Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [45]
Weren’t ghosts supposed to appear the way they did in life? If so, this man-an old elven sorcerer, from the look of his ornate robes and headdress-must have been ancient when he died. The spirit’s gaunt face, sunken eyes, and bony limbs lent him a skeletal mien. He rested on a cobweb-covered oak throne as gnarled as he and seemed so deeply settled into it that Kestrel wondered if he had risen from it in centuries. On his lap he held a gold bowl filled with water, and his right hand rested on a grinning skull with glowing red eyes.
The spirit did not seem to notice the party. “Now foul water freezes the guardians,” he muttered as he stared into the bowl. His voice had a tired, forlorn quality to it, as of one who has lived too long and seen too much, for whom immortality is more a curse than a blessing.
Kestrel and the others exchanged glances. She was in favor of backing right down the staircase without a word, but Ghleanna stepped forward. Before the half-elf could speak, however, the skull’s eyes flashed.
“Do not disturb the Master.”
Kestrel jumped. The skull had spoken!
“Here is the wise counsel you seek.” The skull’s feminine voice carried an eerie resonance, sending further chills down Kestrel’s spine.
“How do you know that we-” Ghleanna began.
“Your coming has been foreseen.”
Kestrel looked from the skull back to its “master.” The ghostly wizard was a diviner, then-a seer. She had known her share of charlatans who earned their living telling fortunes for the gullible, but she’d never encountered anyone with the genuine power to foresee the future.
“Master Caalenfaire instructs you to seek out the spirit of the dwarf lord Harldain Ironbar,” the skull said. “You will find him beyond the Circle of Mythan-but hold! You do not have the Ring of Calling!”
“No, we yet seek it,” Ghleanna said. Kestrel didn’t know how the sorceress had the nerve to address the skull, or even to stand so close to Caalenfaire.
“Master! Despair and woe! Your prediction has gone awry.”
The ancient diviner stirred, but still appeared entranced. He never lifted his gaze from the scrying bowl on his lap. “What? Volun, what is this you say? Where are they? I cannot see them. I cannot hear them. The fools!”
“They are talibund, Master. They have left the Path.”
Kestrel glanced at her companions to see whether they understood this conversation any better than she. The spellcasters appeared pensive, as did Corran. Durwyn looked absolutely bewildered.
“Volun, what is this ‘Path’ of which you speak?” Ghleanna asked. Kestrel noted that she gripped her staff tightly. Perhaps the sorceress wasn’t as comfortable talking with the disembodied skull as she wanted the pair to believe.
“Master Caalenfaire had worked out a destiny for you-a path you should walk. For the eventual good of Myth Drannor, if not your own.” Volun’s eyes flashed rapidly. “Instead you have become talibund. Now you walk your own path, which none can see. May Tymora help us! This is an unsettling turn.”
Kestrel edged closer to Jarial. “What’s this word the skull keeps using-‘talibund’?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered back.
“Talibund. The Veiled Ones,” Volun said. “What soothsayers call those whose destinies cannot be foretold.”
Ghleanna gripped her staff tighter and took a tentative step closer to the skull. “Is the warrior Athan talibund? Can your master say whether he still walks the path of the living?”
“Athan’s path became veiled before even yours,” Volun replied. “Master does not know his fate.”
Disappointment flickered across the half-elf’s face. With each dead end in her inquiries about the warrior, Ghleanna seemed to lose a little more of her spirit.
“Look, Volun,” Caalenfaire said. “I have captured them in my bowl once more. Or at least, their shadows-the Veiled Ones will be writ into the Song of Faer