Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [72]
Kestrel stumbled to the cart and leaned against it, her fingers inches away from the skull. Anorrweyn’s remains seemed to radiate an aura of calm, removing the anxiety she’d felt. Now she needed but a few seconds’ distraction to snatch the skull from its disrespectful perch and drop it in a deep inside pocket of her cloak.
A series of chimes sounded across the room. All eyes turned in that direction-except Kestrel’s. One of the sorcerers must have figured out her ruse. If not, she’d take advantage of the diversion no matter its source.
“What’s that?” Razherrt glared first at Corran, then at the sorcerers. “Do you play games with us?”
“Perhaps it is a charm of the dungeons themselves,” Jarial said. “Magic long sheltered the city above. Why should that not hold true for the city below?”
Razherrt grunted. “Get moving, all of you.” He pointed at Kestrel. “You, too.”
Kestrel rejoined the party, remembering to hobble. The uneven movement helped hide the bulge in her cloak.
“Of all the insufferable-”
“We’re alive and unharmed,” Corran tossed over his shoulder. “And we retrieved Anorrweyn’s skull to boot. Just count your blessings, Kestrel.”
Kestrel found the paladin’s condescension almost as galling as the Freth’s arrogance. She simmered as they trod through the undercity’s second level in search of another stairway leading down. “Well, I’ve had enough drow attitude for one lifetime, I’ll tell you that. Primitive race, indeed! Razherrt can kiss my human-”
“Hush!” Faeril glanced around as if she’d heard something. “Did you-”
From out of nowhere, a huge ball of flame barreled down the corridor at them. Ghleanna immediately called out a command word and thrust her hand toward the accelerating flames. The blaze snuffed itself out, leaving only a few dying sparks scattered in the passageway-enough to illuminate the cult sorcerer on the other side.
Two drow bodyguards flanked the mage. As Corran and Durwyn moved to close in on the spellcaster, the dark elves immediately engaged them. The drow fought with mechanical precision, thrusting and parrying without so much as a grunt of exertion. Faeril tried to reach the sorcerer but wound up joining the melee instead, fighting by Corran’s side.
The dark elves seemed utterly devoted to protecting the cultist. They could not, however, prevent Ghleanna and Jarial’s magical attacks from reaching him. Kestrel decided to target the drow and leave the sorcerers to a spellcasting contest. She sent one dagger sailing toward each elven warrior.
Her aim held true. One blade struck its target in his side, the other hit Durwyn’s opponent in his chest. Neither warrior cried out. She followed the double strike with Loren’s Blade, hitting the first dark elf a second time. The dagger wounds did not seem to slow him down.
Kestrel had never seen combatants so fierce. Despite their injuries, the drow wielded their halberds with relentless vigor. The length of the weapon gave them an advantage over Durwyn’s axe and the holy warriors’ swords. Kestrel sucked in her breath. How could she fare any better with her club?
Durwyn’s opponent backed him against a wall. Kestrel reached for her club, extended it with a flick of her wrist then advanced on the dark elf. She managed to execute one hard hit to the drow’s shoulder before he turned to engage her. Even with two-on-one odds, Kestrel felt at a disadvantage.
Meanwhile, flashes of light signaled the magical battle unfolding between the allied sorcerers and the cultist. Parrying the drow’s blows, Kestrel could not spare even a glance to see who dominated that contest. Please Mystra, let it be Jarial and Ghleanna!
Suddenly, Kestrel’s opponent collapsed to the floor. She looked up to see that the other drow had also fallen. The cult sorcerer lay with one of Jarial’s acid arrows embedded between his eyes.
“As soon as the cultist fell, so did the drow,” Jarial responded to the question in her eyes.
Durwyn prodded his former opponent with one foot. The body rolled