free him?'
'I believe I have enough strength remaining to try one spell.' Ghleanna mumbled her incantation as she hobbled in a circle around the baelnorn. When she returned to her starting point, she extended one hand toward the guardian and uttered a final word.
The baelnorn unfurled like a morning glory in the sun, rising to a towering height. He was a tall man-well over six feet-made taller still, Kestrel soon realized, by the fact that he levitated about a foot off the floor. A noble calmness seemed to surround him, putting her at ease despite the fact that the party was in the presence of yet another undead denizen of the city.
'You have my deepest gratitude,' the Protector said in a rich voice that belied his gaunt appearance. 'But we are not safe here. Come.' He swept his hand broadly. The room faded around them, and they found themselves in a large circular chamber. 'Here, in my home, we may speak freely.'
The apartment was comfortably, if sparsely, furnished. Soft light filled the room, though Kestrel couldn't determine its source. A wooden table and two chairs sat in one part of the chamber; a plush bedroll and plump cushions lay spread in another. A large section of the wall held shelves piled high with books and scrolls. Two massive trunks stood beneath.
Kestrel had expected the Mythal's communicant to enjoy more lavish quarters. To her way of thinking, gracious surroundings were a minimum trade-off for an eternity of constant vigilance. Yet the more she assessed the humble dwelling, the more it seemed a proper place for the baelnorn to guard the Sapphire of the Weave. Few would think to plunder such a simple abode in search of the priceless gem.
Opposite the doorway stood an ornate glass case containing a small, red velvet pillow. The pillow still held the impression of an item that had once rested upon it- surely the Gem of the Weave. The treasure, however, was nowhere in sight. Dread seized her. In the baelnorn's absence, had the cultists stolen the Sapphire? If Mordrayn had the gem, their quest was surely doomed, for Kestrel could think of no other means to cleanse the Mythal of the corruption that tainted it
She tore her gaze away from the empty case to see whether the Protector had noted the missing item. He avoided her questioning look. Instead, he addressed the group as a whole. 'Sit,' he said, 'and be well.'
At a slight gesture from the baelnorn, Kestrel's headache immediately dissipated. A moment later the pain in her arm and residual aches from other injuries fled as well. She felt rested as if she'd slept for a week-better than she had since waking with that firewine hangover in Phlan before all this madness began. Looking around, she saw that the others also had been restored to perfect health. The men even appeared clean-shaven.
'I am Miroden Silverblade, known as the Protector for these past six centuries,' he said, his tired but clear eyes studying the companions as keenly as they assessed him. 'To whom do I owe my freedom? And what brought the six of you to that black corner of the catacombs?'
Corran introduced the party and described their activities thus far, concluding with Anorrweyn Evensong's suggestion to seek the baelnorn's aid. 'She told us you protect the Sapphire of the Weave, and that you possibly could use the gem to reverse the corruption of the Mythal. But we didn't expect to find you held captive.'
'Nor did I intend to become so.' The Protector sighed heavily, the lines in his face settling deeper. 'The cult imprisoned me because Mordrayn and Pelendralaar fear my influence over what remains of the Mythal. Since the Year of Doom, I have used my abilities as communicant to slow the decay of the city's mantle. As all that I once knew withered and died around me, I held fast to my belief that one day the Mythal would prove the key to restoring Myth Drannor to its lost glory. The cult thinks I still have the power to undo the corruption they have wrought upon the Weave.'
Thinks. Kestrel's heart sank to the pit of her stomach. 'You don't?'
'Nay.' A stricken look crossed the baelnorn's features. He turned his back on them and floated to the empty case. His shaking fingers reached through the glass to caress the depression in the pillow. 'They came. The Cult of the Dragon.' His voice, so rich before, now warbled in the trembling tones of an old man. 'I had… grown weak in my solitude. I succumbed when I should have stood fast.'
