The House of Gems resembled nothing so much as the dwarves who had raised it. Though the Onaglym was a large two-towered building, its stone construction lent it a dense, compact appearance, giving Kestrel the impression that nothing could ever budge-or even mar-the dwarven stronghold. Despite the wars that had rocked the rest of Myth Drannor, the fortress stood solid and strong, undaunted by the changes wrought upon the city around it.
Here they would find Harldain Ironbar, or so Caalenfaire had said. As both the diviner and Anorrweyn had mentioned the dwarven spirit-did all the ghosts in this town know each other?-visiting him seemed the next logical step of their mission. Besides, they needed to learn from Harldain how to enter the catacombs if they ever hoped to meet the Protector or locate Anorrweyn's skull.
The Onaglym's exterior betrayed no sign of cult sorcerers still occupying its Round Tower. In fact, with the exception of the cultists, the rest of the city's evil denizens seemed to give the fortress a wide berth. The dwarven meeting hall appeared to have escaped the looting and lairing that characterized most of Myth Drannor's surface buildings. After the trap the party had encountered while trying to reach the Room of Words, Kestrel could guess why.
They found the main door open, a fact that bothered Kestrel almost as much as the eerie rhythm, like a giant heartbeat, coming from within. Pa-pum. Pa-pum. It was an ominous greeting, to say the least. While the others speculated about the source of the faint noise, she spent twenty minutes searching the doorway for traps. Finally Corran, eager to investigate, simply walked through the entrance. He turned around, unscathed. "Sometimes a lucky break is just a lucky break, Kestrel."
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes. Not often. And based on previous experience, not in this fortress. Kestrel hung back as the others brushed past her into a small courtyard containing the statue of some long-forgotten dwarven hero. An archway led to a larger, open area beyond dotted with more statues.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
She scanned the walls, floor, and ceiling once again. Dwarves would not leave the front door-even the front door of a building they were abandoning as they fled the city-hanging open. The last one out would have closed the door and extinguished the lights. There had to be something she wasn't seeing.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Corran cast an impatient glance her way. "Are you coming or not?"
Still suspicious, she relented. "Coming."
The moment she stepped through the doorway, an iron door clanged down behind her. Damn it all! How had she missed that? She let fly a stream of expletives against crafty dwarven engineers. "Lucky break, my arse! I told you it was too easy to get in here!" Before her companions could answer, she turned her back on them to study the iron door. She had a feeling they would be using a different exit.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
"Kestrel, we're inside now." Corran's voice grated on her nerves. "Let's find Harldain-I'm sure he can tell us how to get out."
"Just give me a minute!" she snapped. Corran was probably right, but the undiscovered trap had bruised her pride.
"Suit yourself. We're going on ahead."
"You do that." Arrogant, insufferable jerk… She heard him leave, heard the others following, all except Durwyn, whose presence she yet sensed, though some feet away. He waited quietly as she continued to examine the door.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Less than a minute later, his voice broke the stillness. "Uh, Kestrel?" Durwyn spoke softly, probably afraid of irritating her further.
She tried to tamp down her annoyance and keep her tone even. "Yes, Durwyn?" From behind, she heard the warrior rattling around. He was closer than she'd thought. Good grief-was he deliberately scraping his armor across the stone floor? She tried to block out the noise and concentrate on her task, running her hand along the smooth iron door.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
"I'd turn around if I were you."
A sense of dread shot through her. She spun on her heel to face him.
And found herself looking straight into the eyes of a dwarf.
The statue in the center of the courtyard had come to life. The bearded champion, armed with a two-handed axe, stood between her and Durwyn. The dwarf stared at her, his expression inscrutable. She stared back as her mind raced. Should she slowly circle toward Durwyn? Say something to the animated statue?
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
The dwarf winked. Mischief somehow twinkled in his cold stone eyes. Kestrel released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and allowed the muscles in her shoulders to relax.
He leaped off the pedestal to attack.
The stone guardian swung his weapon in a wide arc meant to catch Kestrel in the midriff. Instinctively, she dropped to the floor and rolled to one side. The blade struck the door with a deafening clang! that left a dent in the iron.
