Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [81]
The apartment was comfortably, if sparsely, furnished. Soft light filled the room, though Kestrel couldn’t determine its source. A wooden table and two chairs sat in one part of the chamber; a plush bedroll and plump cushions lay spread in another. A large section of the wall held shelves piled high with books and scrolls. Two massive trunks stood beneath.
Kestrel had expected the Mythal’s communicant to enjoy more lavish quarters. To her way of thinking, gracious surroundings were a minimum trade-off for an eternity of constant vigilance. Yet the more she assessed the humble dwelling, the more it seemed a proper place for the baelnorn to guard the Sapphire of the Weave. Few would think to plunder such a simple abode in search of the priceless gem.
Opposite the doorway stood an ornate glass case containing a small, red velvet pillow. The pillow still held the impression of an item that had once rested upon it-surely the Gem of the Weave. The treasure, however, was nowhere in sight. Dread seized her. In the baelnorn’s absence, had the cultists stolen the Sapphire? If Mordrayn had the gem, their quest was surely doomed, for Kestrel could think of no other means to cleanse the Mythal of the corruption that tainted it.
She tore her gaze away from the empty case to see whether the Protector had noted the missing item. He avoided her questioning look. Instead, he addressed the group as a whole. “Sit,” he said, “and be well.”
At a slight gesture from the baelnorn, Kestrel’s headache immediately dissipated. A moment later the pain in her arm and residual aches from other injuries fled as well. She felt rested as if she’d slept for a week-better than she had since waking with that firewine hangover in Phlan before all this madness began. Looking around, she saw that the others also had been restored to perfect health. The men even appeared clean-shaven.
“I am Miroden Silverblade, known as the Protector for these past six centuries,” he said, his tired but clear eyes studying the companions as keenly as they assessed him. “To whom do I owe my freedom? And what brought the six of you to that black corner of the catacombs?”
Corran introduced the party and described their activities thus far, concluding with Anorrweyn Evensong’s suggestion to seek the baelnorn’s aid. “She told us you protect the Sapphire of the Weave, and that you possibly could use the gem to reverse the corruption of the Mythal. But we didn’t expect to find you held captive.”
“Nor did I intend to become so.” The Protector sighed heavily, the lines in his face settling deeper. “The cult imprisoned me because Mordrayn and Pelendralaar fear my influence over what remains of the Mythal. Since the Year of Doom, I have used my abilities as communicant to slow the decay of the city’s mantle. As all that I once knew withered and died around me, I held fast to my belief that one day the Mythal would prove the key to restoring Myth Drannor to its lost glory. The cult thinks I still have the power to undo the corruption they have wrought upon the Weave.”
Thinks. Kestrel’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. “You don’t?”
“Nay.” A stricken look crossed the baelnorn’s features. He turned his back on them and floated to the empty case. His shaking fingers reached through the glass to caress the depression in the pillow. “They came. The Cult of the Dragon.” His voice, so rich before, now warbled in the trembling tones of an old man. “I had… grown weak in my solitude. I succumbed when I should have stood fast.”
Kestrel stifled a groan of dismay mixed with frustration. How could an artifact as important as the Gem of the Weave have been left in the care of someone too frail to protect it? Though the baelnorn had appeared formidable when they first discovered him, Mordrayn must have used her dreadful magic to take advantage of the guardian’s true age. “They stole it from you, didn’t they?