Ruins of Myth Drannor (3 page)

The wizard spoke a command word, and Kestrel’s body sagged. The rogue caught herself from falling and stood upright to face her captors.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the paladin demanded.

She considered lying but decided a modified version of the truth might ring more genuine in the holy warrior’s ears. “My name is Kestrel, and—”

“Kestrel!” The guard lowered his bow. “You’re late!”

“I—I am?” She glanced from one member of the trio to the next. The paladin still regarded her warily, but the mage appeared suddenly guilt-stricken. The guard actually looked as if he were greeting an old friend. Did she know him—all of them—from somewhere?

“Er… yes. I am late,” she stated boldly. “I apologize. Profusely. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“We weren’t so much waiting as concerned,” the guard said. “I thought maybe you arrived before us and something happened.” He removed his helm, revealing coarse blond locks, a square jaw, and a neck thickly corded with muscles. “My name’s Durwyn. Like you, I volunteered to stand watch here.”

Volunteered? When in her life had she volunteered for anything? A sense of dread swept her. “Just… um, when did you volunteer for this duty, Durwyn?”

“Last night. Elminster told my commander that you and two others would be here today.”

Damn and double-damn Nat’s firewine! She’d actually gone to see Elminster and now couldn’t remember what transpired. What in the world had she gotten herself into?

The paladin cleared his throat to draw her attention from Durwyn. “Tell me if you would, Kestrel, what you were doing skulking about if you indeed came to stand guard with us?”

A fair question, but his tone chafed nonetheless. The inflections of his voice suggested noble birth. Holy warrior or not, if he thought she’d tolerate arrogant condescension very long, he was sorely mistaken.

She lifted her chin. “Spying on you, of course. You don’t expect me to put my trust in people I know nothing about, do you? I was trying to judge what sort of folk I’m to work with.”

“Honest ones. Which, I imagine, is more than we can expect from you.”

She bit back the retort she would have liked to let fly. Paladins of Tyr, if indeed that’s what this knight was, were known for their self-righteous sense of honor and justice. Rogues avoided them like the gallows. “You mind tossing me your name between all the insults?”

“Corran D’Arcey, Defender of Tyr the Even-Handed, and third son of Baron Ethelred D’Arcey of Sarshel.”

So, she’d guessed correctly. A paladin of Tyr and a blue-blood. She held his gaze without blinking, determined to show him that his titles did not intimidate her. “I’ll just call you Corran for short.”

“And I’ll just—”

“Aren’t we supposed to be guarding a pool here, Corran?” she asked.

The rebuke silenced him for a beat. “Yes, we are,” he said tightly. He sheathed his sword and strode back to stand nearer the water.

In the awkward quiet that ensued, Durwyn shrugged and followed him.

Kestrel was disappointed to be left standing with the sorceress and not the guard. Durwyn seemed kind but not particularly bright—the perfect source to pump for more information about what she’d gotten herself into. The spellcaster, on the other hand, made her nervous.

The mage, who had not yet spoken to Kestrel, drew back her cowl. By her gold-flecked blue eyes and slightly pointed ears, Kestrel guessed her to be of partial elven descent. Moon elf, judging from the bluish tinge to her ears and chin. “I am Ghleanna Stormlake,” she said. “Had I known your identity, I would not have thrown that spell.”

Kestrel could not tell whether Ghleanna’s words held contrition or criticism. Was she supposed to have strutted into the tower declaiming her name?

“Apology accepted,” she said, whether one had been offered or not. Then, deciding Ghleanna could prove informative, she added, “I should have arrived on time.”

The mage’s lips formed a half-smile. “Elminster told me you might have a… headache… when you awoke.”

Kestrel felt her face grow warm. She’d not only been drunk but also obvious about it. No doubt the wizard had taken advantage of her compromised state to coerce her into this volunteer duty. She thought of the conversation she’d overhead as she arrived in the cavern earlier. “Elminster seems to tell you a lot of things.”

“I am one of his apprentices. When he left this morn to investigate tidings from Shadowdale, he asked me to keep an eye on events here in Phl—”

A crackle of energy suddenly rent the air. Not ten paces away, a floating, glowing ball of white light appeared. It expanded, forming a window in its center as sounds of ringing steel and battle cries filled the air.

