Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [94]
“Tell us what you know, and we’ll free you,” Kestrel replied.
Nathlilik, clearly incensed at having lost the upper hand, hesitated. Kestrel waited. Finally the drow spoke. “In the upper part of the castle stands an enormous urn. The Vessel of Souls, they call it. That’s where the cult keeps the spirits of all the creatures whose blood they drain. My kin are trapped in there. Kedar’s soul is in there. Destroy the vessel, and the cult’s enthralled slaves will trouble you no more.”
“I thought that was your job,” Kestrel said. “When we last saw you, isn’t that where you and your band were headed?”
“The cult captured us before we could succeed. But we got as far as the Vessel Chamber-I’ve seen the wicked thing with my own eyes.”
As much as Kestrel would have liked to leave Nathlilik to the cult’s mercy-or lack thereof-she reluctantly opened the lock of the dark elf’s cell. Nathlilik strode out of her prison without so much as a “thank you.”
“We defeated a Kilsek patrol a hundred yards or so down the passageway,” Corran said. “You can retrieve one of their weapons. Since we’re on the same side, would you like to join forces?”
Kestrel’s eyes widened. She found the thought of spending any more time in Nathlilik’s company abhorrent. Before she could voice an objection, however, the dark elf sneered. “Ha! Walk in the company of surface-dwellers? I’ll take my chances alone.” Without another word, she disappeared into the darkness.
The party stared after her. “That is one disagreeable woman,” Durwyn declared.
They continued past the cell blocks, most of which stood empty. Apparently, the cult didn’t hold prisoners long before using their blood to slake Pelendralaar’s thirst. In the last cell, however, they found the crumpled form of a man passed out in the corner. He lay facedown, nearly naked, his blond hair matted with blood and his body covered with bruises. Whip marks swelled his back and oozed pus.
“Oh, by my Lady’s grace!” Faeril cried. “Kestrel, let me in to help him!”
“Is he even alive?” Jarial asked.
Ghleanna dropped her staff and clutched the prison bars, peering intently into the dark cell. “He’s a large man,” she said softly. “A warrior…”
The cleric started uttering prayers of healing while Kestrel struggled with the locks. There were several mechanisms, all more complex than the sole lock that had secured Nathlilik’s cell. Apparently, this was one prisoner the cult wanted to keep.
She sprung the last lock and swung open the door. Faeril rushed to the captive’s side, followed closely by Ghleanna. The sorceress touched his hair with a shaking hand. “It is Athan.” She choked back a sob. “Oh gods, what have they done to him? Can you save him?”
“Mystra, lend me your light, that I may tend your servant.” Instantly, Faeril’s hands glowed with a soft blue-white light. The glow illuminated Athan’s dark cell just enough for her to examine him. The cleric quickly assessed her patient running her hands along his limbs and torso. She checked his head and neck, then with Corran’s help gently rolled the warrior onto his side to better examine his chest.
Ghleanna watched Faeril in scared silence until she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Well?”
“His pulse is weak, and he’s barely breathing,” Faeril said. “He’s got a skull fracture and numerous broken bones-his right arm and hand, half a dozen ribs. His right leg is broken in two places, and both lower legs are smashed into pulp.” She wrinkled her nose. “From the smell, I think gangrene has set in.”
“But you can save him, right?” Ghleanna asked anxiously. “You can heal him?”
Faeril raised her gaze to Ghleanna’s. “He is too badly injured for me to heal him fully. I think I can keep him from death.”
“Do you hear that Athan?” Ghleanna stroked a lock of his hair, her voice tremulous. “Faeril’s going to help you.”
Corran cleared his throat. “Can I assist?”
Faeril shook her head. “If you speak of laying on hands, let’s see what