Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [98]
“Kestrel… I know we haven’t gotten along well. Part of that is my fault. But right now I’m all you’ve got. Let me help you.”
He was right, of course. Even if the others were alive, Faeril’s healing powers were exhausted. If she wanted to get out of this cavern any time soon, she had to accept the paladin’s aid. “Okay,” she conceded.
She was grateful for the darkness as Corran laid his hands on her damaged legs and commenced his prayer to Tyr. Comforting warmth radiated from his palms and fingers, soothing away her pain and knitting her broken bones. As he prayed, she felt herself relax. The perpetual agitation he provoked in her subsided, replaced by reassurance. She might not bear any great love for Corran D’Arcey, but after all they’d been through together, she did trust him.
He finished his prayer and sat back. “How do you feel?”
“Good as new.” She started to rise, eager to confirm that she could stand on her own, but Corran placed a restraining hand on her arm.
“Rest a while longer,” he said. “Let your bones strengthen before you crash into something as you stumble around in the dark.”
Reluctantly, she settled back down. He, however, sounded as if he were starting to rise. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“To see if I can find the others.”
“In the dark?”
“They may be alive but injured. I must at least try to locate them.”
Kestrel thought the effort hopeless, but she could understand Corran’s drive to try. It was the paladin in him-the helper, the healer. Faeril would have done the same.
The thought of the cleric sparked an idea. “Corran, when you heal people, you receive that power from your god, right? Just like Faeril?”
“Sort of.” His tone questioned where she was going with this, but he continued, “In both cases it is divine power, but paladins and clerics channel it differently. Tyr grants me the ability to heal with the touch of my hands. Clerics heal through miracles-they petition their gods to answer prayer spells with divine magic, to heal and perform other wonders.”
“Can you make your hands glow, like Faeril did?” She drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. Perhaps it was the darkness, or the dread of being left alone, but she found herself warming to Corran’s conversation.
“No. I suspect that is a gift specific to Mystra’s faithful, for I have never witnessed it before.” He paused. “I have seen Tyr’s priests and older paladins produce a glowing ball of light through prayer. I’ve also seen seasoned paladins, like my father and older brothers, perform some of the miracles of clerics, but only after years of faithful service. Once they have proven themselves, Tyr thus empowers them to better do his work.”
His father and brothers? “Is everyone in your family a paladin?”
He laughed. “Pretty much. The D’Arceys have served Tyr for as many generations as we can remember. It’s a lot to live up to.”
No wonder Corran had such lofty notions about honor and justice. He’d probably been indoctrinated in the cradle and hadn’t seen enough of the world to temper his idealism. At least, not when they’d met. Since coming to Myth Drannor, Corran had lost some of that naivete. His personality still needed some work, but he no longer spouted about “fallen worthies” and never retreating from a battle. His experiences in this doomed city had indeed seasoned him.
Perhaps, she thought, Corran had served Tyr well enough to get them out of this living tomb. “Have you ever tried to perform a miracle?”
“Nay, ‘twould be presumptuous!”
“Then how will you know when you’ve proven yourself?” Emboldened by the darkness, by her inability to see whatever expression-condescension? outrage?-his face held, she pressed on. “I don’t pretend to know much about matters of faith, Corran. But if we die in this tunnel and Mordrayn succeeds at her plan, Tyr won’t have any followers left on Toril because they’ll all be dead. We could