Kestrel stifled a groan of dismay mixed with frustration. How could an artifact as important as the Gem of the Weave have been left in the care of someone too frail to protect it? Though the baelnorn had appeared formidable when they first discovered him, Mordrayn must have used her dreadful magic to take advantage of the guardian's true age. 'They stole it from you, didn't they? Mordrayn and her minions?'
Silverblade yet stood with his back to them, hunched over the empty pillow. 'Nay,' he said brokenly. 'I-' His hand slowly formed a fist, as if his fingers closed around the missing stone. He straightened his spine, lifted his shoulders. 'I destroyed it.'
Ghleanna gasped. 'But how could you-'
He turned to face them, once more possessing the air of authority he'd momentarily lost. His hands no longer trembled, and he raised his chin. 'Do you think I would let them have it? Do you think I would betray centuries of trust? I destroyed it!' His eyes challenged them to dispute the wisdom of his act. 'The cult tried to steal the sapphire from me, and I annihilated it rather than allow the gem to fall into their clutches. I can no longer commune with the Mythal, for there no longer exists an instrument through which to do so.'
The baelnorn's defiant tone discouraged anyone from questioning his decision. Besides, what would be the point? The gem was gone. Stillness filled the air-the sound of hope dying in the hearts of six weary adventurers.
Kestrel's shoulders slumped. Without the sapphire, how could they possibly touch the Mythal, let alone redeem it? She thought with irony of all the gems that had passed through her rogue's hands. She would have traded them all for this single stone.
That musing sparked another. She leaned forward as the notion took shape in her mind. 'Can the gem be replaced?'
A fleeting expression of shock passed over the Protector's face, transposed so quickly into one of mere surprise that Kestrel wasn't entirely sure she'd seen it. 'Replaced? I–I don't know. Such an undertaking has never been attempted.' He paused, as if turning over the idea in his mind. 'A new Gem of the Weave… We have nothing to lose in trying.'
'Consider us your servants.' Corran sprung to his feet. 'Tell us what we can do to help. Do you need any special materials?' The others also rose.
'Only a gem,' the baelnorn replied. 'Harldain Ironbar provided the original sapphire. He can direct you to a new stone. But you also must find a new communicant.'
Kestrel frowned. 'Why? What about you?'
Miroden Silverblade shook his head wearily. 'My time as Protector is over. A new Gem of the Weave requires a new guardian, someone who possesses the wisdom to guide the Mythal, the strength to survive symbiosis with the Weave, the power to keep the stone safe. And, of course, the willingness to spend eternity bound inextricably to the gem.'
The party exchanged glances. Kestrel knew she sure as hell wasn't suited for such responsibility. None of them were. 'Is there anyone in Myth Drannor who meets that description?'
'There is,' the baelnorn said. 'No mortal could withstand the Mythal's fire, but one exists who already knows the blessings-and curse-of immortality. Anorrweyn Evensong. The priestess is steeped in the lore of the Mythal, and her spirit has survived the trials of time and adversity. She would serve as the perfect communicant.'
'We shall hasten to ask her as soon as we finish with Harldain,' Corran said. 'Assuming Anorrweyn agrees, how does she become bound to the new gem?'
'Once you obtain an appropriate stone, you must carry it up the spine of the Speculum to a focal point in the dragon's back. With the gem in place, the new communicant recites the Incantation of the Weave. Anorrweyn knows the words-she was present at the first binding. This spellsong bonds the chanter to the gem and attunes the gem to the Mythal.'
'How will we know whether the ceremony succeeded?' Ghleanna asked. 'Whether the Mythal accepted the new gem?'
'You will know.'
Corran started to put his helm back on his head. 'We have much to do. We'd best get started.'
'Hold.' The Protector looked as if he had something more to say but struggled over whether to reveal it. His gaze swept the group, then came to rest on the trunks that stood behind them. 'Yes,' he murmured, nodding to himself. 'You need all the aid I have left within my power to give.'
