Kestrel and the others hesitated, still trying to absorb all they'd heard. Kestrel felt she ought to be angry with the Protector for his betrayal, for setting in motion the events it now fell to her and her companions to stop. Yet, as she looked at the baelnorn's shriveled form, his face wracked with shame, she felt only pity.
"Make haste," Anorrweyn urged. "The cult cannot be allowed to poison the Mythal any further. I will return to the Speculum. When the sapphire is destroyed, I shall use the emerald to turn the Mythal's power against our enemies. Then you can seize the Gauntlets of Moander from Mordrayn to destroy the pool."
As they filed into the passage one by one, Kestrel stole a last glimpse at Miroden Silverblade. The elf lord who had for centuries defended the Sapphire of the Weave with strength and wisdom-who had willingly sacrificed his own life to protect the Mythal-once again huddled on the floor. Anorrweyn knelt beside him, drew his head into her lap and gently rocked the tortured spirit.
Kestrel felt she was observing grief too intense and private for an audience. She turned and entered the passage, leaving the ghosts to mourn in solitude. She and the others had no more time to dwell on the past.
Not if they were going to save the future.
BOOK THREE: The Arcane Cabal
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"You can admit it any time now."
Corran's jocular tone took Kestrel by surprise. She frowned at the paladin as they stepped over the bodies of yet another soulless drow band. The winding passage beneath Castle Cormanthor was simply too tight to move the enthralled Kilsek aside after defeating them. "Admit what?"
"We were right to trust Nathlilik," the paladin said, muting his voice in case other patrols lurked nearby. "That Staff of Sunlight has proven invaluable."
She glanced at the sacred weapon in Jarial's grip. They'd encountered so many cult patrols since leaving the baelnorn that without the staff they would have exhausted themselves getting this far. "We would have found it anyway," she said with a shrug. "As for Nathlilik, if she had done what she promised and released all her kin into true death, we wouldn't even need the staff. She probably gave up and skipped town."
"Or got caught."
Kestrel followed Corran's gaze. Ahead, the corridor widened into a long, narrow chamber lined with prison cells carved into the rock like small caves. The pens, separated from each other by about six feet, stretched as far up the passage as Kestrel could see. In the closest cell, Nathlilik herself paced like a caged panther.
The drow leader stopped abruptly when she saw them approach. "We meet again, humans." She grinned mockingly, gesturing at her cell with a sweep of her hand. "Welcome to my new abode. Can I offer you tea? A glass of wine?"
Kestrel ignored her sarcasm. "What happened?"
"What do you think?" Nathlilik snapped. "The cult captured us. Killed all my men one at a time and fed their blood to the dracolich as an appetizer. I'm the main course-at least I was until you came along. What are you standing around for? Let me out."
Nathlilik's attitude made Kestrel's hackles rise. "I don't think I like your tone."
The dark elf barked a harsh laugh. "Don't expect me to beg, human. Not to you." She strutted to the corner and plunked down on the floor. "The cult has taken my life-mate. They've taken my men, and they've taken my weapons, but I'll hold my pride until the last drop of blood leaves my body."
Kestrel shrugged. "You do that." She walked past the cell, fighting the urge to turn around to see whether the rest of the group followed. If someone else wanted to free the arrogant drow witch, let them try to get past that lock. She knew exactly which tool it would require.
She heard Corran's footsteps behind her. "Kestrel…" he murmured.
"Corran, we haven't the time, and I haven't the inclination." She continued marching away.
"Wait!" Nathlilik cried.
Kestrel turned. To her amazement, the whole party had followed her lead. Nathlilik had watched all six of them pass her cell "I've learned more about the cult's activities during my imprisonment," the dark elf said. "Free me and I'll tell you what I know."
"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."