Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (15 page)

“I did as you told me. I found those who share my tainted blood. And the only thing I learned was that I have to keep killing. I’ve known that lesson my whole life!”

The creature made no response but stood perfectly still, waiting for Abdel to continue.

“There has to be more to my destiny than just slaughtering my Bhaalspawn kin! But you refuse to help me. Why? You know something. Why can’t you just tell me?

“There are forces greater than you can yet comprehend at work. Many of them are working through you. They can save you or destroy you. I must be cautious, for your own sake as well as the sake of the future.

“If you are not yet ready to ask the question, Abdel Adrian, you are not yet ready to truly understand the answer.”

Abdel laughed, uncertain if he meant the sound to be wistful or bitter. “You sound like Gorion.”

“Your adopted father was a wise man.”

The big sellsword glanced briefly at the doors, then turned his attention back to his strange companion. As desperate as he was to get back to the real world, he could not simply throw away a chance to learn something about what was going on. He opened his mouth to speak, and a million questions tried to come out at once. The result was only choking silence. He took a deep breath and tried again.

“The Five … do they really exist as Melissan claims? Are they truly attempting to resurrect Bhaal?”

“What Melissan has told you is the truth,” the being admitted, then hastily added, “but there is much about the Five she has not revealed.”

Abdel was momentarily caught off guard by the answer. The rushed qualification seemed vitally important, yet at the same time the being seemed almost ashamed, as if it had violated some extra-planar law or an obscure immortal code of honor by sharing too much.

“You aren’t in charge here, are you?” Abdel asked, slowly beginning to understand.

The being shook its head slowly. “I am but a servant of divine will, Abdel. I cannot take an active part in your destiny. Events must unfold as they will.”

“And I suppose you won’t tell me my destiny,” Abdel said wearily.

“Even the powers I serve cannot say.”

Abdel spat in disgust. The parched ground devoured the moisture.

“You are of no more help to me than my mortal advisors,” he sneered. He turned toward the doors and marched through the nearest one without looking back.

The vast expanse of the lifeless Abyss vanished, replaced by the unmistakable sights and sounds of battle. Armored men hacked and chopped at each other. Arrows and sling stones flew through the air indiscriminately striking their targets. Foot soldiers used pikes and pole-arms to unseat their mounted rivals or were trampled beneath the churning hooves of enemy steeds. The horses reared and neighed, froth spraying from their snapping teeth, their flanks covered in sweat and blood.

The dead and dying lay underfoot, crushed, cut, stabbed, and gored. The clash of steel on steel, the panicked screams of horses and men, and the groans of the mangled, mutilated soldiers writhing on the turf mingled in a single dull roar—the song of battle.

Abdel was surrounded by the carnage on all sides. He had materialized in the exact spot he had stood when Yaga Shura had breathed his last. The giant’s corpse lay only a few feet away, now pounded into a barely recognizable pulpy mountain of flesh by the boots and hooves of the battling armies. The big sellsword had no idea how long he had been gone, but from the condition of Yaga Shura’s corpse he knew it was long enough for the tide of battle to have swept over this one spot several times.

From his vantage point amidst the chaos Abdel couldn’t gauge the ebb and flow of war. He had no idea which side was winning, and he didn’t care. It was all moot anyway. The dragon that he had glimpsed before being snatched away into the Abyss would destroy Saradush—it would destroy both armies, and it would destroy Jaheira and Imoen if Abdel couldn’t save them. First he had to find them.

He glanced down at what remained of Yaga Shura’s axe, then turned his attention elsewhere. He had no need of the enchanted weapon to hack his way through the wall of mortal soldiers between him and the women he loved, and Abdel was a swordsman, not a woodcutter. Fortunately, swords were in great supply at this point in the battle.

He snatched a heavy, broad blade from the hand of one of the fallen, ignoring the feeble protests from the clutching corpse too stupid to know it was already dead.

