The light of a nearly-full moon guided Alustriel safely past the ruined street's many obstacles as she made her way back toward the camp. A cool spring breeze blew among the shattered buildings, the night air of this latitude much warmer than she was used to at this time of year.
She looked back over her shoulder. At the far end of the wide avenue she walked on now, she could see the distant, looming silhouette of the Dome of Birds, which in the days of Myth Drannor's glory had been the greatest theater in the Realms. In the opposite direction, no more than a quarter of a mile beyond the campfire, stood the Dawnspire, the temple to the dawn-god Lathander, which had been established here with the purpose of bringing about the rebirth of the ancient city. Many centuries ago, even before Alustriel and her sisters had been born, Myth Drannor had been the greatest center of culture the world of Toril had ever known. All of the good races had lived here together in harmony, producing magnificent works of art, literature, music, architecture, and magic. Then came the day when hordes of summoned devils swarmed through the streets and squares, destroying all that could not escape, and laying low in a few hours what had taken centuries to build. Now, nothing remained but these monster-haunted ruins, and the great mythal, the mighty magical creation that still encompassed the whole of the ruined city.
Alustriel shook her head as she recalled what had happened when she had taken the suffering woman's magic into herself. She had braced herself for a sudden inrush of power – nothing beyond her ability to handle; after all, she bore the silver fire of Mystra within her at all times. When she had begun to draw the magic into her, however, she had momentarily sensed a vast ocean of power bearing down upon her. It was rather like upending a tankard of water to drain it off at a single draught, and discovering that the tankard had no bottom and was connected to the sea itself. A moment later, as if someone had thrown a switch, the reservoir of power was cut off and Alustriel had sensed a fluctuation throughout the entire mythal, from one horizon to the other. Her peculiar sensibilities as one of the Chosen of Mystra enabled her to sense this aberration of magic. She suspected that her status as one of the goddess of magic's living repositories of power had also saved her from a destroying blast.
The three adventurers who had come stumbling into their camp had been filled with the blue fire of raw magical energy – far more of such energy than common mortal bodies were disposed to hold. As Taruele had discovered, to her cost, the addition of even a single spell's energy would cause the blue fire to explode out of its fragile container, vaporizing it, and consuming anyone in the near vicinity. Had the man been just a few yards closer when Taruele had cast her spell, it was certain that some of the Company of the Catlash would be charred corpses at this moment. As it was, the sudden consumption of so much magic had literally sucked all the spells out of Taruele's mind to help fuel the spectacular blast. Such a thing was a terrifying, possibly even mind-harming experience, and Alustriel hoped the slender white-haired mage would recover. Being half-elven, her mind would be better equipped to deal with such trauma, but it would be many days before she could study magic again.
Alustriel's anger grew as she continued to piece the situation together in her mind. Those three unlucky adventurers had been perfect death-traps. Their alarming apparance would naturally draw a magical response from the group's spellcasters – spells of divination, at least, if not holding or attack spells. If the resulting explosion did not kill the mage and those near her, it would at least rob her mind of spells and render her helpless. Meanwhile, the ghouls could keep the fighters busy long enough for this to occur. They had been no match for the Company. Most of them had fallen or been driven off within minutes, and Chaldara and Jandeth would have their holy symbols ready to drive off any who tried to return. Except for poor Shaliira's being paralyzed by one lucky claw-strike, none of the Company had even been injured. But, ghouls so close to the Dawnspire and its priests? By rights, this area should be entirely free of undead.
They had been sent. There was no question about it. Sent by someone who had the ability to funnel the power of the mythal itself to his own uses – evil uses. The power that could be commanded by one with such ability would be truly staggering.
This person had to be sought out, and stopped.