“A gate!” Ghleanna exclaimed.

Corran and Durwyn rushed over. “To where?” Corran asked.

The window elongated to the size of a door, allowing brief glimpses of the combatants. A besieged fighter stumbled into view, overwhelmed by an unseen opponent. “By all that’s holy, help us!” he cried.

“That’s Athan—one of the adventurers Elminster sent to Myth Drannor.” Ghleanna cried. “They must be in trouble!”

The border of the gate flashed and hissed, like a flame being extinguished. The window winked. When their view returned, Athan could no longer be seen. The sounds of battle continued, mixed with cries of the dying. Just outside visual range, a terrible moaning commenced.

“We must aid them!” Corran started toward the gate.

“Are you out of your mind?” Kestrel asked. No way was she stepping into some sort of magical portal. If the sorcery didn’t swallow them up forever, they’d only be spit out into the middle of whatever was happening on the other end.

“We’re not supposed to leave our post.” Durwyn said.

“This is more important,” Ghleanna answered. “If Athan’s band fails, all Faerűn could be lost! Make up your own minds, but I am going.” She stepped into the gate. It flashed violet light, obscuring both the mage and the Myth Drannor scene from view.

“She’s crazy,” Kestrel declared.

“No—she’s honorable and committed to a greater good,” Corran retorted. “Something a rogue wouldn’t know anything about.”

She glared at Corran. “So follow her, then!”

The gate hissed and sputtered, its light turning pale blue, then a sickly green. The window began to shrink.

“I will—and so will you!” So quickly she couldn’t react, Corran grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the gate.

She shouted her objection, but the sound was swallowed up by a vacuum. She found herself surrounded by black nothingness, the extradimensional space seeming to stretch to eternity. Corran still held her arm in an iron grip. Involuntarily, she grabbed his elbow just to have something solid to hold onto. They floated, propelled only by the momentum with which they’d entered. Far in the distance, she could see the battle scene in Myth Drannor taking place through a window.

A window that was closing.

They were going to be trapped in here! A frightful rumbling surrounded them as the window ahead wavered. Suddenly, the space didn’t seem so vast anymore. In fact, it felt close. Her chest tightened as she gasped for air. The rumbling repeated, accented by flashing golden light from either end of the portal.

Corran turned toward her, mouthing words she could not hear. She didn’t need to hear them—they were the same words running through her own mind.

The gate was collapsing.

Helpless, Kestrel and Corran bobbed along, unable to speed their progress toward the shrinking exit. They were near enough now that they could see the broken cobblestones of the street where Athan’s band fought, but at this rate they’d never reach it before the window closed.

Kestrel’s mind raced. They needed something, some fixed object, off which to push.

Or pull.

It was a long shot, but it just might work. She shrugged out of her backpack and brought it around so that she could dig through it with her free hand. In the wan light coming from the exit, she groped through the contents until her fingers brushed against a metal claw.

Corran saw her withdraw the grappling hook and nodded in understanding. He maneuvered her ahead of him to give her a clear shot at the window, then shifted his grip to her waist to free both her arms.

She’d never made such a long throw before, but they were running out of time. She cast the hook. Unencumbered by air resistance, it sailed through the exit and caught hold of an upturned cobblestone. Thank the gods!

She began to pull herself forward. Corran released her and also grabbed the rope. As the portal rumbled and flashed orange light, they desperately pulled themselves hand over hand, the rope trailing behind them as they reached the exit. They tumbled through. Kestrel rolled to an abrupt stop, striking a solid object.

A body.

She sat up, quickly assessing the scene. Three more bodies—all of them motionless—lay sprawled in the street. A band of five orcs scavenged two of the corpses.

They’d arrived too late.

“Get your filthy claws off them!” Ghleanna shouted from behind her. She turned in time to see the mage lift her hands and send three bursts of magical energy speeding toward the snouted humanoids.

The orcs dove to the ground, but the missiles corrected their course and hit three of the creatures. One orc, struck in the head, died instantly. The other two suffered chest wounds but managed to climb back to their feet, axes in hand. With a cry of retribution, all four remaining orcs now rushed Ghleanna.

