Though Ghleanna had confirmed her suspicions, Kestrel floundered for a response. Since Quinn's death she'd made a priority of keeping others at a distance. She'd never had the need-or felt the urge-to offer words of support to anyone on any occasion. A minute lapsed, then two, until a reply no longer seemed necessary.

"The man who raised you-" Ghleanna began tentatively, breaking her gaze away from the fire to regard Kestrel. "Was he a good man?"

"He was." She grinned, more to herself than Ghleanna. "Not an honest man, mind you, but a good man."

"Does he yet live?"

Her grin faded. "Quinn died in a tavern brawl when I was twelve. Slipped an ace up his sleeve once too often." She glanced toward the cots, where the others all seemed to have dozed off at last. "I can only imagine what Lord D'Arcey would think about that."

Ghleanna flashed her a conspiratorial smile. "He shan't hear of it from me."

"Thanks." They lapsed into silence again. Kestrel felt as if she ought to return the other woman's show of interest. "What about your folks?" She prepared to sit through the tale of some aristocratic elven or human house-perhaps both.

"I never knew my parents, either," the half-elf said softly. "My mother died birthing me, and my father-well, he'd gone back to his human wife and son before I was born." Ghleanna returned her gaze to the fire, apparently finding it easier to avoid eye contact when talking about herself. "My uncle took me into his household, but he resented a 'half-breed' growing up alongside his elven children. 'Twas not until my human brother found me-after our father had died-that I felt I truly had a family."

Kestrel listened with surprise. She'd always found the ways of wizards so mysterious that she never considered the real, flesh-and-blood people beneath the robes. She'd assumed the half-elf boasted a pedigree similar to Corran's, one full of wealthy family members eager to pay for her magical training or anything else she desired. The rogue had never imagined Ghleanna's background could have a thing in common with her own.

The sorceress yawned and rose. "Dawn shall be upon us all too quickly, I think. Will you retire as well?"

"Soon," Kestrel answered. Ghleanna had given her much to ponder.

At first light, the party set out for the southwest ruins. They entered the ghost shrine to hear Anorrweyn's spirit still repeating her lonely, sorrowful call.

"Where are the followers of Mystra?" The cry seemed to echo off the intangible walls.

Faeril stepped forward, holding out the medallion she wore around her neck. "Here, priestess! Mystra's faithful still walk this earth. I am Faeril, but one of Our Lady's many servants."

Goosebumps prickled Kestrel's arms as she waited to see whether the elven spirit would respond. The room fell unnaturally silent. No sounds from outside seemed to penetrate the spectral building, and those who stood within scarcely dared to breathe.

A faint scent stole into the air. Kestrel inhaled the musky perfume, searching her mind to identify the familiar fragrance. Gardenias.

Moments later, the slender figure of a woman appeared- at first dim and wavering, then brighter and steadier. A small nose, high cheekbones and a soft mouth set off the large turquoise eyes that dominated her heart-shaped face. Long, dark tresses cascaded over her shoulders, disappearing behind the silky fabric of her close-fitting green gown. Though an emerald ferronniere crowned her forehead, in truth Anorrweyn Evensong needed no adornment

Kestrel absently ran her fingers through her short, boyish locks. The priestess's understated elegance made the rogue suddenly self-conscious of her own rough-and-tumble appearance. Kestrel knew that while she might have the dexterity of a cat, she'd never possess one-tenth Anorrweyn's grace. In the past, women like this gentle elf made her feel defensive, but somehow this spirit struck a chord in her.

"Faeril." The elven spirit smiled and extended her hand toward the cleric. Her fingertips came within inches of Faeril's face but did not touch it. "You are truly a daughter of Mystra?"

"Yes, priestess. Your sect has suffered hardship but yet survives."

"I had feared the spinning centuries had put an end to Our Lady's worship." Anorrweyn's gaze swept the group. "These are your companions?"

"Yes, priestess."

The spirit then studied the party one member at a time, briefly assessing each person as Faeril made introductions. When Anorrweyn's eyes met Kestrel's, the thief felt warmth and peace pass through her. "You are the heroes who freed the remains of my temple from the evil creatures who laid claim to it." Anorrweyn's voice had lost its melancholy timbre, and its tones now fell soft as spring rain. "How may I aid you in return? Speak quickly-my foothold in your time is light."

Corran removed his helm and genuflected before her. "The Mythal is in jeopardy, priestess. Evildoers have corrupted its magic and harnessed its power for their own diabolical ends."

"Yes, I feel them, even through the years. They have raised an abomination under the very seat of the coronal, an abomination that cracks stone and earth in its hunger." She extended her hand toward the paladin. "Rise, holy knight."

Corran obeyed. Though his large form physically dwarfed the priestess, it was she who exuded more presence. "They plan to overtake first Myth Drannor and then all Faerun," Corran continued, "raising a dracolich to ultimate dominion over all."

If it was possible for a bloodless, incorporeal being to pale, Anorrweyn Evensong did so. "They cannot be allowed to succeed!"

"We have made it our mission to stop them," Ghleanna said. "But we have only an imperfect understanding of the Mythal. We come to you seeking knowledge."

"I will gladly share all I have. Please, sit and rest as the Mythal's tale is one that spans centuries. I will tell as much as I can before my spirit slips back into the past." She gestured toward several benches that looked as if they'd been literally tossed into the corner. Broken legs and blocks of stone lay scattered around them. "I regret I cannot offer you better hospitality, but I believe you may find an intact seat or two in that pile."

They found three benches that appeared sound enough to support the weight of six people. Corran and Durwyn positioned them in a half-circle. Kestrel and the others sat down-all except Durwyn, who repeatedly glanced over his shoulder at the entrance. "I don't want any more nagas to surprise us," he said finally. "I'll stand guard and listen from the door."

The fighter's absence left an empty space beside Kestrel. To her surprise, the ghost herself took that seat Had Caalenfaire come so close, Kestrel would have jumped like a rabbit but somehow she felt calm in Anorrweyn's presence. A fleeting look of envy passed over Faeril's features at Kestrel's proximity to Anorrweyn, but the cleric's own seat actually offered a better view of the priestess.

"The Mythal was woven in the Year of Soaring Stars," the spirit began. "The city's greatest wizards, most of them elves, came together to lay the Mythal. Working cooperatively, they wove a spell greater than the sum of its casters. Each chose a special power to infuse into the mantle, and each gave some of his or her life to engender it." The ghostly elf turned to Corran. "You wish to speak?"

Anorrweyn's perceptiveness impressed Kestrel-the priestess had not even been looking at him directly. "Yes," Corran said, appearing startled himself. "What kind of powers?"

"All kinds. Protections preventing certain types of magic from being used within the city. Interdicts to prevent undesirable races-such as drow, orcs, and goblins- from entering the city. The creation of amenities such as blueglow moss for the injured and a featherfall effect for the clumsy. These are but a few." The elven priestess glanced at the others as if checking whether more questions were forthcoming. Seeing no such indication, she continued. "The chief caster, Mythanthor, sacrificed his life to bring the Mythal into being. The weaving process consumed him body and soul. This sacrifice he made willingly, that by his death the Mythal and his beloved city would live."