A second later, the passage shook with the force of an earthquake. Rocks and debris rained down, pummeling the party and thickening the air with dust. Kestrel held the edge of her cloak over her nose to keep from inhaling the dirt as she dodge the falling rocks, but a fit of coughing seized her.

Ahead of her, Corran lost his footing. He fell, narrowly escaping the path of a huge stone that slammed into the ground where he had just stood.

"Corran?" Kestrel shouted but could not hear her own voice in the din of the tunnel's collapse. Nor could she see the paladin. Had the rock hit him after all?

Suddenly, an enormous weight slammed Kestrel to the ground. Another boulder. White-hot pain shot through her legs from the knees down. She was pinned.

The explosion seemed to last forever. The few torches that lined the walls shook loose. They fell and sputtered out, immersing the party in blackness. Kestrel shouted again, but still the roar drowned out her words. Yet somehow, above the thunder sang Mordrayn's voice, laughing in wicked delight.

The sound wasn't nearly as bad as what followed. Once the debris settled, Kestrel called to her companions. Her unanswered cry echoed in the silence.

The silence of a tomb.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

She was trapped in the darkness.

Her legs were broken, her companions unconscious or dead.

Kestrel pushed at the boulder pinning her to the ground. It wouldn't budge. She leaned back, summoned energy from a place deep within herself, and tried again. She could not wobble the huge stone in the slightest.

"Dammit!" She choked back a sob of frustration and beat the rock with her fist, but succeeded only in bruising her knuckles. Damn it all! Every last, bloody moment of this whole damned quest.

She let the pain in, then-into her mind. She'd been forcing it back, but something had to drive off the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. A whimper escaped her lips.

"Kestrel?"

"Corran?" She'd never been so happy to hear another human voice. "Are you all right?" Her eyes, unused to the absolute blackness, probed the dark for some faint image of the paladin but saw nothing.

"I have a terrible headache-I believe I lost consciousness for a while there. What about you?" She heard him moving, his armor scraping against rocks and debris.

"I think my legs are broken."

"Keep talking so I can find you."

"Only if you talk back." Her spirit clung to Corran's disembodied voice like a lifeline. "I'm under a boulder-it fell on me, and I can't move it."

"It pinned your legs?"

"Just below the knee. I think they might be crushed." Her head suddenly felt very light. "I don't know-they hurt real bad for a bit, but now I don't feel them so much."

He seemed to move more rapidly. "Have you heard sounds from anyone else?"

"No."

He scuffled on some loose gravel. The sound was closer than she expected, and she felt the air move nearby. "Here." She reached out and caught his hand. It felt warm and strong in hers. She hadn't realized how cold she'd grown.

"You're freezing." He rubbed her fingers in his palms, then let them drop. "I'm going to see how big this rock is." She heard him shuffle around the boulder, running his hands over its surface. "If I can find somewhere to plant my feet for leverage, I think I can roll it off your legs. Here."

She heard more scuffling, followed by several grunts. Then, ever so slowly, the pressure lifted from her legs. Fresh pain seized her as blood coursed through the vessels.

Corran returned to her side. She flinched as his hands touched one of her legs, old defenses working reflexively. If the paladin noticed, he didn't comment as he methodically palpated her knees and shins. "Good news, Kestrel. The rock didn't crush the bones-I feel two clean breaks. With Tyr's grace, I can heal you."

"No." The word flew out of her mouth before she even had time to think about how foolish she sounded. She hated being injured, hated feeling vulnerable. That it was Corran who ministered to her now made it all the worse.

"Kestrel… I know we haven't gotten along well. Part of that is my fault. But right now I'm all you've got. Let me help you."

He was right, of course. Even if the others were alive, Faeril's healing powers were exhausted. If she wanted to get out of this cavern any time soon, she had to accept the paladin's aid. "Okay," she conceded.

She was grateful for the darkness as Corran laid his hands on her damaged legs and commenced his prayer to Tyr. Comforting warmth radiated from his palms and fingers, soothing away her pain and knitting her broken bones. As he prayed, she felt herself relax. The perpetual agitation he provoked in her subsided, replaced by reassurance. She might not bear any great love for Corran D'Arcey, but after all they'd been through together, she did trust him.

He finished his prayer and sat back. "How do you feel?"

"Good as new." She started to rise, eager to confirm that she could stand on her own, but Corran placed a restraining hand on her arm.

"Rest a while longer," he said. "Let your bones strengthen before you crash into something as you stumble around in the dark."

Reluctantly, she settled back down. He, however, sounded as if he were starting to rise. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"To see if I can find the others."

"In the dark?"

"They may be alive but injured. I must at least try to locate them."

Kestrel thought the effort hopeless, but she could understand Corran's drive to try. It was the paladin in him-the helper, the healer. Faeril would have done the same.

The thought of the cleric sparked an idea. "Corran, when you heal people, you receive that power from your god, right? Just like Faeril?"

"Sort of." His tone questioned where she was going with this, but he continued, "In both cases it is divine power, but paladins and clerics channel it differently. Tyr grants me the ability to heal with the touch of my hands. Clerics heal through miracles-they petition their gods to answer prayer spells with divine magic, to heal and perform other wonders."

"Can you make your hands glow, like Faeril did?" She drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. Perhaps it was the darkness, or the dread of being left alone, but she found herself warming to Corran's conversation.

"No. I suspect that is a gift specific to Mystra's faithful, for I have never witnessed it before." He paused. "I have seen Tyr's priests and older paladins produce a glowing ball of light through prayer. I've also seen seasoned paladins, like my father and older brothers, perform some of the miracles of clerics, but only after years of faithful service. Once they have proven themselves, Tyr thus empowers them to better do his work."

His father and brothers? "Is everyone in your family a paladin?"

He laughed. "Pretty much. The D'Arceys have served Tyr for as many generations as we can remember. It's a lot to live up to."

No wonder Corran had such lofty notions about honor and justice. He'd probably been indoctrinated in the cradle and hadn't seen enough of the world to temper his idealism. At least, not when they'd met. Since coming to Myth Drannor, Corran had lost some of that naivete. His personality still needed some work, but he no longer spouted about "fallen worthies" and never retreating from a battle. His experiences in this doomed city had indeed seasoned him.

Perhaps, she thought, Corran had served Tyr well enough to get them out of this living tomb. "Have you ever tried to perform a miracle?"

"Nay, 'twould be presumptuous!"

"Then how will you know when you've proven yourself?" Emboldened by the darkness, by her inability to see whatever expression-condescension? outrage?-his face held, she pressed on. "I don't pretend to know much about matters of faith, Corran. But if we die in this tunnel and Mordrayn succeeds at her plan, Tyr won't have any followers left on Toril because they'll all be dead. We could really use his help right now. If you're worried about sounding presumptuous, ask for something small-like a light."