Drannor kept this emerald safe all these years, awaitin' the need Caalenfaire foresaw. I now put it in your hands.'
In one fluid motion, he raised his cane and smashed the glass. Thousands of shards fell to the ground in a circle around the gem, which still levitated and spun.
Undaunted by the sharp fragments, Corran crushed them beneath his armored feet as he claimed the emerald. 'We shall defend the gem with our lives until a new Protector guards it.'
'Let me help.' Harldain crossed to a collection of prominently displayed armor and weapons. 'These are the finest items our dwarven craftsmen ever produced, augmented by the spells of the coronal's best wizards for those who defended the City of Song in the Weepin' War. Rather than let such powerful articles fall into enemy hands, they were enchanted to return here if their bearers fell in battle.' Harldain brushed his fingers along the edge of a breastplate that seemed to glow with inner light. His eyes held a far-off expression, as if he were remembering the soldier who last wore the piece. He cleared his throat. 'They've been in this chamber ever since, and they aren't doin' anyone any good just sittin' down here,' he said gruffly. 'Take whatever you can use.'
Kestrel gazed at the collection in awe, her eyes drawn in particular to a set of leather armor about her size, which looked more supple than a pair of ladies' kid gloves. Was it truly hers for the taking?
Harldain noted her admiration. 'That suit will protect you much better than what you're sportin' now and let you move much easier. You'll think you're wearin' silk pajamas.'
She laughed at the absurd statement-no armor could feel like that.
'Try it on if you don't believe me.'
To her astonishment, she found Harldain hadn't been exaggerating. The pieces fit as if they'd been made for her and felt light as an ordinary shirt. 'Take it,' he urged. She couldn't argue.
The others each selected lighter, better protection than what they'd been wearing. Even the sorcerers found cloaks enchanted to repel enemy attacks. Durwyn, still standing watch above, was not forgotten-Harldain himself chose a suit of lightweight plate sized for the warrior's large build.
The ghostly dwarf had become increasingly gruff as they changed equipment. Kestrel thought it was because he didn't really want to part with the armor, but he revealed the true source of his anxiety as they departed.
'You're runnin' out of time,' he said. 'I can feel it. Find Anorrweyn and get that emerald to the top of the Speculum just as quick as you can. The cult's control of the Mythal is strong. The city is dyin' around us.'
The scent of gardenias manifested before Anorrweyn Evensong's spirit. Kestrel inhaled deeply. The sweet perfume soothed her frayed nerves as she waited for the priestess to appear. Would the ghost agree to serve as communicant? She fervently hoped so, for she didn't know what they would do if Anorrweyn refused.
A pensive silence hung over the group. Faeril had just finished some invocations to Mystra. Corran had joined her in the prayers, then offered a few of his own to Tyr. The events of the past several days had made it difficult for the paladin to perform his regular devotions, and he took advantage of this interlude to reconnect with his patron deity. The rest of the group, Kestrel included, had maintained a respectful quiet and used the time for contemplation.
Anorrweyn materialized moments after the telltale fragrance. She seemed less translucent this time, a little more solid. Her face bore a radiant smile. 'You have found my skull.'
Faeril knelt before her. 'Yes, priestess. We've interred it with the rest of your bones in the grave outside.'
'I thank you all. Now I may occupy this plane of time and better follow events of the present instead of forever reliving the past.' The priestess made eye contact with each of them in turn, her eyes further expressing her gratitude. When her gentle gaze met Kestrel's, the rogue felt a sense of peace flood her soul.
With a gesture, Anorrweyn invited them all to sit in the half-circle of benches that still remained from their last conference. Kestrel found it curious that the ghost always sat down along with them, as if she too benefited from rest. Perhaps it was a habit carried over from her mortal days or an attempt to put them at ease in her undead presence. This time Anorrweyn sat beside Faeril, who regarded her idol with reverence.
'Did you also find the Protector?' the spirit asked.
'We did, priestess,' Corran said. 'But he could not help us.'
Anorrweyn's eyes widened. She sat forward as if she hadn't entirely heard him. 'Miroden Silverblade refused to aid your quest?'
'The Gem of the Weave is no more. The Baelnorn destroyed it to keep the cult from seizing its power.'
'Impossible!' Anorrweyn shook her head vigorously, as if doing so could negate the truth of the statement. She rose and paced restlessly. 'You are sure you understood him correctly?' She cast her gaze from one person to the next, but all gave affirmative nods.
'The Protector said he cannot commune with the Mythal because the sapphire no longer exists,' Corran explained. 'We found him imprisoned by the cult, who tried to steal it when they captured him.'
Anorrweyn sat down once more. She seemed lost in thought as she stared though the doorway of the temple at the ruined city beyond. Several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence as the ghost remained in reverie and the mortals hesitated to disturb her. Faeril waited in rapt attention. Durwyn traced the handle of his axe with his thumb. Ghleanna picked lint off her cloak. When Kestrel turned her gaze to Corran, she was startled to find him regarding her. Surely her didn't expect her to do something? She frowned in question, but he looked away.
Were the others as conscious as she of time ticking away? Ultimately, it was the paladin who took the plunge. 'Priestess…' Corran began tentatively.
Anorrweyn broke her trance. 'My apologies. I hoped to sense confirmation of your news through my own, limited, attunement to the Mythal, but I cannot. These tidings deeply unsettle me. Either Miroden is mistaken about the fate of the sapphire, or he lied to you. I can think of no other explanation. The Protector's very existence is linked inextricably to the Gem of the Weave-that is what it means to be a baelnorn. If the sapphire was indeed destroyed, he would have died along with it.' She frowned in puzzlement. 'Did he say anything else?'
'He told us that a new Gem of the Weave could be made, with a new stone and a new communicant. The replacement gem could be used to reverse the Mythal's corruption and free it from the cult's hold.'
Anorrweyn's brows rose at the suggestion. Guarded interest danced across her delicate features. 'This replacement gem-how is it to be created? Where are you to locate an appropriate jewel?'
'Harldain provided us with a new stone.' Corran brought the emerald forward for Anorrweyn to see. Its color was a near-perfect match to the shade of her gown.
She reached toward the gem, caressing the air just a hair's breadth away above its surface. 'An emerald this time…' The jewel caught a ray of afternoon sunlight and held it, appearing to glow from within. Anorrweyn raised her eyes and met Corran's gaze once more. 'And the new communicant?'
'The Protector thought that you might be persuaded.'
Her eyes widened. 'Me? I-' She fell silent again, apparently pondering the unexpected proposal. She glanced around the ruined shell of her temple, her gaze lingering on each small sign of destruction-the missing ceiling, wall cracks, rubble piles, vestiges of the nagas' occupation. Her face settled into an expression of sadness so intense it pained Kestrel to behold it
'There is nothing left here for me,' she said finally. 'Of course I shall answer this new call to Mystra's service.' She rose, her incorporeal form already starting to fade from view, 'Since you have the gem, all that remains is to carry it to the top of the Speculum. There shall we attune the emerald. Pass through the Gate of Antarn to begin your climb up the dragon's back. I give you now my blessing, that the gate will open to admit you.'
Anorrweyn closed her eyes and raised her hands over the party. In a low, soft voice she murmured the words of her invocation. Kestrel and the others bowed their heads to receive her blessing. Faeril dropped to her knees.
When the priestess finished, she lowered her arms and opened her eyes once more. 'Farewell for now, my friends.' Only the faintest outline of her figure remained, but her voice yet carried strong and steady, mingling with the heady scent of gardenias. 'I shall meet you at the crest of the dragon's spine.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