She paled at the display of strength. A single blow from the dwarf could crush even Durwyn or cleave her in half. He came at her again, raising the axe high in the air this time.
She rolled once more, then jumped to her feet The dwarf's axe struck the floor, sending rock chips flying. The ring of steel on stone echoed off the walls.
Pa-pum, pa-pum. The mysterious thumping continued, but her own heart beat double time. She noted that the statue's movements, though deliberate, were slow. Durwyn had moved forward to aid her, but she grabbed his arm instead. "Let's find the others!" She tugged on his hand, urging the big man to abandon the fight. If the dwarf followed them, at least they could face him with help.
They darted through the archway-only to discover an even worse scene. Corran, Faeril, and the two sorcerers were locked in combat with three more animated statues, and other figures nearby seemed to be stirring to life. Kestrel's gaze swept the fortress ward. At least two dozen dwarven sculptures were scattered about the grounds. They couldn't possibly fight them all.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Across the embankment, another iron door stood open. If they could reach it and close it behind them, they would be safe from the statues-though with that strange, perpetual thumping noise ringing off the walls, who knew what lay on the other side? Kestrel heard the first dwarf catching up to them, and a swing from one of the other statues had just narrowly missed Corran's head. It was a chance they would have to take.
"There are too many statues!" she shouted, hoping the others would hear her over the sounds of combat. "We have to outrun them!" The sorcerers were launching their magical volleys from a distance. They should have no trouble dropping their attack to flee. Corran and Faeril, on the other hand, might require aid to disengage from combat.
"I've never retreated from a battle," Corran declared, parrying another blow. Kestrel was surprised his warhammer hadn't snapped under the force of the statue's strike.
Anger welled within her. Would Corran rather die than listen to her? Durwyn nearly jerked her off her feet as an axe whistled past her ear-the first dwarf had caught up to them. The blow struck a granite fountain, sending huge chunks of rock scudding across the ground.
"Abandon this one!" Durwyn called out. He pushed her forward, turning around to guard their backs. "Go, Kestrel! Lead the way. I'll be right behind you."
Would the others follow? She had no time to speculate. With a quick survey and a split-second decision, she darted across the ward.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Durwyn shadowed her steps. He paused, however, to pick up a large chunk of granite, which he launched at the legs of Faeril's opponent. The statue tottered, ceasing its offensive just long enough for the cleric to break free of combat and join the retreat. Ghleanna and Jarial also followed.
They had to dodge the blows of several already-animated statues before reaching terrain where no guardians yet stirred. Kestrel steered as far as possible from statues that had not yet awakened, hoping to minimize the number of attackers. The likenesses were positioned, however, so that no intruder could bypass them all. Every hundred paces or so they awakened another one.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum. The thumping grew louder as they traversed the ward. Whatever was making that noise, they were running toward it.
At last, they reached the second iron door. As they ducked inside, Kestrel quickly scanned the interior for the source of the thumping sound. Spotting nothing, she turned around to see whether Corran had joined them.
"Damn him!" She could have spat nails. The paladin remained behind, stubbornly trying to hold his ground. Before she could stop him, Durwyn headed back to aid Corran. "Durwyn! No!"
The fighter could not return the way they had come, for by now the statues Kestrel's party had awakened were fully animated. He was forced to chose a less direct path, rousing new guardians in the process. He reached the beleaguered paladin just in time to block a strike that would have hit Corran from behind.
Damn Corran D'Arcey to the Abyss! His arrogance now endangered Durwyn as well. The statues were closing in on them-and those that weren't headed toward the door where Kestrel and the others stood watching.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Durwyn shouted at his comrade, but the distance, the everpresent heartbeat, and the sounds of the stone dwarves' laborious movements prevented Kestrel from making out the words. Whatever he said, however, seemed to sink through Corran's thick skull. The two began to retreat, Durwyn leading them along a circuitous route past the last of the sleeping statues. A dozen stone dwarves approached from all sides.
Ghleanna muttered something. Kestrel, her attention divided between Durwyn's plight and the half-dozen statues marching her own way, missed what she said and asked her to repeat it. When she glanced at the sorceress, however, she realized Ghleanna was casting a spell.
