The paladin cleared his throat to draw her attention from Durwyn. “Tell me if you would, Kestrel, what you were doing skulking about if you indeed came to stand guard with us?”
A fair question, but his tone chafed nonetheless. The inflections of his voice suggested noble birth. Holy warrior or not, if he thought she’d tolerate arrogant condescension very long, he was sorely mistaken.
She lifted her chin. “Spying on you, of course. You don’t expect me to put my trust in people I know nothing about, do you? I was trying to judge what sort of folk I’m to work with.”
“Honest ones. Which, I imagine, is more than we can expect from you.”
She bit back the retort she would have liked to let fly. Paladins of Tyr, if indeed that’s what this knight was, were known for their self-righteous sense of honor and justice. Rogues avoided them like the gallows. “You mind tossing me your name between all the insults?”
“Corran D’Arcey, Defender of Tyr the Even-Handed, and third son of Baron Ethelred D’Arcey of Sarshel.”
So, she’d guessed correctly. A paladin of Tyr and a blue-blood. She held his gaze without blinking, determined to show him that his titles did not intimidate her. “I’ll just call you Corran for short.”
“And I’ll just—”
“Aren’t we supposed to be guarding a pool here, Corran?” she asked.
The rebuke silenced him for a beat. “Yes, we are,” he said tightly. He sheathed his sword and strode back to stand nearer the water.
In the awkward quiet that ensued, Durwyn shrugged and followed him.
Kestrel was disappointed to be left standing with the sorceress and not the guard. Durwyn seemed kind but not particularly bright—the perfect source to pump for more information about what she’d gotten herself into. The spellcaster, on the other hand, made her nervous.
The mage, who had not yet spoken to Kestrel, drew back her cowl. By her gold-flecked blue eyes and slightly pointed ears, Kestrel guessed her to be of partial elven descent. Moon elf, judging from the bluish tinge to her ears and chin. “I am Ghleanna Stormlake,” she said. “Had I known your identity, I would not have thrown that spell.”
Kestrel could not tell whether Ghleanna’s words held contrition or criticism. Was she supposed to have strutted into the tower declaiming her name?
“Apology accepted,” she said, whether one had been offered or not. Then, deciding Ghleanna could prove informative, she added, “I should have arrived on time.”
The mage’s lips formed a half-smile. “Elminster told me you might have a... headache... when you awoke.”
Kestrel felt her face grow warm. She’d not only been drunk but also obvious about it. No doubt the wizard had taken advantage of her compromised state to coerce her into this volunteer duty. She thought of the conversation she’d overhead as she arrived in the cavern earlier. “Elminster seems to tell you a lot of things.”
“I am one of his apprentices. When he left this morn to investigate tidings from Shadowdale, he asked me to keep an eye on events here in Phl—”
A crackle of energy suddenly rent the air. Not ten paces away, a floating, glowing ball of white light appeared. It expanded, forming a window in its center as sounds of ringing steel and battle cries filled the air.
“A gate!” Ghleanna exclaimed.
Corran and Durwyn rushed over. “To where?” Corran asked.
The window elongated to the size of a door, allowing brief glimpses of the combatants. A besieged fighter stumbled into view, overwhelmed by an unseen opponent. “By all that’s holy, help us!” he cried.
“That’s Athan—one of the adventurers Elminster sent to Myth Drannor.” Ghleanna cried. “They must be in trouble!”
The border of the gate flashed and hissed, like a flame being extinguished. The window winked. When their view returned, Athan could no longer be seen. The sounds of battle continued, mixed with cries of the dying. Just outside visual range, a terrible moaning commenced.
“We must aid them!” Corran started toward the gate.
“Are you out of your mind?” Kestrel asked. No way was she stepping into some sort of magical portal. If the sorcery didn’t swallow them up forever, they’d only be spit out into the middle of whatever was happening on the other end.
“We’re not supposed to leave our post.” Durwyn said.
“This is more important,” Ghleanna answered. “If Athan’s band fails, all Faerûn could be lost! Make up your own minds, but I am going.” She stepped into the gate. It flashed violet light, obscuring both the mage and the Myth Drannor scene from view.
“She’s crazy,” Kestrel declared.
“No—she’s honorable and committed to a greater good,” Corran retorted. “Something a rogue wouldn’t know anything about.”
She glared at Corran. “So follow her, then!”
The gate hissed and sputtered, its light turning pale blue, then a sickly green. The window began to shrink.
“I will—and so will you!” So quickly she couldn’t react, Corran grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the gate.
She shouted her objection, but the sound was swallowed up by a vacuum. She found herself surrounded by black nothingness, the extradimensional space seeming to stretch to eternity. Corran still held her arm in an iron grip. Involuntarily, she grabbed his elbow just to have something solid to hold onto. They floated, propelled only by the momentum with which they’d entered. Far in the distance, she could see the battle scene in Myth Drannor taking place through a window.
A window that was closing.
They were going to be trapped in here! A frightful rumbling surrounded them as the window ahead wavered. Suddenly, the space didn’t seem so vast anymore. In fact, it felt close. Her chest tightened as she gasped for air. The rumbling repeated, accented by flashing golden light from either end of the portal.
Corran turned toward her, mouthing words she could not hear. She didn’t need to hear them—they were the same words running through her own mind.
The gate was collapsing.
CHAPTER TWO
Helpless, Kestrel and Corran bobbed along, unable to speed their progress toward the shrinking exit. They were near enough now that they could see the broken cobblestones of the street where Athan’s band fought, but at this rate they’d never reach it before the window closed.
Kestrel’s mind raced. They needed something, some fixed object, off which to push.
Or pull.
It was a long shot, but it just might work. She shrugged out of her backpack and brought it around so that she could dig through it with her free hand. In the wan light coming from the exit, she groped through the contents until her fingers brushed against a metal claw.
Corran saw her withdraw the grappling hook and nodded in understanding. He maneuvered her ahead of him to give her a clear shot at the window, then shifted his grip to her waist to free both her arms.
She’d never made such a long throw before, but they were running out of time. She cast the hook. Unencumbered by air resistance, it sailed through the exit and caught hold of an upturned cobblestone. Thank the gods!
She began to pull herself forward. Corran released her and also grabbed the rope. As the portal rumbled and flashed orange light, they desperately pulled themselves hand over hand, the rope trailing behind them as they reached the exit. They tumbled through. Kestrel rolled to an abrupt stop, striking a solid object.
A body.
She sat up, quickly assessing the scene. Three more bodies—all of them motionless—lay sprawled in the street. A band of five orcs scavenged two of the corpses.
They’d arrived too late.
“Get your filthy claws off them!” Ghleanna shouted from behind her. She turned in time to see the mage lift her hands and send three bursts of magical energy speeding toward the snouted humanoids.