Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [85]
“Let me help.” Harldain crossed to a collection of prominently displayed armor and weapons. “These are the finest items our dwarven craftsmen ever produced, augmented by the spells of the coronal’s best wizards for those who defended the City of Song in the Weepin’ War. Rather than let such powerful articles fall into enemy hands, they were enchanted to return here if their bearers fell in battle.” Harldain brushed his fingers along the edge of a breastplate that seemed to glow with inner light. His eyes held a far-off expression, as if he were remembering the soldier who last wore the piece. He cleared his throat. “They’ve been in this chamber ever since, and they aren’t doin’ anyone any good just sittin’ down here,” he said gruffly. “Take whatever you can use.”
Kestrel gazed at the collection in awe, her eyes drawn in particular to a set of leather armor about her size, which looked more supple than a pair of ladies’ kid gloves. Was it truly hers for the taking?
Harldain noted her admiration. “That suit will protect you much better than what you’re sportin’ now and let you move much easier. You’ll think you’re wearin’ silk pajamas.”
She laughed at the absurd statement-no armor could feel like that.
“Try it on if you don’t believe me.”
To her astonishment, she found Harldain hadn’t been exaggerating. The pieces fit as if they’d been made for her and felt light as an ordinary shirt. “Take it,” he urged. She couldn’t argue.
The others each selected lighter, better protection than what they’d been wearing. Even the sorcerers found cloaks enchanted to repel enemy attacks. Durwyn, still standing watch above, was not forgotten-Harldain himself chose a suit of lightweight plate sized for the warrior’s large build.
The ghostly dwarf had become increasingly gruff as they changed equipment. Kestrel thought it was because he didn’t really want to part with the armor, but he revealed the true source of his anxiety as they departed.
“You’re runnin’ out of time,” he said. “I can feel it. Find Anorrweyn and get that emerald to the top of the Speculum just as quick as you can. The cult’s control of the Mythal is strong. The city is dyin’ around us.”
* * * * *
The scent of gardenias manifested before Anorrweyn Evensong’s spirit. Kestrel inhaled deeply. The sweet perfume soothed her frayed nerves as she waited for the priestess to appear. Would the ghost agree to serve as communicant? She fervently hoped so, for she didn’t know what they would do if Anorrweyn refused.
A pensive silence hung over the group. Faeril had just finished some invocations to Mystra. Corran had joined her in the prayers, then offered a few of his own to Tyr. The events of the past several days had made it difficult for the paladin to perform his regular devotions, and he took advantage of this interlude to reconnect with his patron deity. The rest of the group, Kestrel included, had maintained a respectful quiet and used the time for contemplation.
Anorrweyn materialized moments after the telltale fragrance. She seemed less translucent this time, a little more solid. Her face bore a radiant smile. “You have found my skull.”
Faeril knelt before her. “Yes, priestess. We’ve interred it with the rest of your bones in the grave outside.”
“I thank you all. Now I may occupy this plane of time and better follow events of the present instead of forever reliving the past.” The priestess made eye contact with each of them in turn, her eyes further expressing her gratitude. When her gentle gaze met Kestrel’s, the rogue felt a sense of peace flood her soul.
With a gesture, Anorrweyn invited them all to sit in the half-circle of benches that still remained from their last conference. Kestrel found it curious that the ghost always sat down along with them, as if she too benefited from rest. Perhaps it was a habit carried over from her mortal days or an attempt to put them at ease in her undead presence. This time Anorrweyn sat beside Faeril, who regarded her idol with reverence.
“Did you