"Priestess!" Faeril cried. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Anorrweyn met each of their gazes. Her visage held the expression of one who has dire news to impart. "I could not commune with the Mythal. The Weave rejected my attempt."

Corran, whose face had become hopeful upon the ghost's reappearance, now addressed her with grim resignation. "The Mythal's corruption is too great to save it?"

The spirit shook her head sadly. "Worse. Another Gem of the Weave is already in use."

"Another gem?" Faeril exclaimed. "How is that possible?"

"Harldain gave us the only suitable replacement stone," Corran added. "At least, that's what he told us."

Anorrweyn's face clouded with disgust. "I doubt not the dwarven lord's word. It is the Protector who, I fear, plays a dangerous game with the truth."

Though the others looked at the priestess in confusion, a spark of understanding ignited in Kestrel. Anorrweyn did not speak of another replacement stone. "The baelnorn told us he destroyed the original gem-"

"We will see about that." With a sweep of the ghost's arm, a gate opened in the night air.

Beyond lay the torchlit lair of the Protector. "Come. Let us talk with Miroden Silverblade!"

The baelnorn appeared only mildly surprised by the party's abrupt arrival in his chamber. He set aside the book he'd been reading and rose to greet them. "Good eve, my friends." He looked each of them in the eye but could not meet Anorrweyn's gaze. "Priestess Evensong."

"I have known you many, many centuries, Miroden Silverblade," the priestess began. Though her tone was harsh, it softened. "In life and in death, our paths intertwined as we struggled to save the City of Song from evils mundane and arcane. Through the Opening, the Weeping War, the occupation by creatures of the Abyss-always have we been on the same side."

The Protector bowed his head as Anorrweyn continued. "Now that Myth Drannor faces its greatest threat yet, I fear our paths diverge. You have told these brave adventurers, who fight to save a city not their own, that you destroyed the Sapphire of the Weave. Miroden, I was present at the creation of the gem. I witnessed the Moment of Binding. I know that as you stand before me, the sapphire yet exists in this world."

The priestess touched her hand to the baelnorn's withered cheek. A tear wet her fingers. "You love this city more deeply than most of the People love their lifemates. What happened, Miroden, to make you betray your sacred duty as communicant? Where is the sapphire? Open your heart to me, old friend."

The Protector closed his eyes and pressed Anorrweyn's palm against his cheek. He sighed heavily-an anguished, heartrending moan-then tore his face away from her gentle touch. He crossed to the empty gem case and ran shaking hands over its surface. "I thought… I thought…" He extended his hands heavenward and dropped to his knees. "Mystra, forgive me!"

He collapsed, rocking on the floor as he hid his face from view. Anorrweyn laid her hands on the baelnorn's shoulders and whispered words audible only to his ears. He nodded, reaching up to grasp one of her hands. The priestess continued her gentle murmurings. After a little while, he nodded a second time and rose.

"It is with the deepest shame that I stand before you," the baelnorn said. His face seemed to have aged a century in mere minutes. "I allowed pride to blind me, and in so doing, I violated the sacred trust placed in me so many years ago." He paused and looked at the priestess. "Anorrweyn's suspicions are correct-the Sapphire of the Weave still exists." The baelnorn lowered his head. "Kya Mordrayn has it."

"That is not a cause for shame," Corran said softly. "You are but one person. She had a whole cult to help her steal it from you."

Silverblade raised his head sharply. A pained expression crossed it. "She did not steal it. I-I gave it to her."

Kestrel gasped. She was not the only one-all of them regarded the so-called Protector with shock. How could he have done such a thing? She wanted to shout a thousand questions and a hundred epithets but held her tongue. The baelnorn shut his eyes against their incredulous expressions.

"Continue, Miroden," Anorrweyn bade. "Tell us how it happened."

"When the archmage first came to me, she spoke eloquently of Myth Drannor's lost beauty and grace-of the silvertrees in the courtyard of the Maerdrym, of how the Windsong Towers brushed against the stars. Oh, how her words made me long for the old days, Anorrweyn! Times so long past even the People have started to forget."

The baelnorn's eyes held a faraway expression.

"Mordrayn told me she had discovered a way to restore the City of Song to its former splendor. By using the Mythal to summon a Pool of Radiance, we could infuse new life into the city. The fading Mythal would grow strong once more, and Myth Drannor, in turn, would rise to greatness again."

The dreamlike trance faded as the Protector's thoughts returned to the present. He ran his fingers along the edge of the empty gem case. "She told me that the fate of Myth Drannor rested in my hands alone, and in my foolish pride I believed her. I did not ask the questions I should have asked." He met Anorrweyn's penetrating gaze. "I wanted so much for her words to be true, for myself to be the one whose faith and perseverance restored the city, that I did not probe into the details of her plan."

"I know that hope for the city's revival has sustained you through centuries of lonely isolation," Anorrweyn offered.

"That can never excuse my actions," he said. "I surrendered the Sapphire of the Weave-the treasure entrusted to me so long ago by more worthy lords than I-to Mordrayn. I taught her the incantation. Mordrayn contacted the Mythal and directed its ancient power to create a Pool of Radiance deep within Castle Cormanthor. Only afterward did she reveal herself as an archmage in the Cult of the Dragon. By the time I realized the horror of what I had done, I could not stop her. The pool brought life, yes-stolen life. It spawns tendrils of itself in other cities and drains the spirits of the living to fuel the tainted Mythal."

"A diabolical cycle," Corran said. "What is her final purpose?"

"I do not know." The baelnorn shook his head in bewilderment. "By Our Lady, this is not what I intended! I sought to redeem the City of Song-instead, I have damned it."

"Nay, Miroden," Anorrweyn said gently. "Hope lives. We have created a new Gem of the Weave."

Some of the anguish left his face. He gazed at the party in amazement. "You succeeded? Then you can undo some of the damage I have wrought. You must break Mordrayn's link with the Mythal." The baelnorn passed his hand in front of the wall. An opening formed, revealing a passage behind. "This tunnel leads to the castle. Find the sapphire. Destroy it by touching it while speaking this word: Ethgonil. It is the Word of Redemption."

Kestrel and the others hesitated, still trying to absorb all they'd heard. Kestrel felt she ought to be angry with the Protector for his betrayal, for setting in motion the events it now fell to her and her companions to stop. Yet, as she looked at the baelnorn's shriveled form, his face wracked with shame, she felt only pity.

"Make haste," Anorrweyn urged. "The cult cannot be allowed to poison the Mythal any further. I will return to the Speculum. When the sapphire is destroyed, I shall use the emerald to turn the Mythal's power against our enemies. Then you can seize the Gauntlets of Moander from Mordrayn to destroy the pool."

As they filed into the passage one by one, Kestrel stole a last glimpse at Miroden Silverblade. The elf lord who had for centuries defended the Sapphire of the Weave with strength and wisdom-who had willingly sacrificed his own life to protect the Mythal-once again huddled on the floor. Anorrweyn knelt beside him, drew his head into her lap and gently rocked the tortured spirit.