A huge mass of sticky strands suddenly draped itself over most of the dwarves chasing Durwyn and Corran. The enormous spider web gummed up the statues' movements, impeding their pursuit. At the same time Jarial uttered a command of his own at the dwarves approaching the door. Their advance instantly slowed to a rate that would have looked comic had the danger they posed not been so great.
The two fighters still had to dodge the blows of four unaffected statues that blocked their path. As they darted past, one of the dwarves landed a strike on Durwyn's left arm, nearly severing the limb. The warrior cried out and gripped his arm to his side, but kept moving.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Kestrel forced herself to watch their final approach but could not look at Durwyn's face. The agony she'd seen flash across it had been so intense it left her own knees weak. Blood streamed down his side.
Anger at Corran battled fear for her friend. Her friend. She hadn't thought of Durwyn that way until this moment, but she'd probably be dead right now if he hadn't stayed behind in the courtyard waiting for her. He'd been a faithful companion to her, to them all-which was why he was now injured. She regretted every unkind or impatient thought she'd ever had toward him.
The two made it to the door just as Jarial's spell wore off the nearest dwarves. Kestrel, Jarial, and Ghleanna swung shut the heavy door while Faeril immediately attended Durwyn. "Sit down," she said calmly, helping him to the ground.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum. With the door closed, the thumping echoed louder. Kestrel tried to block it from her mind as she knelt beside the injured warrior. Durwyn's face was pale-he'd already lost a lot of blood. His eyes held the steely look of someone trying to mask suffering.
She'd never felt this scared for someone else, not since Quinn had died. Instinctively, she reached for his good hand and forced herself to give him a wobbly smile. "We're lucky Faeril is with us. You're going to be fine." Eyes never leaving his face, she said to Faeril, "Tell me how to help you."
"Just keep doing what you're doing," the elf said gently, beginning her prayer of healing.
Behind her, Kestrel heard Corran approach. He cleared his throat. "May I assist?"
She looked up at him, her face hot. "I think you've done quite enough already." She had much more to say, but she didn't want to make a scene in front of Durwyn.
Remorse flickered across the paladin's features. "Perhaps I have," he said more to himself than to her. She wished he would just go away, but he remained, watching Faeril's ministrations.
Kestrel talked to Durwyn quietly while the cleric tended to him. The warrior was weak but lucid. "Thank you for watching my back earlier, in the courtyard," she said.
"I-" He paused as if choosing his words. "I know that I'm not the smartest guy in the world. I'm good with an axe, but I'm not so good at figuring things out. So when I find people smarter than me, I trust them to do most of the thinking. You've been right about a lot of things so far, Kestrel. When you said there was a trap, I believed you."
Durwyn's words heartened her. She hadn't been shouting into the wind this whole time, struggling in vain to be heard. Someone had been paying attention.
When Faeril finished, Durwyn's arm was fully healed. He rested awhile on the floor as the remainder of the party assessed their surroundings. They stood inside the main building of the fortress, in a great hall with numerous wooden tables, benches, and other furnishings all still in excellent condition. Even the tapestries on the walls, colorful depictions of dwarven artisans engaged in their crafts, seemed unaffected by age.
At the opposite end of the hall, two staircases led to the second floor. The periodic thumping sound, louder in Kestrel's ears now that Durwyn was out of danger, resonated off the stone walls. It repeated every minute or so, like the heartbeat of a man who refused to die. The noise seemed to come from above.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
They climbed the stairs to find a single large room-and Harldain Ironbar. Or so they assumed. A dwarven spirit occupied the center of the chamber. The middle-aged lord had apparently been a figure of some standing in Myth Drannor, judging from his thick fur cloak, ringed fingers, and the chain of office around his neck.
"I'd say that's Harldain, all right," Kestrel said. "But what's the matter with him?" The dwarf stood transfixed, his translucent image unmoving even under the party's scrutiny.
Ghleanna held two fingers up to the ghost's face, gliding them back and forth as she watched his eyes. When she moved her fingers quickly, the eyes remained still. But when she moved them slowly, his pupils followed the movement. "He seems to be in a state of arrested animation," she said. "He can't move, but I'll bet he can hear us."
