As Ghleanna unleashed a series of fire bursts, a cry of 'Death to Tyr's enemies!' revealed Corran's whereabouts. Pathfinder penetrated the cult commander's defenses, striking a blow at the evil sorcerer's back. The combination of Ghleanna's spells and Corran's sword proved the mage's undoing, and before long he lay on the floor with the dead drow.
Ghleanna, however, suffered serious burns on her arms and face from one of the cultist's enchantments. Faeril, having just dispatched her opponent with a fatal strike to the chest, disengaged from combat to attend the half-elf. Durwyn had defeated two foes, leaving just three cult fighters blocking the entrance to the baelnorn's cell.
Kestrel noted the situation with cautious optimism. They could handle the remaining cultists-Corran and Jarial had already weakened two of them. Victory was all but assured.
Until the reinforcements arrived.
Without warning, a gate opened in the corner of the room. The additional forces the lieutenant had summoned earlier spilled out, surprised to find a battle in progress but ready to fight nonetheless. Cult fighters and countless enslaved drow entered the fight filling Kestrel with despair. How could they possibly prevail against these numbers?
'Close the gate!' Corran shouted.
'How?' she shouted back. Even if she knew a way to physically shut a magical portal, too many foes stood between them and the opening.
Jarial darted off to the side, positioning himself directly across from the gate. He unleashed a forked lightning bolt straight at the portal. One branch stopped the flow of cultists streaming out by electrocuting those hapless individuals immediately within. The other branch hit the gate itself, sending a crackle of electrical feedback racing through the very fabric of the portal. The gate snapped and wavered and popped. Random zaps of energy ricocheted within its walls. In a great burst of light, it collapsed.
Kestrel had no time to appreciate the fireworks-too many cultists and drow swarmed the room. Three soulless dark elves had her backed into a corner from which she feared she would never emerge. She found herself unable to land a single offensive blow on any of them-parrying their strikes was the best she could do.
Another burst of sunlight issued from Jarial's staff, causing Kestrel's opponents and the rest of the Kilsek to stagger under the sudden brightness. She seized the advantage and brought her club down on one foe's skull with every ounce of strength she could muster. He slumped to the floor, but another dark elf took his place. The new opponent crippled her left arm with a retributive strike. Moments later, one of his comrades cut her legs out from under her.
Kestrel fell hard. She tried to push the pain from her consciousness, but it clutched at her mind like dark tentacles wrapping around her every thought. Her arm hung limp at her side, the broken bone protruding through her skin and armor. She transferred her club to her right hand and prepared to hold out as long as she could against the swarming dark elves. She called out, trying to draw someone's attention to her situation, but with their whole party so severely outnumbered she doubted anyone could help her.
This was it, then, the place where she would die-beset by undead drow in the bowels of Myth Drannor. She had always wondered.
She fended off two more blows but could not block the third. It slammed into her head, knocking her flat and blurring her vision. Did she still face three drow, or did six now surround her? Through the haze overtaking her awareness, she heard Faeril's voice rise above the din of battle. 'By the grace of Mystra, I command thee to fall back!'
They were the last words she heard.
CHAPTER TWELVE
'Kestrel? Kestrel!'
Faeril's voice drifted to her through a fog, stirring Kestrel to consciousness. Her battered body hurt all over, but her left arm ached so intensely that she almost lapsed back into oblivion rather than endure the pain.
Gentle fingers searched her throat for a pulse. 'Thank Mystra, she's still alive,' the cleric said.
'How bad is she hurt?' Was that Corran's voice or Durwyn's? Kestrel's head was still too cloudy to distinguish the male timbre, and she had not yet been able to force her eyes open.
'She's got a compound fracture in her left arm. I can heal that-it's her unconsciousness that concerns me most I fear a serious head injury. Did anyone see when she fell?'
'Just before you turned the undead drow.' That was Corran's voice. The other speaker must have been Durwyn. 'She was surrounded by them. I tried to reach her, but-'
'We all had our hands full.' Faeril grasped Kestrel's injured arm and-in movements that caused pain more excruciating than the break itself-reset the bone. Kestrel heard the cleric begin a prayer. In a few minutes the pain subsided, though it did not disappear completely. 'That is all I can do for now,' Faeril said. 'I have exhausted my healing gifts for this day.'
'Were it not for your healing spells during combat, none of us would have survived that battle,' Corran said.
Faeril's ministrations, though limited, boosted Kestrel's strength enough that the rogue finally managed to open her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus her blurred vision. After a moment, her sight cleared.
Corran and Faeril knelt beside her, with Durwyn hovering close behind. The three of them had removed their helms, and all looked as if they'd journeyed to the Abyss and back. Blood spattered their armor and caked their hair. An ugly bruise had formed on Corran's right cheekbone, just above the stubble line of his four-day beard. Cuts covered Faeril's arms, including one long gash that ran from elbow to shoulder. Durwyn seemed to favor his left leg.
The burly warrior smiled as she met his worried gaze. 'We thought we'd lost you,' he said.
'Sorry to disappoint everyone,' Kestrel said weakly. When she tried to sit up, Faeril had to support her. 'Where are Ghleanna and Jarial?'
Corran glanced off to one side. 'Resting. Both suffered terrible burns from cult spells. We were surprised to find Jarial still breathing after two fireballs hit him at once. I just stabilized him, but it will be some time before he- or any of us, really-is moving quickly.'
Kestrel pushed the last of her mental fogginess aside, forcing herself to think clearly. 'We've got to get out of here. Another gate could open any moment with more reinforcements.'
The paladin nodded gravely. 'I think that door over there leads to the baelnorn's cell. We haven't even had a chance to see whether it's locked. Feel up to examining it?'
With Faeril's aid, Kestrel got to her feet. Dizziness seized her, but she fought it off and stumbled to the door, praying to any deity who would listen that this would prove a simple lock. She couldn't analyze much more at the moment-not with the pounding headache forming behind her eyes.
They found the door unlocked. Within, an ancient elf sat in the center of the tiny boxlike room. Wrinkles surrounded his glowing white eyes, which assessed Kestrel and the others as they entered. Not a strand of hair remained on his pate, making his regal forehead look all the higher. His pointed ears and fingers seemed preternaturally long, even for an elf. Simple garments of brown homespun covered his shriveled, pale skin. Long arms hugged his knees to his chest in a defensive posture.
Yet for all the alterations wrought upon his physical form by age and undeath, the man once known as Miroden Silverblade still possessed such a puissant, vital presence that a full minute elapsed before anyone realized the baelnorn could not move.
Jarial leaned heavily on the Staff of Sunlight as he regarded the Protector. The mage's too-pink skin shone tight against the bones of his face. His eyelashes and eyebrows had been singed off altogether. 'I believe he's magically bound,' he said in a voice so scratchy that it pained Kestrel to hear it
'Aye,' said Ghleanna, who did not look much better.
'With an enchantment similar to one I used on you, Kestrel.' Her blistered lips twisted into what Kestrel could only suppose was meant to be a wry smile. The day we first met-remember?'
She remembered the incident, although that afternoon in Phlan seemed years ago. 'Does that mean you can