Abdel struck without thought, savagely hacking down anyone in range in his mad attempt to simply thin the throng surrounding him. He ignored the counterattacks directed at his own unarmored body. His mind blocked out the pain, and his immortal spirit absorbed the countless blows and healed his wounds. The small corner of Abdel’s mind not obsessed with mowing down the hapless men between himself and his missing companions noted that his healing powers were stronger than ever— many of the wounds closed so fast Abdel didn’t even to start to bleed. \

Nevertheless, he was soon covered in sticky crimson fluid and warm gore from head to toe. The blood of his opponents matted his hair and soaked into his clothes. The cloying scent clung to his nostrils, and he could taste the coppery tang on his tongue. Rubbing the back of his blood-soaked hand across his eyes couldn’t clear the crimson veil from his vision.

And through it all, the essence of Bhaal within Abdel stayed calm. He did not revel in the massacre of friend and foe alike, this was not death to be savored. This was slaughter with a single cold purpose: Find Jaheira and Imoen before the dragon turned its attention to the battlefield.

The impossibility of Abdel’s task never entered his mind. He ignored the facts—thousands of combatants milling about over an area expansive in size—and allowed himself to believe he would somehow stumble across his lover and his sister.

Through the confusion of bodies Abdel occasionally saw distant visions of death and destruction raining down on the city of Saradush. A single flick of a great scaled tail toppled the spires of a noble’s mansion. A blast of deadly fire from the sky incinerated entire city blocks. A gigantic reptilian beast descended on leatherlike wings to rend and devour a dozen unfortunate victims fleeing through the streets. The glimpses of the great wyrm ravaging Saradush merely spurred Abdel ever onward in his hopeless search.

Then he heard his name, screamed with primal, animal rage over the cacophony of the conflict.

“Abdel!”

He turned toward the desperate, crazed cry and saw a single disheveled figure on horseback bearing down on him. The man looked more beast than human, hunched over the saddle of his wild-eyed mount, his tangled, greasy mane streaming out behind him as he rode, a single hairy arm brandishing a heavy spear high above his head.

Abdel, despite his best efforts, had been unable to locate either Jaheira or Imoen. But somehow Gromnir, the mad general of the Calimshan forces, had managed to find him.

“Abdel!” Gromnir bellowed, “We meet again! Good fun. Hah!”

The horse bore down on him, but Abdel held his ground. At the last second he stepped forward, ducking under Gromnir’s thrusting spear and wrapping his muscular arm around the steed’s thick neck. Abdel braced himself, but was still thrown backward by the impact of the charging beast and sent hurtling through the air. The pop of Abdel’s shoulder dislocating was lost beneath the thunderous crack of a dozen bones in the horse’s neck snapping like dry kindling.

By the time Abdel was back on his feet, his shoulder had already slipped back into place, with no ill effects. Gromnir was not so fortunate. He might have been a Child of Bhaal, but like Imoen and most of the others he lacked the superhuman regenerative powers of Abdel or Yaga Shura.

The general was crawling weakly out from beneath the convulsing body of his horse, pulling himself forward with only his hands. Abdel could see Gromnir’s pelvis had been smashed in the fall. Already a dark stain was seeping up over the belt and from beneath the chainmail leggings that covered Gromnir’s body below the waist.

“Abdel,” the crippled, twisted man croaked. “Abdel betrayed Gromnir. Ha-ha! Gromnir fell for Abdel’s trap.”

He could have turned his back on the helpless man and simply resumed his search to find Jaheira and Imoen. But something within Abdel couldn’t endure the unfounded allegations the Calimshite general had leveled at him.

“I am no traitor, Gromnir,” he said in an even voice.

“Hah! Good fun, Abdel. Joking while Gromnir dies! Ha-ha!”

Abdel shook his head. ‘You’re crazy.”

“Crazy? Gromnir and his men rode into an ambush! Hah! A thousand cavalry troops hidden behind the hills, reinforcements to smash Gromnir’s army!” The dying man’s words frothed up on his lips as he spit them out. The spray was tinged pink from the blood welling up from his gut wounds.

“They knew Gromnir was coming out from behind his walls! Ha ha! And the dragon … it knew, too. Watching and waiting for Gromnir to take the bait! Abdel’s plan worked! Ha! Saradush was left defenseless!”

“It wasn’t my plan,” Abdel protested, but his arguments went unheard as a spasm of choking coughs wracked Gromnir’s broken body.

The druid and the girl,” Gromnir continued, his voice growing softer with every word, “they knew. They fled back to the city, they did not walk into the trap. Ha!”

