Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (21 page)

The wise course of action was to simply wait, bide his time until Abdel arrived, then unleash his pets on the Bhaalspawn. No single man, not even Bhaalspawn, could withstand the assault of a dozen dragons. Since his meeting with the council of dragons the previous morning, Abazigal was nearly out of patience. He had spent years suffering beneath the master’s tyranny, futilely hoping he would learn some way to rid himself of his half-breed status. He had spent years plotting and conspiring with the foul drow Sendai and the rest of the Five to bring back their father.

Now his greatest desire was nearly within his grasp. The sooner Abdel Adrian was dead, the sooner Bhaal would return and grant Abazigal true dragon status. Then Saladrex would support his plan to restore dragons to their rightful place.

With a sharp, hissing whistle Abazigal grabbed the attention of his pets. “Find Abdel,” he said slowly so their damaged minds could process his instructions. “Seek him out on the plains to the north. When you find him, kill him.”

One by one the dozen young wyrms who served Abazigal leaped from the mouth of his great cavern, eager as ever to do his bidding. Gathering speed, their great bodies rumbled across the plateau where Abazigal had built his lair, charging toward the sheer cliffs that fell away from the mountain peak on all sides. Screaming their hunting cries, their bodies plunged over the precipice, hurtling toward the ground below. At the last second they pulled out of the steep dive and arced high into the early morning sky, their calls still echoing throughout the mountains.

Abazigal watched them go, as magnificent as any true dragons he had ever witnessed. Soon Abazigal himself would be one of them.

Abdel had passed the entire night without sleeping. His body, weary and battered from his battle with Sarevok, felt fresh and energized once again as the first rays of dawn peeked through the mountaintops to illuminate the entrance of his cave. Then he heard them—the unmistakable cries of a dragon in flight.

He burst from the cave, scanning the skies for the beast. To his amazement he saw not one dragon, but nearly a dozen. Their enormous bodies dropped like stones from the top of a nearby peak, then swooped up and away. Abdel, fascinated by the spectacle, could only stand and watch.

The dragons flew off to the north, oblivious to the human standing a short distance to the south watching their progress. When the final wyrm disappeared on the horizon, Abdel set off toward the peak they had launched themselves from, certain he would find Abazigal there,

and hopefully Jaheira as well. If he had any hope of saving his lover, he would have to find her and escape before the army of dragons returned.

It took less than an hour for Abdel to reach the base of Abazigal’s mountain enclave, but the most difficult part of his journey was still ahead—a thousand feet straight up the sheer rock face. Studying the obstacle before him, Abdel could make out a number of small ledges and jutting rock formations large enough for a man to stand on. These were few and far between. Scaling the mountain would mean free climbing with no chance to stop and rest. Even Abdel’s own godlike endurance had limits, and he was about to test them fully.

Hoping his healing abilities could save him should he fall, