Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [101]
A battle cry from Durwyn drew her attention back to the action. The warrior fought two creatures on the dais that held the coronal’s throne. Before Kestrel could reach him to lend a hand, Faeril moved in. The dragon-kin took to the air and circled.
While the cleric stood poised to strike with her flame blade as soon as one of the beasts swooped close enough, she reached out her hand to touch Durwyn’s shoulder. “Mystra, I beseech you-strengthen the warrior Durwyn to better serve you.” Just as she completed her prayer-spell, the dragon-kin attacked.
Durwyn swung his axe with such force that he lopped both claws off one of his opponents. The creature shrieked and soared out of range. Blood streaming from its severed limbs, it flew out of the tower and disappeared from view.
The second dragon-kin dived at the fighter in retaliation. Durwyn struck that creature as well, slicing off a wing. The beast crashed to the floor. It lay only a moment before it tried to rise, but the loss of its wing impaired its balance and the stone floor was slick with dragon-kin blood. The wounded creature slipped and slid in the slime. Durwyn picked it up and threw it into the throne.
The heavy dragon-kin landed so hard it dislodged the throne from its centuries-old resting place. As the great seat slid aside, it revealed a tunnel below.
Kestrel ran toward the passage, eager to investigate, but three dragon-kin also flocked toward the discovery. Another spell from Ghleanna disbanded them. They fled in fear, leaving only a few wounded comrades still engaged in combat. Durwyn made quick work of his grounded foe, then helped finish off the remaining creatures.
At last they were free to explore the surprise passage. “Nice work, Durwyn,” Corran said as they all approached the dais. “Looks like you’ve discovered the king’s emergency escape route.”
The corridor was actually a narrow, spiraling staircase. At a word from Faeril, magical light illuminated the windowless stairwell. It continued down as far as their eyes could see, apparently untouched by either time or the castle’s unsavory squatters.
“Well, either we give this passage a try or see if Ghleanna can magically unseal the double doors,” Kestrel said. “I bet we’ll encounter fewer cultists this way.”
The party descended. They reached the bottom of the stairs to find a solitary door that offered no choice of direction. Kestrel pressed her ear to the wood. Beyond, she heard the sound of wings and the hiss-language of more dragon-kin.
Even worse, above it rose a horrible, mournful wailing. Thousands of voices joined in an unholy canticle of despair that howled like a wind storm.
The chorus of the damned.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Vessel of Souls radiated evil.
It was a thing of black magic, of life-taking, of soul-stealing. It looked every inch the accursed instrument it was. The vessel resembled a crystal chalice with a stem but no base. Images of tormented, eyeless faces adorned the sides of the cup, their black outlines standing out in high relief from the crystal.
Yet more horrifying than these representations of lost souls were the thousands of real spirits crying out for release.
The shadowy souls swirled in a red mist, their eyes blank, their mouths agape with their song of hopelessness. They rose above the rim of the cup in a great surge of spirit matter, only to be driven back down by the unseen force that held them captive. Their endless gyrations lent haunting rhythm to their wails.
The vessel hung suspended in the air, supported by three twisted steel beams as thick as Kestrel’s waist. They formed a pyramid in the center of the round room, distributing the weight of the enormous urn to the edges of