Another series of coughs shook Gromnir and then his body lay still. Abdel didn’t stay there to witness his death. The big sellsword was already charging through the mass of combatants again, carving his way directly toward the city— or what was still standing beneath the dragon’s wrath.

As he traversed the battlefield, Abdel cursed his own stupidity. Of course Jaheira and Imoen were in the city! Gromnir had thought they fled the battle, but the general’s mind was limited by his own instincts for self-preservation. Abdel knew the real explanation.

He could clearly imagine the scene. He saw the women he loved herding the civilians to safety, trying to help them find some shelter, some refuge from the terrible monster ravaging their town. Jaheira and Imoen were, as usual, risking their own lives to save the innocent and helpless.

Now that he had a goal, Abdel made quick progress. He had reached the still-open gates of Saradush and was rushing down the rubble-filled streets, ignoring the flame engulfed buildings on either side of him. The city was choked with a thick veil of smoke, forcing Abdel to hunch his seven-foot frame nearly in half to stay beneath the acrid clouds.

He knew Jaheira and Imoen would be where the destruction was the greatest—all he had to do was find the dragon, and he would find his friends.

Finding the dragon was easy. He just ran toward the screams. He was still several blocks away when he saw the enormous beast rampaging through the street, reducing buildings to dust and slaughtering every living thing that came within reach of its claws, jaws, or tail. As with all dragons, this specimen was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. As he approached, Abdel realized this dragon was but a youth, barely even full grown. Its scales were smooth and unmarked by the scars of great battles yet to come. Its hide was still a bright, shiny red. As it aged, its coloration would darken and deepen. If the creature was as inexperienced in tactics and combat as its immaturity would suggest, Abdel might have a hope of defeating it.

At the far end of the block Abdel caught a glimpse of half a dozen figures huddling in the ground level of a burned-out hull of a building whose upper reaches had already been destroyed by dragon fire. Even at this distance, Abdel recognized the silhouetted outline of Jaheira through the haze and the smaller form of Imoen beside her. Imoen’s arms moved in the intricate patterns Abdel had seen mages and wizards use when performing an enchantment, and through the darkness Abdel could clearly see a parchment scroll with glowing symbols at her feet. A second later the entire group vanished from sight.

Momentarily stunned, it took Abdel a second to realize they were still there, their presence cloaked by a spell of invisibility. However, he didn’t have time to wonder at Imoen’s previously unrevealed magical talents as the dragon’s attention was now even more focused on the small structure in which the group had sought shelter.

Slowly, as if savoring the coming slaughter, the dragon began to march along the street toward the invisible Imoen and those she would protect. A deep mocking laugh rolled out from the monster’s throat, rising above the deafening crackle of flames and the screams of the other townsfolk fleeing in terror at its approach.

Abdel never hesitated in his charge, never even slowed his stride—though part of his mind was screaming at him to turn and run. The beast could rip him apart with one swipe of its massive talons or reduce him to a pile of ash and charcoal with a blast of fire so hot it would cause great chunks of the stone walls fortifying the city to melt.

Abdel knew his own instantaneous healing couldn’t save him from death in the face of such traumatic, grievous

injury, though it might have appeared that way to the soldiers ineffectually hacking at him back on the field of battle. Abdel knew he wasn’t immortal.

It was more than just the knowledge of his own mortality that made a section of Abdel’s mind cower in terror. Despite its obvious youth, the great red wyrm dwarfed the humans and halflings scurrying before it. It spread its enormous wings to span the breadth of the entire street, casually batting the tiny figures who stumbled too close to the leathery appendages, leaving the victims in crumpled, unconscious heaps.

Though large enough to carry off a pair of owlbears in its claws, the awesome spectacle of the dragon’s presence was’ the result of more than just sheer size. Its young scales gleamed with an inner brilliance, each as beautiful and bright as a priceless ruby. Yet they were woven together so tightly they seemed to form an impenetrable coat of armor over the beast’s back. From the tips of its razor-sharp teeth to the ends of its serpentine tail thirty feet away, the creature exuded glorious power. There was a majesty about dragons, even young ones, that transcended even their own incomprehensible physical presence: a physical aura of grandeur, magnificence, and pure malevolence that made Abdel want to throw himself to the ground and tremble in fear. Dragonfear, the sages called it.