possible if the Mythal were functioning properly.'
Kestrel set aside her empty bowl. 'The Mythal? What's the Mythal?'
'The city's ancient protective magic,' Faeril said. 'Centuries ago, Myth Drannor's most powerful wizards- including your human Elminster-came together to weave a protective spell that encompassed the entire city like a mantle. We suspect, however, that of late it has become corrupted.'
'I believe that is why Mystra summoned us here,' Beriand said. 'As elves, we are naturally attuned to the Mythal. Though the magical Weave remains strong, many of its threads bear a foreign taint. The contamination has worsened in the time we have been here.'
Faeril offered more stew to the travelers. When Corran and Durwyn accepted, she rose to serve it. 'It has been rough going since our arrival,' she said over her shoulder as she ladled the food. 'We were forced to retreat to this shrine, and most days so much violence rocks the streets that we cannot leave. By day it is orcs, and by night, swarms of undead. But there are many here who need our ministry-we have saved many lives-and the Mythal must somehow be purified. So we stay.' She returned with two more steaming bowls.
Corran thanked her as she handed one to him. 'In your time here, have you heard any talk of something called the Pool of Radiance?'
Faeril glanced at Beriand, whose face betrayed no hint of recognition. 'Only from another band of travelers like yourselves,' she said. 'They also seek it, but we had no information to help them.'
'Athan and his band were allies of ours,' said Corran, 'but they were killed this day. Do you know what happened to them?'
Faeril gasped at the news. 'These are ill tidings indeed. Athan was a fine warrior, one of the best men I have ever known.'
Beriand's expression also saddened. 'We had not heard-greatly we rue their passing. I know only that they had just come from the Room of Words, a chamber high up in the Onaglym, or House of Gems.'
Kestrel wondered if the tales she'd heard of Myth Drannor's riches might prove true after all. A whole house full of gems? 'What were they doing there?'
'They had recently found an item known as the Ring of Calling,' Beriand said. 'They believed it would grant them access to the city's acropolis-or the 'Heights'-but first they needed to break the ring's bond to its previous owner. They went to the Onaglym's Room of Words in hopes of finding a command word that would free the ring from the skeletal arm on which they found it I do not know whether their research proved successful.'
At Beriand's mention of a ring, Kestrel removed her newly acquired one and put it in the cleric's hand. 'We found this on one of the adventurers. Is it the Ring of Calling?'
He shook his head immediately. 'Alas, no. The Ring of Calling is mysteriously bonded to the skeletal arm of its last wearer. No amount of physical force, nor any of the magic Athan's band attempted, could remove it.' He gave Kestrel's ring back to her. 'Did you find any such ring?'
'No.'
He sighed. 'Then I can only assume that whoever killed the party now has the ring, and searches for the enabling word themselves.'
'Back in the Room of Words?' Ghleanna asked.
'That is the most likely place to find it,' said Beriand. 'The chamber is a repository of books containing words that power magical items. When Coronal Eltargrim Irithyl opened the elven capital city to other races, the dwarves came despite their distrust of magic. But later, when they built the House of Gems as their stronghold, they created the Room of Words to feel more empowered over the city's many magical devices.' Beriand chuckled. 'They thought if they could just collect all the enabling words in one place, they could somehow protect themselves.'
Kestrel didn't think the dwarves' idea sounded all that silly-at least it was some action against the mysteries of sorcery.
'Why did Athan's band need the ring to reach the Heights?' Durwyn asked. 'Couldn't they just walk there?'
'The wars that brought down Myth Drannor left the city's surface in such ruin that many sections are cut off from one another by huge piles of rubble from collapsed buildings and walls,' Faeril said. 'We are now in a section called the Northern Ruins; the Heights holds the Speculum, Castle Cormanthor, and other important buildings. The only way to move between the districts is through the undercity created by the elves and dwarves over the centuries. The Ring of Calling can unseal a door inside the dwarven dungeons that leads to the Heights.'
'It sounds like our first step is visiting this Room of Words,' Corran said. 'If we're lucky, we'll find the band's killers there searching for the ring's enabling word and we can get the ring back from them.'
No, if we're lucky, they will be long gone and we'll have to abandon this futile quest and go home, Kestrel wanted to say. Luck, however, didn't seem to be on her side these past few days.
'How do we get to the House of Gems?' Ghleanna asked.
'Through the dwarven dungeons,' Beriand responded. 'They connect to an isolated tower in the House of Gems. The tower is sealed from the outside, so the dungeons are the only way in. I must warn you, though-the undercity corridors are filled with orcs and undead. In fact, so many of the creatures were using the dungeons as a highway to this part of the city that I sealed the entrance. Rest here for the night to refresh your strength before challenging their numbers.'
'In the morning, we will direct you to the doors,' said Faeril. 'Beriand sealed them with the Glyph of Mystra. Before you leave, study the book lying open on the altar. It contains the Word of Mystra, a command so powerful that it can be learned only through study, not by simply hearing it. Knowing the Word of Mystra will grant you entry through any portal marked with the goddess's symbol. Doors marked with other glyphs, however, require different words of opening.'
Words of opening. The Mythal. Magical gates. The Ring of Calling. As Kestrel lay on her cot that night, her head swam with it all. This morning, her sole thought had been leaving Phlan. Well, she'd left it all right-and now only hoped to get back alive. How had everything spun out of her control so quickly?
Damn Nat's firewine!
CHAPTER THREE
At sunrise, supplied with directions and rations from the clerics, the foursome left the elven shelter and hiked to the entrance of the dwarven undercity. Dawn proved a good time to travel the city's surface-the sunlight chased away undead wanderers, while the hour was too early for much activity on the part of humanoids. The few orcs they did spot en route were easily avoided.
The daylight, however, did little to lift the pall that lay over the ruined city. An aura of tarnished greatness hung about Myth Drannor, its former dignity reduced to rubble along with its structures. Everywhere Kestrel looked, flawed beauty met her gaze: crumbling arches, cracked columns, decapitated statues, dead or dying trees. The tales she'd heard of the fallen elven capital had described treasure there for the taking by anyone brave enough to face its new denizens. However, even to her rogue's sensibilities, looting this city seemed less like robbing from the rich than stealing from a cripple.
The party spotted the double doors inscribed with Mystra's star symbol. They approached slowly, this time anticipating the thunderous Word of Opening rending the air.
'Aodhfionn!'
The command, as yesterday spoken by the mysterious otherworldly voice, roared like the surf pounding on the shore. Kestrel started at the force as vibrations echoed in the air. Hinges too long in need of oil protested strenuously. The doors to the undercity swung open to reveal a dark corridor.
Smooth, perfectly planed rock walls lined the ten-foot-wide opening. Within, narrower passages broke off in three directions. Lit torches punctuated the walls at fixed intervals, confirming that some sort of humanoid occupants passed through regularly. When she'd heard these dungeons were of dwarven construction, Kestrel had feared she and the others would have to stoop to move through them. Fortunately, the ceiling was at least six and a half feet high. Durwyn might have to duck in places to keep his helmet from scraping the roof, but otherwise it appeared that the foursome would find their movement generally unhindered.
Kestrel waited for someone else to enter first. She might have agreed to accompany these misguided do-