"Y… y… yes," the ghost said. Kestrel almost missed the single word, as the thumping noise had repeated at the same instant. The heartbeat sound was still louder up here and seemed to come from the other side of a door in the southwest corner of the room.
"He can speak!" Corran moved to stand directly before the spirit. "Are you Harldain Ironbar?"
No answer. The paladin repeated his question but still got no response.
"Let's try another question," Jarial said. Corran stepped aside so the sorcerer could face the spirit. "Anorrweyn Evensong and Caalenfaire sent us," Jarial told the ghost "Do you know them?''
Still no response.
Kestrel thought they needed to get to the point. "How can we free you?" There would be enough time for other questions once the spirit could talk easily.
"P… u… mp."
"What did he say?" Ghleanna asked. His answer had coincided with the thumping noise again.
"It sounded like pump." Kestrel looked around the room. "But I don't see anything in here that looks like a-"
"Maybe he said thump," Corran said. "Perhaps that thumping sound has something to do with this."
Kestrel knew she'd heard a "p" sound, not a "th," but pointing that out to the paladin would require actually speaking to him. Still nursing her anger over Corran's pigheaded endangerment of Durwyn, she let his suggestion pass without comment. Besides, she had no better idea to offer.
Corran tried the southwest door and found it unlocked. When he opened it the heartbeat sound repeated, the strongest they'd heard it yet. "This way."
The door exited onto a small balcony with a narrow stairway leading up to the rooftop. They trotted along the fortress's battlements, following the rhythmic thumping noise, until they reached a similar staircase heading down. The steps deposited them in the stronghold's pumphouse, where the mechanical pump struggled to perform its duty. The slow pa-pum was the sound of the device fighting to draw water from the Onaglym's ancient cistern, which lay in a courtyard beyond.
"I knew he said pump," Kestrel muttered under her breath.
Ghleanna wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?" A putrid odor filled the air, as of rotting garbage. Or decaying flesh.
Kestrel raised her guard, remembering the zombies that seemed to appear whenever they'd previously detected such a stench. She heard no telltale shuffling of animated corpses, only the slow, laborious sound of the pump.
Faeril walked to the arched doorway that opened into the courtyard. "It seems to be emanating from-Oh, Lady of Mysteries, preserve us!"
The others rushed over. On the far side of the courtyard, the desiccated body of a human female hung impaled on a spiked pole. The former fighter had been disemboweled. In place of her organs nested a large membranous sac that pulsed and squirmed.
Kestrel's gorge rose. Anorrweyn's missing skull had seemed bad, but this… Was it the fate of all women in this city to have their remains defiled? She had to turn her head away from the sight. It was then that she noticed the unnatural color of the water in the cistern. The reservoir, which should have held clear rainwater, instead bubbled with murky brownish liquid. The water must have become polluted somehow through the centuries.
Or corrupted recently. Kestrel noted an amber cast to the fluid and closed her eyes against the realization dawning on her. They had found another spawn pool.
When she opened her eyes, despite her fervent wishes the abomination remained. "Uh, guys-"
"I just noticed it, too," Ghleanna said.
Corran and Faeril, meanwhile, had approached the corpse. Faeril gestured toward an insignia on the remains of the body's tattered clothing. "Sisters of the Silver Fire," she said. "This woman was a holy warrior dedicated to Mystra."
"Of your sect?" Corran asked.
"No, another, but I feel the loss as keenly." She studied the writhing sac in the fallen warrior's body cavity. "She appears to be infested by the eggs of some loathsome creature-and I suspect they are hatching. Jarial? Ghleanna?"
The sorcerers joined them. Kestrel and Durwyn followed a little behind. They heard Faeril say sadly, "I'd prefer a nobler death rite, but we haven't time."
The group stood back. Faeril raised her voice in prayer as Jarial hurled a ball of fire at the corpse. The blast incinerated both the fighter and the vile, squirming egg sac. When the last flames sputtered out, the sorcerer waved his hand over the ashes. A light breeze swirled them into a funnel, dispersing the ashes into the wind.
Kestrel watched the dust blow away, then turned her attention back to the pool. The insidious amber liquid was gone. Pure water once again filled the cistern. The pump resumed its normal pace, the mechanism sounding almost eager to get back to work.
