Ruins of Myth Drannor (8 page)

She’d sooner eat roasted zombie flesh than tell him so.

“Do you suppose we stumbled into their lair?” Ghleanna asked the group at large.

“Either that, or they may have been guarding something,” Corran answered. “An exit, perhaps? Let’s take a look around.”

They poked through the room from which the skeletons had emerged, finding little more than rubble, and continued to explore the rest of the complex. Ultimately, they came to what appeared to be the main chamber. Bones lay strewn about, some human, some not. Unlike the animated skeletons they encountered earlier, these seemed to lie where their owners had died, earthly possessions still surrounding them. One of the skeletons yet wore a gray woolen cloak and a pair of snakeskin boots.

At the sight, Jarial caught his breath. “Ozama.”

Kestrel turned away, allowing the mage a few moments of privacy in which to grieve his former lover’s loss, or curse her for entrapping him, or whatever he wanted to do upon discovering her remains. She glanced around the room, noticing that the door opposite bore an unfamiliar glyph—two swirling circles drawn with a single line. The symbol was burned into the wood. A small barred window in the door looked into the next chamber, but from her vantage point she could see only darkness within.

She approached the door. Finding it sealed, she peered through the window but still couldn’t see anything inside. She beckoned Ghleanna. “Can you cast the light from your staff into there?”

“Certainly.” The mage came forward and lifted her staff toward the opening, but the darkness beyond completely swallowed up the light. Ghleanna frowned. “How strange… .”

“I’m afraid I’m a little shy,” said a rasping voice from the blackness.

Despite its refined tone, the voice sent a shudder down Kestrel’s spine, like the sound of fingernails on glass. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I might ask you that question,” the mysterious speaker responded. The voice sounded male, but she couldn’t be sure. “It is you, after all, who have intruded into my home.”

Kestrel squinted, trying to make out a shape in the darkness, but could not discern even the dimmest outline. She did, however, detect a faint rustling, as of something sliding across a floor, followed by the clinking of metal.

Corran strode past Kestrel to stand before the window. “Please forgive the rudeness of my companion,” he said, casting a scolding look toward Kestrel. “She’s a little… uncultured.”

Kestrel bristled, regretting that she had thought anything nice about the insufferable Lord D’Arcey a few minutes earlier.

The paladin then peered through the window himself. “We apologize for disturbing you—we seek only an exit from these dungeons to the Heights above.”

“‘Tis not a disturbance,” the sibilant voice said. “Indeed, I welcome the diversion of visitors. This can be a rather solitary place.”

The last hiss on the word “place” caused goosebumps to form on Kestrel’s arms. She glanced at the dusty bones strewn about the floor. Had these visitors also provided a diversion? She ambled away from the door to give the dried-out bodies a closer look. At first she’d assumed the skeletons and zombies had defeated them, but now she wondered otherwise. An exchange of glances with Ghleanna revealed that the mage held similar suspicions.

“I imagine one could grow bored in such isolation,” Corran said.

“Indeed, no,” the voice said. “Lonely perhaps, but not bored. I have a hobby—a passion really—for collecting things.”

“What kind of things?” Kestrel called out, looking at the unfortunate adventurers who had preceded them to this place. Lives? Souls?

“Oh, necklaces, amulets, torcs, chokers, neck rings, pendants, collars—just about anything that goes around one’s neck.”

Jarial’s head, which until now had been bowed over Ozama’s remains, snapped up. “Preybelish,” he whispered.

Kestrel quietly moved to his side. “You know him?”

“I believe we’ve found the dark naga Ozama and I sought all those years ago,” he said, his voice barely audible even to Kestrel. “The one said to possess the Wizard’s Torc.” His fingers stroked Ozama’s cloak. “She must have died trying to get it from him.”

“Yes, she did,” the voice—Preybelish—hissed.

Kestrel’s gaze darted to the door, then back to Jarial. “How could he possibly have heard you?”

Jarial drew his brows together. “I—”

“He doesn’t know,” Preybelish said. “But he does want to avenge his lady. Don’t you… Jarial? As much as the little bird beside you wants to settle a score with a certain holy knight.”

“What do you mean by that?” Corran asked.