Kestrel rolled out of their path, yanked a dagger from her boot and threw it. The weapon caught one of the orcs in the neck. Her victim sank to its knees, but with a series of inhuman grunts, it struggled to its feet. Tightly gripping its short sword, the beast staggered toward Kestrel. Its eyes held the expression of a mad animal.

Kestrel bent to reach her second dagger. A second hit would finish off the humanoid. Before she withdrew the blade, however, the orc collapsed.

She glanced around to see whether any of the remaining orcs approached. Corran, who’d landed several yards away when he tumbled out of the gate, had engaged two of the beasts. The skill with which he deflected the orcs’ blows bespoke the superior training of a nobleman. He fought with controlled, precise strokes that countered his opponents’ brute swings.

A thunderclap boomed so loud that it shook the street. Kestrel spun to discover the sound came from the gate, which now wavered violently and glowed flaming red. The rope attached to her grappling hook still trailed inside. What would happen to her tool if the portal shut with the rope still inside? The gods only knew when they might need it next.

A quick glance toward Ghleanna, who was releasing another volley of sorcerous missiles, indicated that the mage held her own for the moment. Kestrel grasped the rope and tugged.

It was stuck.

She pulled harder. The rope remained taut, but she could feel vibrations along it coming from within the gate. What was going on inside?

A moment later, a familiar figure tumbled through and landed at her feet. Kestrel yanked the rope out of the portal. Within seconds, the gate shuddered and imploded, disappearing from sight. At the same time, the sounds of combat ceased.

She offered Durwyn a hand. “I thought you weren’t going to leave your post?”

He grasped her arm and rose. “I got lonely.”

She looked toward Ghleanna and Corran, who had dispatched the last of the orcs. “I can think of many places I’d rather seek company than here,” Kestrel said, turning back to Durwyn. “We’re lucky we even made it.”

He nodded toward her grappling hook. “I saw you and Corran ahead of me and grabbed the rope as soon as I could. That was quick thinking on your part. I never would have made it out in time.”

“None of us would have.” She harbored a bellyful of resentment toward Corran. How dare he force her into that malfunctioning magical gate, nearly killing them both? She shuddered to think of her fate had she been trapped inside during the final implosion.

Durwyn joined Corran and Ghleanna, who were checking the fallen adventurers for signs of life. Kestrel hung back. As she coiled her rope, she thought about how much she wanted to wrap it around Corran’s neck. Instead she stowed it and the grappling hook in her pack. She retrieved her dagger, noting her surroundings as she cleaned it.

They’d arrived on a street lined with buildings in various states of destruction. Even in its ruined condition Kestrel could see that Myth Drannor had once been a city of incredible beauty. The wood, stone, and glass buildings of the former elven capital had been constructed as extensions of the very trees that sheltered them, wondrous feats of architecture that enhanced nature even as they altered it. Spires soared toward the sky, prompting Kestrel to raise her eyes. In doing so, she discovered a network of bridges that spanned the trees.

Now many of the bridges were destroyed, and the buildings below looked like an earthquake had violently shaken them. Broken spires lay in fragments on the ground, their jagged stumps rising no higher toward the stars than did human constructions. Collapsed walls exposed the rooms they had been meant to protect, inviting creatures mundane and malicious to make their homes within. Statues of exquisite elven maidens lacked limbs or heads and stood watch over dry fountains choked with moss and debris. Weeds and thorns overtook the gardens. Rubble littered the streets.

A feeling of sadness, unfamiliar but genuine, washed over Kestrel. Something more than a city had been lost here.

At last she approached the others.

“You certainly took your time coming over,” Corran said. He gestured toward the adventurers. “They’re all dead—if you care.”

“Good thing we almost killed ourselves getting here, then,” she responded. “You had no right to force me into that portal.”

“You would stand idly by while others suffered?”

“This isn’t my problem.”

“You did volunteer,” Durwyn piped up.

Was he ganging up on her too, now? She fixed him with a withering gaze that caused the burly man to step back a pace. “My commitment began and ended in Phlan,” she said.