a drow before, but she’d heard tales of the ruthless subterranean elven race. They were said to have dark skin, shockingly white hair, and no mercy.

“An adventuring band was killed today not far from here,” Corran said. “Did you ever do business with them?”

“Athan’s band? Sad thing, that—them gittin’ killed. I hope they weren’t friends of yers?” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Word is, the scarred mages got ’em.”

At the mention of scarred mages, a tingle raced along Kestrel’s collarbone.

“Who are the scarred mages?” Though she asked the question, she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn the answer. “No one knows fer certain. We jes’ started seein’ ’em one day. I think they got somethin’ to do with the goings-on at the castle. Dunno why they killed yer friends, but I might be able to find out.” He paused, a mercenary glint creeping into his dark eyes. “That kinda information… it don’t come cheap.”

“They weren’t our friends,” Kestrel said. Corran looked at her sharply, probably ready to accuse her of betraying the heroes’ memory or some nonsense like that, but she didn’t care. This little guy was a talker, and if the ill-fated party had disfigured wizards after them, she didn’t need word spread around town that friends of the dead adventurers had come to avenge them. “We just saw them lying in the street and wondered.”

“Curiosity ain’t generally healthy in Myth Drannor,” he said. “But I owe ye for scarin’ off those zombies, so if ye find yerselves needin’ information, come to me. If I don’t know the answer, I can usually find out.”

“Have you heard anything about a Pool of Radiance?” Durwyn blurted.

Gods! If he hadn’t been wearing armor, Kestrel would have kicked the big, dumb warrior for being so obvious.

Nottle scratched his head. “Can’t say as I have.” He pulled a canvas tarp over the wagon. “That some sort of landmark round here? You wanna to talk to the elves up at the shrine—coupl’a Mystra clerics, Beriand and Faeril. They can maybe tell ye more.” He lifted his staff and muttered a word Kestrel couldn’t discern, apparently securing his goods for the night.