Kestrel froze, not even releasing her breath. Could the naga read their thoughts? She dared not ponder the idea for fear of giving something away to the creature. Instead, she concentrated on the image of a topaz necklace she’d once seen in—and liberated from—a shop window in Waterdeep. It had fetched a handsome price, but she envisioned herself holding the piece of jewelry as if she still possessed it.

“Forget these temporary companions, little thief. You don’t believe in their cause anyway,” Preybelish said. “We could form a lucrative partnership. I’ll give you fair recompense for that necklace or any other any neckwear you wish to sell me.”

“What nec—” Durwyn began. Ghleanna hushed him.

“I might be persuaded to part with it,” Kestrel replied.

“Good, very good. I shall unseal the door for you. Come in—alone—and we will bargain.”

Kestrel looked to Jarial for guidance, all the while forcing her surface thoughts to remain on the necklace. The mage nodded, but gestured for her to stall. “All right,” she said to Preybelish. “But I prefer to see who I’m doing business with.”

As she spoke, Jarial slipped the snakeskin boots off Ozama’s skeleton and held them toward her. “Magic,” he mouthed. She shook her head in refusal. Her daggers were hidden in her own boots, and she trusted the blades more than any enchantment. After one more pleading look, the mage slipped the boots on his own feet.

“I’ll dispel the darkness once you’re inside,” Preybelish said. The heavy wooden door creaked open.

She glanced at the others. Corran’s hand rested on his sword hilt ready to unsheathe the weapon at any time. Ghleanna’s mouth moved in an unheard spell, her left hand drifting in a slow arc. Durwyn looked just plain confused, but he held his battle-axe ready.

“Let us bargain, then.” Kestrel walked toward the door.

Just as she reached it, Ghleanna uttered a single word aloud. The darkness that had engulfed Preybelish’s chamber immediately dissipated, revealing a large purplish-black snake with a humanlike face. Around his neck, supported by his inflatable hood, dangled necklaces, chokers, and other neckwear of varying lengths and ostentation. The naga’s thick coils disappeared beneath a sea of coins and jewelry, but Kestrel guessed his body must extend at least ten feet. His eyes shuttered to thin slits in the sudden light.

Preybelish hissed, baring his long fangs. “You’ll regret that, you foolish half-breed!” His tail, barbed and sharp as a razor, emerged from the treasure hoard and flicked violently, showering gold around the room and sending Kestrel diving for cover behind the decapitated marble head—and neck—of what had once been an enormous statue. Preybelish’s attention, however, was focused outside his chamber. On Ghleanna.

A moment later, a jet of flame shot forth from the naga’s tail straight at the female mage. Ghleanna howled as the entire left side of her body caught fire. She dropped to the floor to extinguish her clothing, rolling out of Kestrel’s sight.

Corran, who had been standing a little too close to the doorway when the attack shot past, sucked in his breath as his armor—heated by the flames—seared his skin. Despite the obvious pain, he advanced on Preybelish, Durwyn close behind.

“I have to agree with the little bird,” the dark naga said. His eyes were wide open now, sinister glowing yellow orbs. “I do so hate the company of paladins. So holier-than-thou.”

Corran brought his sword down with enough force to cleave the snakelike creature in half. The attack, however, glanced off some invisible barrier, not even nicking a scale. “Vile serpent!” the paladin shouted in frustration.

Durwyn swung his axe. The blade found its mark, sinking into the naga’s muscular body. Preybelish hissed and swung his tail, catching Durwyn in the chest and knocking him off his feet. Blood started seeping from a gash in the warrior’s neck.

Kestrel looked through the doorway to see what Jarial was doing, but the wizard had disappeared from view. Was he attending Ghleanna? “Not now, Jarial,” she muttered. “This can’t be left up to me.”

From her vantage point she had a clear shot at the creature’s back—or whatever one called the part of a snake’s coils opposite the underbelly. Preybelish seemed to be focusing his attention and his mind-reading abilities on Corran at the moment. She withdrew her daggers from her boots but paused before throwing them. Once she hurled the weapons, then what? She’d accomplish nothing but angering the creature and drawing his attention back to herself. While Loren’s Blade would return to her hand, she did not trust its magic.

The holy knight attempted another attack. This swing managed to bite into the monster’s flesh, though it visibly slowed before impact. Preybelish uttered a string of foul epithets and thrashed his tail at the paladin. It hit Corran with enough force to knock a lesser man to his knees, but Corran caught his balance, his armor apparently shielding him from the tail’s sting.

