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As the pool boiled below, Corran reached Pelendralaar's back. When the beast twisted his neck to snap up the paladin in his jaws, Corran was ready. With an upward thrust, he drove his sword through the underside of the creature's jaw and into his skull. "I smite thee in the name of Tyr the Just!"
Pelendralaar threw back his neck, then dived headlong toward the bubbling pool. The paladin rode the creature like a runaway horse. The two plunged into the frothy water and disappeared into its depths.
"Corran!" Kestrel ran to the pool's edge. She and the others peered into the cloudy water but saw no sign of him.
Suddenly, the center of the pool spouted. Kestrel's heart stopped as a fully restored Pelendralaar shot into the air-without Corran.
"I live again!" the dracolich shouted in triumph, buffeting his wings as he hovered near the ceiling. Flames flickered in his eyes once more. He celebrated his restored strength with a mighty roar.
Steam poured from the pool below, filling the cavern with sultry fog. The boiling water hissed and popped. Before their eyes, the waterline dropped-one foot, ten feet, a score and more.
The vapor surged up at Pelendralaar. The creature's bellow quickly dissolved into a choked gasp. His tail crumbled to powder, his legs next. When his wings disintegrated, the rest of him plummeted into the basin.
The dracolich exploded in a cloud of dust on the dry pool floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
White mist filled the cavern. It swirled and danced, propelled by the cool breeze that drifted in with the early dawn light from the hole in the chamber wall. Kestrel could barely make out the faces of her friends, though all sat mere feet away.
All but one.
Kestrel felt Corran's absence more strongly than she'd ever imagined possible. She'd said all along that this mission was suicidal, told the paladin repeatedly that they faced insurmountable odds, that they couldn't go up against an archmage and a dracolich, and live to tell about it.
She hadn't wanted to be right.
In the end, Corran had proven himself a man of integrity. A man who not only spoke about honor but lived it-and died for it to preserve what he held dear. A man worthy of the title "paladin."
He had died a horrible death. Kestrel could not close her eyes without seeing the bandits in Phlan, the cult fighter in this very cavern-how the pool had first consumed their spirits, then their bodies. She wondered where Corran's spirit was now. With Tyr? She hoped so.
She moved several paces away from the group, seeking solitude, but she still could hear the others speaking in low tones. Faeril. Ghlea
Faeril approached to offer her curing magic. Kestrel yet suffered burns from the dragon's fire but motioned the cleric away. "Treat the others first." She wasn't in the mood for ministry.
"I already have."
With a sigh, she submitted to Faeril's healing. As the cleric prayed, Kestrel stared into the swirling fog. Her mind was full, her heart heavy.
A pale green light appeared in the mist, far away at first, but growing closer. A figure emerged-a tall, slender woman with a heart-shaped face. She floated a foot off the ground and brought with her the scent of gardenias. Anorrweyn.
In her arms, she carried Corran's limp body.
Kestrel swallowed the lump in her throat. She and the others rose as the ghost approached. The mist clung too closely to the paladin for Kestrel to see his face-to see what his immersion in the Pool of Radiance had done to him. The priestess gently laid him on the ground.
"Is he dead?" Kestrel knew he was, but she had to hear the words.
"Nay," Anorrweyn responded. "Only sleeping."
Kestrel gasped. "Really?"
"Truly, Kestrel." The priestess smiled. "He never entered the foul water of the pool but landed safe in the Weave's embrace. See? Already he stirs."
The mist around Corran cleared. He rolled his head to one side, consciousness returning. Kestrel saw that he had been restored to perfect health-even the lines of care etched into his face by recent events had faded.
"I leave him in your keeping now," Anorrweyn said. "I must return to the Emerald, and continue to undo the corruption wrought by Mordrayn upon the Mythal. There is much work to be done." Behind her, a glowing ball of blue-white light appeared and expanded to become a portal. "I leave you with one final gift: this scroll. On it you will find the Word of Farewell. It will open a gate home for you. Speak it soon, for once the Mythal is more fully restored, gates to the outside will no longer open."
The priestess handed the paper to Kestrel. "Take care, my friends. And thank you." With that, she was gone.
Slowly, Corran's eyelids fluttered open. He blinked, giving his pupils a chance to focus, and propped himself up on one elbow. His gaze swept the cavern before meeting Kestrel's. "Pelendralaar?"
She smiled. "Dust."
He released a deep breath. "And the pool?"
"Destroyed."
The others crowded around, eager to describe the dracolich's final moments for Corran and hear what he remembered of his plunge. Kestrel hung back, letting Ghlea
Their quest was over. At last, she could go her separate way, resume the solitary path she'd walked before all this madness began. She could collect her cache in Phlan-provided it was still there-and move on. There was always another city, always another heist or con game. Soon, the easy life she'd struggled all her years to attain.
Somehow, that life no longer seemed like enough.
She glanced at her companions. Faeril was saying goodbye, preparing to return to Beriand and aid Myth Dra
Once they all passed through the gate to Phlan, she had a choice to make. She could walk away and put this whole harrowing ordeal behind her. Or she could join Corran, Athan, Ghlea
Kestrel sighed. Her cache could wait a little longer.
There was much work to be done.