At the edge of the reservoir lay the dead fighter's weapon, a gleaming sword with a red tinge to the steel.
Corran picked it up and handed it to Faeril. "Perhaps you can use it to avenge her death."
"With Mystra's aid, I shall."
They returned to the main fortress, where a liberated Harldain Ironbar awaited them. As they entered his chamber, the dwarf met them with a ghostly battle-axe in hand. "Identify yerselves!"
The paladin stepped forward, hands raised to show his peaceful intentions. "I am Corran D'Arcey. These are my companions Ghleanna, Jarial, Durwyn, Faeril, and Kestrel. We are come to free Myth Drannor of the evil that has overtaken it."
"So yer not part of that dragon cult?"
"Nay! In fact we are sworn to defeat them," Faeril said.
Harldain lowered his axe but continued to regard them suspiciously. Corran removed his helm and tucked it under his arm to allow the dwarf a clear look at his face. Following his lead, Durwyn did likewise. Harldain seemed to appreciate the gesture and studied his unexpected visitors.
"The priestess Anorrweyn Evensong advised us to seek your counsel," said Corran. "So did the diviner Caalenfaire."
"So you said earlier." Harldain rested the axe head on the floor and leaned on the shaft as if it were a cane. "Friends of yers, are they? Anorrweyn's a gentle soul, but that Caalenfaire-he gave me the shivers even before he was dead. The old sorcerer's never done me a bad turn, though, so I reckon if he and Anorrweyn are on yer side, then yer on mine. 'Bout time someone came to drive those dragon-lovin' vermin out of my city." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So, the priestess and the fortune-teller have teamed up, have they? Things must have gotten pretty bad while I was frozen there. I think that nasty water cloggin' the pump had somethin' to with it. Seems like polluted pools are poppin' up everywhere a glimmer of good remains in this city. Anyway, what have they sent you to talk to me about?"
"We need access to the catacombs," Corran said.
"Do you, now? Well, that's a simple enough matter to help you with. But what are they sendin' you down there for?"
"To find the Protector. We need to talk to him about the Mythal."
Some of the fire left Harldain's eyes. He let out a deep sigh. "They've gone and done it, haven't they? Those dragon worshipers, they've done somethin' to the Mythal." He shook his head sadly. "I'd always hoped that somehow we could use the Mythal to restore the City of Song to its former glory. But now…"
"You may yet," Ghleanna said gently. "If we act quickly to defeat the cult. We need your help."
Harldain nodded. "Yes, of course. Anything I can do." He stroked his beard again. "Dark elves have infiltrated much of the first catacomb level, so don't even try to use the main entrance-I'll send you a secret way. You'll have to face enough of 'em just to move deeper inside."
He crossed the room and pointed to one of the bricks in the wall. "That block is loose. Pull it out." Corran pried out the stone, revealing a hidden cubbyhole. "Now reach inside and get the stone that's in there. The key-take the key out, too. It's a passkey. It'll disable the statues downstairs, make it easier for you to leave."
Corran withdrew the key and a gem similar in appearance to the one set in the Ring of Calling. The gem sparkled with inner white light.
"That's a starstone," Harldain said. "Used to be that lots of folks in Myth Drannor had at least one. The starstones were set in different pieces of jewelry. When the wearer stood in specific locations, magical gates opened to different parts of the city. Helped a body get around faster."
Ghleanna extended her hand so Harldain could see the Ring of Calling. "Is this a starstone?"
"It is, indeed," the spirit confirmed. "That's one of the more common starstones. It got folks to the City Heights from various parts of town." Harldain gestured toward the sparkling rock Corran held. "That's a rarer stone. Belongs in a neckpiece called the Wizard's Torc. Sorcerers of the Speculum used the torc to open a secret entrance from the amphitheater to the catacombs. Restore the starstone to the Wizard's Torc and wear it while standin' on the theater floor-in the Circle of Ualair the Silent-and the door'll open for you."
Harldain's expression grew troubled. "Of course, you have to find the torc first-last I heard, a dark naga in the dwarven dungeons had the thing." He narrowed his brows at Jarial. "What're you grinnin' about?"
"You mean this torc?"