Durwyn lay slumped on the floor, unconscious. Though the gash in his neck bled, the flow was not profuse enough for such a large man to have passed out already. Kestrel looked back at the wicked barbs on the end of Preybelish’s tail. Two of them dripped black fluid.

Poison.

The creature muttered arcane words under its breath—another spell. Where in the Abyss was Jarial? She let the daggers fly before the naga could finish his incantation.

The evil serpent howled in rage as the weapons drove into his flesh less than a foot from his head. Thick brown blood welled from the wounds. He twisted around to glare at her, fangs bared, yellow eyes blazing with pain and fury. “Don’t you know that snakes eat little birds?” he hissed.

“Not this one.” Kestrel managed to sound more confident than she felt.

Preybelish uttered a string of incomprehensible syllables, weaving another spell. Corran swung his sword again, this time striking the creature with full force. The naga, however, would not allow his concentration to be broken. He stared unblinking at Kestrel as his voice rose in pitch.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she tensed in anticipation of the inevitable sorcery. Would flames consume her, as they had Ghleanna?

Suddenly, an arrow materialized behind Preybelish and raced through the air to embed itself in the back of the creature’s head. The acrid odor of burning flesh filled the room as acid ate through the naga’s skin. Just feet away, Jarial appeared.

The naga screamed in rage, swinging his tail wildly. The barbed point caught Jarial’s legs, knocking him down. Kestrel swore under her breath. Not Jarial too? Now two of their party were poisoned and a third badly burned.

Preybelish turned on Corran. “Don’t even think about it,” the creature said before the paladin so much as lifted his arm for the intended strike. The naga swung his tail once again, knocking Corran’s sword out of his grasp.

Kestrel’s mind raced. If they could only control that tail.

“Catch a naga by the tail?” Preybelish mocked, twisting around to fix her with his evil gaze. “What would you do once you got your hands on it?”

Behind the naga, to Kestrel’s surprise, Jarial got back to his feet. The mage appeared winded but hardly scratched. She forced her thoughts away from the wizard, so as not to betray him to Preybelish’s mind-reading powers.

“This!” Jarial said. He darted out his hand and touched creature’s tail just below the barbed tip. The contact lasted only a split second, but it was long enough. Preybelish screeched inhumanly as the last quarter of his body went rigid and fell immobile to the ground.

The naga bared his fangs and spun his upper body to advance on Jarial, still possessing enough unparalyzed coils to reach the unarmored mage. Corran went for his warhammer but Kestrel was faster.

She leaped onto Preybelish’s back, grabbed one of the many chains hanging from his neck, and twisted. When the chain closed around the creature’s airway, she pulled hard. “Did you say you collect neckwear, Preybelish?”

Despite her effort, the naga managed to get enough air to begin hissing out the words of a final spell.

She braced her feet against the naga’s spine and tugged with all her might “Chokers, right?” Preybelish thrashed about so wildly that she had trouble retaining her grip. Corran hurried over to lend his strength. With the paladin’s added power, the evil creature’s eyes grew wide, his words of incantation becoming desperate gurgles as he fought to breathe. Kestrel threw her whole body into one final tug.

“Choke on this.”

Fortunately, the naga’s poison did not prove lethal. Durwyn awoke from his drugged sleep just as Preybelish entered his final one. Within a quarter hour the warrior seemed none the worse for the battle, save the easily bandaged wound on his neck.

Ghleanna, however, was another story. She lay unconscious and badly burned on one side of her body.

Kestrel paled just looking at the injured mage. “How many of those blueglow moss potions do we have left?”

“Let me tend to her first,” Corran said. He knelt at her side, removing his helm and gauntlets. Gently, he touched his hands to Ghleanna’s damaged skin, closed his eyes, and bowed his head in prayer. Ever so slowly, as the paladin murmured words of supplication to Tyr, the half-elf’s charred tissue healed.

Kestrel turned away. When Corran had repelled the zombies, she’d felt that his showy theatrics were meant to draw attention. Now, watching him lay on hands, she grew uncomfortable. His features and manner softened—the arrogance, the bossiness, the presumption were all set aside as he ministered to their injured companion. The sight deeply unsettled her. It revealed a side of Corran D’Arcey she did not wish to acknowledge.