CHAPTER ELEVEN
'Fhaormiir!'
The moment the party approached the door, the Word of Safekeeping boomed out of the air in a deep voice that reverberated throughout the stairwell. Adrenaline raced through Kestrel as the door silently swung open. Soon they would meet the Protector, and ask him to use the Gem of the Weave to undo the corruption of the Mythal. With the tide thus turned against the cult, perhaps she and the others would have a prayer of completing this mission alive. She did not want to consider their chances if the baelnorn refused their petition.
Expecting a long corridor, Kestrel was surprised to discover only a small antechamber. The room was empty, with a single pair of doors breaking up the smooth expanse of wall. The massive oak doors, however, took up nearly one whole side.
'Are we in the right place?' Faeril murmured. 'I thought the baelnorn's dwelling-'
'Hush!' Kestrel closed her eyes to focus her sense of hearing. Muffled noises came from more than one place on the other side of the doors. A muted voice, the scrape of a chair, several low chuckles. She signaled to the others to remain still-and silent-while she investigated. Then she crept up to the doors and peered through the keyhole.
Her vantage point offered only a limited view of the room beyond. Flickering torchlight cast shadows on the walls-two figures standing, more sprawled in chairs around a table. She strained for a better view, but she could not see the people casting the shadows. From the relative size of the shadows, she guessed the erect pair to be closer than the seated individuals. She could hear them, male voices speaking in low tones.
'Still no word from Forgred's men, Lieutenant?'
'No, Captain.'
'Or Gashet? Rubal?'
'No, sir… She will not be pleased.'
'Hrmph. She must learn patience.'
Suddenly, a crackling sound rent the air. A gate, like the one that had transported the party to Myth Drannor, appeared in Kestrel's line of sight It pulsed and snapped with light and energy. A bright flash lit the room. Then, just as suddenly, the gate disappeared.
Kya Mordrayn had arrived.
Kestrel stifled a gasp. The archmage appeared even more formidable in person than she had in the scrying mirror. She was a tall woman, approaching six feet, and her boots and upswept hair made her seem at least a foot taller. A stiff collar anchored two red leather shoulder pieces that extended like dragon wings on either side of her head. At her waist hung a pair of black metal gloves, with white symbols of an open skeletal mouth on each palm. The Gauntlets of Moander.
Mordrayn's monstrous right arm hung past her knee-until she raised it to point at one of the speakers who had fallen silent at her entrance.
What news, Mage Captain? As in the scrying mirror, Mordrayn did not open her mouth to speak. Her voice seemed to simply fill the minds of those who listened.
'The baelnorn remains locked away in the next room, Mistress. No one has entered.'
The archmage nodded approvingly. That is well. And the intruders?
'We have not found them yet. But-'
Her brows drew together. I grow tired of excuses. The fingers of Mordrayn's human hand moved ever so slightly. The captain screamed as a blaze of light filled the room. The smell of burning flesh drifted through the keyhole, accompanied by a sickening sizzling sound.
Unable to see the captain, Kestrel kept her gaze on Mordrayn. As her servant shrieked in pain, the archmage remained stoic, even bored. When the screams ceased and the flames died out, one upright shadow remained on the wall. The seated figures appeared smaller, as if trying to sink into their chairs.
Mordrayn shifted her gaze to encompass the remaining officer. You command now.
'Yes, Mistress.' The figure bowed his head, then raised it quickly. 'Mistress-an idea.'
The archmage had turned as if to leave but spun around at her servant's entreaty. She arched an eyebrow. Speak quickly.
'With your permission, I will unlock the doors.'
The archmage gasped aloud. Unlock them?
'Yes… and be ready.'
Mordrayn stared at her new commander a long time, flexing her talons as she pondered his proposal. Not a sound broke the stillness. Finally, she nodded in assent. Plan wisely. Use the drow slaves as you see fit. And if you fail, pray that they kill you..
The magical gate reappeared. A moment later, the archmage was gone.
Immediately, the commander spun to face the seated figures. 'Get up, you maggots! Get moving! You-get everyone in here…'
Kestrel backed away from the doors and returned to the others. 'We've found the baelnorn-the cult is holding him captive here.' As she described the scene she'd just witnessed, the sound of an enormous bolt sliding back indicated that the doors now indeed stood unlocked. 'We haven't much time. They're mobilizing quickly.'
Corran leaned on his sword, frowning. 'How many are there?'
'Hard to say-I could see only shadows. A dozen, perhaps more. I suspect at least some of them are sorcerers, as the captain was one.'
All eyes turned to the paladin, including Kestrel's. She'd never been involved in an out-and-out battle against an organized military force. For once, she was happy to let Corran take command. Was this the confidence Ghleanna had described?
Corran rubbed his temples, then mumbled a brief prayer to Tyr. 'Okay, here's what we do.'
The cult forces were still organizing when Kestrel and her party burst into the room. The element of surprise won them a momentary advantage-long enough for Ghleanna to launch a fireball at the living warriors and Jarial to use the Staff of Sunlight to weaken the enthralled drow assembled in the chamber. The combined effect created a burst of light so bright that even the surface-dwellers blinked.
The enslaved Kilsek staggered under the visual assault, cringing and covering their eyes. Kestrel picked off two of the weakened dark elves without even a struggle, slipping behind them in the bright light of day and sinking a dagger between their shoulder blades. Faeril sent two more to their final rest in the shock of the initial onslaught, her new blade glowing with holy fire.
At the sight of flames dancing around the steel, Kestrel glanced at the cleric in surprise. 'I didn't know that was a magical weapon.'
Faeril regarded the sword in awe. 'Neither did I.' She celebrated the discovery by plunging the blade into another dark elf.
Ghleanna had been assigned the task of subduing the commander, at whom she immediately launched a second spell. They'd all hoped the lieutenant would prove the only sorcerer among the cultists-the party had entered combat under the shield of protective spells, but their magical defenses couldn't hold out forever. Soon, Kestrel saw a sorcerous battle unfold out of the corner of her eye, with Ghleanna and the lieutenant launching magical volleys at each other.
Corran, once again cloaked by invisibility, was to help the half-elf slay the commander, applying steel to supplement spells. Kestrel saw no sign yet of the paladin, but her attention was focused on another drow opponent. The soulless dark elf moved his hands in the gesture-language of Razherrt and his followers. At the last second, she realized he was casting a spell. She dropped to the floor and rolled, trying to dodge his aim, but to no avail. A fan of flames burst from his hands, searing her side.
She yelped in pain but got to her feet, more determined than ever to save Nathlilik the trouble of releasing this particular Kilsek into true death. She hurled Loren's Blade at him, catching him in the throat. Beside her, Faeril's flame blade dispatched the last enthralled drow.
Meanwhile, six cult fighters charged Durwyn. Jarial appeared to launch a spell at them, but Kestrel saw no visible effect. She soon realized, however, that the fighters moved more slowly than they had before. Faeril rushed to fight beside Durwyn, while Kestrel maintained her position and sent Loren's Blade flying once more.
