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 Ghleanna and Durwyn tell the tale of the party’s triumph to the leader they’d followed from the start.
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 Drannor’s guardians in rebuilding the city. The other four spoke of reporting to Elminster, then helping the Moonsea’s port cities recover from Mordrayn and Pelendralaar’s reign of terror.
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, Ghleanna, and Durwyn in their effort to right the wrongs of the cult.
Kestrel sighed. Her cache could wait a little longer.
There was much work to be done.
About the Author
A fan of fantasy stories and role-playing games since childhood, Carrie Bebris developed an interest in Gothic literature while pursuing a master’s degree at Marquette University. She worked on the staff of TSR, developers of the dungeons & dragons® role-playing game, from 1995 to 1997. Now a freelance writer, she lives in Minnesota with her husband and daughter.