Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [82]
Silverblade yet stood with his back to them, hunched over the empty pillow. “Nay,” he said brokenly. “I-” His hand slowly formed a fist, as if his fingers closed around the missing stone. He straightened his spine, lifted his shoulders. “I destroyed it.”
Ghleanna gasped. “But how could you-”
He turned to face them, once more possessing the air of authority he’d momentarily lost. His hands no longer trembled, and he raised his chin. “Do you think I would let them have it? Do you think I would betray centuries of trust? I destroyed it!” His eyes challenged them to dispute the wisdom of his act. “The cult tried to steal the sapphire from me, and I annihilated it rather than allow the gem to fall into their clutches. I can no longer commune with the Mythal, for there no longer exists an instrument through which to do so.”
The baelnorn’s defiant tone discouraged anyone from questioning his decision. Besides, what would be the point? The gem was gone. Stillness filled the air-the sound of hope dying in the hearts of six weary adventurers.
Kestrel’s shoulders slumped. Without the sapphire, how could they possibly touch the Mythal, let alone redeem it? She thought with irony of all the gems that had passed through her rogue’s hands. She would have traded them all for this single stone.
That musing sparked another. She leaned forward as the notion took shape in her mind. “Can the gem be replaced?”
A fleeting expression of shock passed over the Protector’s face, transposed so quickly into one of mere surprise that Kestrel wasn’t entirely sure she’d seen it. “Replaced? I-I don’t know. Such an undertaking has never been attempted.” He paused, as if turning over the idea in his mind. “A new Gem of the Weave… We have nothing to lose in trying.”
“Consider us your servants.” Corran sprung to his feet. “Tell us what we can do to help. Do you need any special materials?” The others also rose.
“Only a gem,” the baelnorn replied. “Harldain Ironbar provided the original sapphire. He can direct you to a new stone. But you also must find a new communicant.”
Kestrel frowned. “Why? What about you?”
Miroden Silverblade shook his head wearily. “My time as Protector is over. A new Gem of the Weave requires a new guardian, someone who possesses the wisdom to guide the Mythal, the strength to survive symbiosis with the Weave, the power to keep the stone safe. And, of course, the willingness to spend eternity bound inextricably to the gem.”
The party exchanged glances. Kestrel knew she sure as hell wasn’t suited for such responsibility. None of them were. “Is there anyone in Myth Drannor who meets that description?”
“There is,” the baelnorn said. “No mortal could withstand the Mythal’s fire, but one exists who already knows the blessings-and curse-of immortality. Anorrweyn Evensong. The priestess is steeped in the lore of the Mythal, and her spirit has survived the trials of time and adversity. She would serve as the perfect communicant.”
“We shall hasten to ask her as soon as we finish with Harldain,” Corran said. “Assuming Anorrweyn agrees, how does she become bound to the new gem?”
“Once you obtain an appropriate stone, you must carry it up the spine of the Speculum to a focal point in the dragon’s back. With the gem in place, the new communicant recites the Incantation of the Weave. Anorrweyn knows the words-she was present at the first binding. This spellsong bonds the chanter to the gem and attunes the gem to the Mythal.”
“How will we know whether the ceremony succeeded?” Ghleanna asked. “Whether the Mythal accepted the new gem?”
“You will know.”
Corran started to put his helm back on his head. “We have much to do. We’d best get started.”
“Hold.” The Protector looked as if he had something more to say but struggled over whether to reveal it. His gaze swept the group, then came to rest on the trunks that stood behind them. “Yes,” he murmured, nodding to himself. “You need all the aid I have left within my power to give.”
He went to the trunks, brushed dust off the top of one and opened its groaning lid.