She pulled together her scattered thoughts and tried to clear the fog from her head. For someone who had planned to travel many miles from Phlan today, she was off to a poor start. From the strength of the sun, she judged the time to be close to noon. She needed to obtain provisions for her trip, collect her treasure from its hiding spot, and hit the road. Or the docks—she really ought to decide where she was going. Sembia, perhaps? Cormyr?
An hour later, her pack stocked with food and other supplies, Kestrel strode toward the castle. She’d considered leaving her stash behind and coming back for it later, but greed had gotten the better of her. Who knew when she’d return to the Moonsea? Her travels might never bring her here again. In the meantime, the thought of those riches just sitting beneath the rocks rankled her thief’s soul. The idea of starting over—of having to wait that much longer before living a life of ease—sank her heart.
Already her collarbone tingled. She ignored the sensation. She knew she headed toward danger, but she also trusted her ability to avoid it. Just get in, get the goods, and get out. That’s all she needed to do. Stay away from the water and be alert for any stray puddles.
As she entered the tower, she saw three figures near one end of the pool. She could tell from his uniform and standard-issue chain mail that one was a member of Phlan’s city patrol. The guard was a large man, at least six and a half feet tall, with a pair of the widest shoulders Kestrel had ever seen. Beside him stood a knight in full plate armor, the scales-and-warhammer symbol of Tyr emblazoned on his tabard. He wore a sword sheathed at his side and a war-hammer strapped to his back. A paladin, she assumed. He was about half a foot shorter than the guard and of a more average build. The third figure, a slender woman, wore brown leggings, leather knee-high boots, and a dark green cloak. She leaned on a wooden staff, listening to a conversation between the two men. The woman’s hood shadowed her visage and the fighters’ helmets obscured theirs, so Kestrel could not get a good look at any of their faces.
Silently, Kestrel berated herself. Of course, she should have guessed that in light of yesterday’s events the pool would draw investigators or gawkers today. She glanced around for evidence of the ill-fated brigands but saw no sign of them. Their bodies, if anything remained of them, must have been disposed of while she’d snored her way through the morning.
She assessed her surroundings. The cache lay on the other side of the strangers, but their focus seemed to be on the pool itself. If she moved very quietly and kept to the shadows as she circled around, she might manage to reach it without arousing the group’s notice. The exposed stairway was unavoidable, but if she didn’t take a chance she could grow old waiting for the trio to leave.
“Lord of Shadows preserve me,” she muttered. She crept to the stairway and slowly descended, hugging the wall to make as much use of the thin shadows as possible. When she reached the bottom, she started her cautious circle toward the rock pile. As she padded, she eavesdropped on the party’s conversation.
“So Elminster thinks this has something to do with goings-on in Myth Drannor?” the guard asked. “What does the ruined elven capital have to do with us?”
“From what he explained to me, he has suspected for weeks that someone has created a new Pool of Radiance there,” the woman said in a hushed tone. “Now with Phlan’s pool reawakened, he’s all but certain. Even as we guard this site, he’s trying to contact a party of adventurers he sent there to investigate. If they do find a new pool, they will destroy it—and whoever created it.”
“You sound sure about that,” the paladin said. “Those ruins have a reputation for eating adventurers alive.”
“These are not ordinary adventurers,” the woman replied. “Elminster hand-picked them, and they bear the Gauntlets of Moander—artifacts created specifically to destroy such pools. They will succeed where lesser parties would fail.”
Yeah, right, Kestrel thought. She’d heard her share of tales about thieves lured to the ancient elven city hoping to find untold riches in its ruins. She’d heard very few tales of thieves who’d actually returned. Elminster better have sent a score or more adventurers into that den of doom.
She made it about halfway to her goal before her foot slipped on some rubble. Damn! To Kestrel’s ears, the telltale scuffling sounded loud as a thunderclap.
“Who’s there?” the guard called out. All three of the figures now peered in her direction. “Show yourself!”
Kestrel paused, torn between trying to elude them and attempting to brazen it out. Before she could make up her mind, the hooded woman raised her hand, palm facing Kestrel’s direction, and murmured some words the thief couldn’t understand. A spellcaster! Kestrel turned to escape whatever sorcery was about to be hurled at her...
... And a moment later found herself unable to budge.
She tried to fight the magic, but her body refused to respond. Her feet, arms, even her mouth could not move. She was stuck in a half-twist, half-crouch, helpless to defend herself. Heart hammering, she watched the trio make its way toward her.
The paladin reached her first assessing her from head to heel. “A thief, by the look of her,” he said with obvious distaste. “Identify yourself!”
The sorceress approached. “She can’t speak until I release her from the spell.”
Gods, but Kestrel hated wizards! She’d not only lost control of the situation but of her own body. How long was the witch going to keep her like this? What did she plan in the meantime? Her vulnerability made Kestrel want to scream.
The paladin nodded toward the guard’s short bow. “Train that on her.” When the guard complied, the knight of Tyr unsheathed his long sword, pressed the tip of it beneath Kestrel’s chin, and met her gaze. His eyes were as gray as his steel and just as cold. “Don’t try anything foolish.” He lowered the blade but kept it drawn.
She wouldn’t. If the paladin didn’t cut her down first, Phlan’s guards were known to be quick to release a bowstring. Accurate with their aim, too—though at this range, the fighter could be blind and still hit her. Kestrel’s agility and weapons couldn’t help her now; she would have to rely on her wits.
The wizard spoke a command word, and Kestrel’s body sagged. The rogue caught herself from falling and stood upright to face her captors.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the paladin demanded.
She considered lying but decided a modified version of the truth might ring more genuine in the holy warrior’s ears. “My name is Kestrel, and—”
“Kestrel!” The guard lowered his bow. “You’re late!”
“I—I am?” She glanced from one member of the trio to the next. The paladin still regarded her warily, but the mage appeared suddenly guilt-stricken. The guard actually looked as if he were greeting an old friend. Did she know him—all of them—from somewhere?
“Er... yes. I am late,” she stated boldly. “I apologize. Profusely. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“We weren’t so much waiting as concerned,” the guard said. “I thought maybe you arrived before us and something happened.” He removed his helm, revealing coarse blond locks, a square jaw, and a neck thickly corded with muscles. “My name’s Durwyn. Like you, I volunteered to stand watch here.”
Volunteered? When in her life had she volunteered for anything? A sense of dread swept her. “Just... um, when did you volunteer for this duty, Durwyn?”
“Last night. Elminster told my commander that you and two others would be here today.”
Damn and double-damn Nat’s firewine! She’d actually gone to see Elminster and now couldn’t remember what transpired. What in the world had she gotten herself into?