Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [55]
Next to the Speculum stood an amphitheater. Its seats, many of them crumbling from age or assault, rose fully half the height of the Speculum dragon in a half-circle that matched the curve of the dragon’s tail. The stage was a large, but simple, white disc-shaped stone.
To the east lay the Onaglym, its intact state a testament to the unequaled engineering talent of the dwarves who constructed it so many centuries ago. While hundreds of Myth Drannor’s lesser buildings lay ruined by the ravages of war or years, the House of Gems yet remained, a strong, silent sentinel to the changes wrought by time and mortal vanity.
Castle Cormanthor graced the highest point of the Heights. It rose up from the cliff on which it was built, its many graceful spires reaching higher into the sky than any others in the city. At one time, walkways apparently had connected all the[2] spires to the main castle and to each other, but most of these had been destroyed or damaged beyond use. Those that remained looked like a precarious challenge to even an acrobat’s sense of balance. The narrow spans, several hundred feet above the ground, had no rails, and nothing below to break one’s fall.
Moments ago, Kestrel had flushed with a sense of accomplishment at managing to leave the dwarven dungeons at last. But now, scanning the center of Myth Drannor, she realized much more work lay ahead. They had to find Harldain Ironbar, the ally Caalenfaire had mentioned. They had a Mythal to cleanse, an archmage and a dracolich to defeat, and a pool to destroy. She stifled a sigh. “I suppose we ought to head back to the House of Gems?”
Corran glanced at the Onaglym, frowning at the wisps of smoke that still drifted out of the Round Tower. “I suggest we explore a bit before seeking out Harldain Ironbar. That sorcerer might come back to the House of Gems looking for us, and I’d like him to think we’re long gone.”
“So would I.” Kestrel gingerly rubbed her right arm. Though healed of its worst injuries, her body still ached where the cultist’s magical strikes had hit her.
They headed in the opposite direction of the Onaglym, to an area southwest of the Speculum. This part of the city lay in almost complete ruin. Its once-stable ground had become marshy, and now the stagnant water and damp air slowly completed the destruction that the wars had started. Large chunks of marble, granite, and crystal lay strewn about like dice from the hands of giants, their surfaces eroded by the elements and covered with green-gray moss and other vegetation. Few buildings retained enough of their structure to be recognizable as former dwellings, businesses, or temples.
One such ruin caught Kestrel’s attention. A shell of white marble reached heavenward, the star symbol of Mystra etched into its largest remaining side. Mystra’s sign was barely visible beneath the new symbols covering the crumbling walls. The name and image of Llash, a three-headed snake god, had been painted and scrawled all over the building in thick black lines.
Corran stopped in his tracks when he saw the sacrilege. “It’s a mercy that Beriand’s eyes cannot behold this,” he said softly.
A light breeze stirred. From the ruined shrine came a sound like the whimper of an injured animal.
“Do you hear that?” Kestrel asked.
Ghleanna frowned in concentration. “Hear what?”
The sound drifted toward them again, this time resembling a crying woman. Kestrel glanced at each of her companions in turn, but all wore blank expressions. Could no one else hear that wail? “Never