Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [58]
“Where are the followers of Mystra?” beseeched a forlorn voice. The sound seemed to come from above. They all looked skyward-to find their view of the clouds veiled by a translucent ceiling.
The ruined walls of the shrine seemed to be restored, but in a shimmery, intangible state. At the same time, the Llash graffiti faded. All around them, features of the former temple reappeared-statues, tapestries, ritual objects. The ghostly shrine looked as it had centuries ago, before war brought it to ruin.
“Those faithful to the Goddess of the Weave-are they no more? Where are the servants of Mystery?” The plaintive voice echoed throughout the spectral building, but the speaker remained unseen.
“There are many who yet serve you in our time, my lady,” Corran called to the air.
Kestrel stared at him. “You think that’s actually Mystra’s voice?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Where are the followers of Mystra?”
Kestrel didn’t believe they heard a divine call. Wouldn’t a goddess, of all people, know where her followers were? As it was, the voice held such melancholy that she didn’t think she could listen to it much longer. “Can we leave before whoever she is drives us mad?” She retrieved her weapons and went to clean them on the grass outside while Durwyn helped Jarial to his feet.
When she returned, Corran still cast a searching gaze heavenward. “She sounds so sorrowful,” he said. “We should try to help her.”
The sad voice stirred a response in Kestrel as well-not that she’d ever admit that fact to Corran. Unlike the quixotic paladin, she knew they couldn’t afford any more tangential delays. “Like we helped Nottle? Look what that cost us.”
The words came out more sharply than she intended. Corran turned his head away, but not before she saw a look of bitter regret cross his features. Apparently, the paladin felt the responsibility for Emmeric’s death more keenly than she’d realized.
“All right, then,” Corran said quietly, his back to them all. “Let us go.”
* * * * *
Injured, tired, and nearly out of spells, the party voted to visit Beriand and Faeril before returning to the House of Gems. Though the elven shelter lay out of their way, there they could find healing and a safe place to rest.
Kestrel hadn’t apologized to Corran for her earlier barb about Emmeric, though her conscience pricked her. The delight she’d expected to feel at having discovered a way to wound him hadn’t materialized. She felt more hollow than anything else. There was no satisfaction, she realized, in causing a companion the chagrin his unguarded response had revealed.
Faeril greeted them warmly upon their arrival. “You have been busy!” she said as soon as she saw them. “Already, we feel a change in the Mythal.”
Corran acknowledged her with a bow. “For the better, I hope?”
“Oh, yes!” Faeril’s face shone, some of the careworn lines having faded since they last saw her. “Come inside. You must tell us of your deeds.”
Though eager to learn what the adventurers had accomplished, the clerics insisted on first tending to their injuries. The party was in sorry shape. While the blueglow moss and potions had relieved their immediate distress, Kestrel and Jarial yet moved stiffly. The wound Durwyn had received from Preybelish had not had time to heal of its own accord. Corran remained weakened from the cult sorcerer’s life-draining spell-the paladin had refused to use his limited healing powers on himself lest a greater need arise before the day’s end.
They shed their armor, grateful to be in a place of relative safety where they could rest and renew their strength. The elves tended the four wounded humans and also checked how well Ghleanna had healed under Corran’s care after Preybelish’s near-fatal attack. “I cannot even tell you were injured,” Faeril declared. She turned to the paladin.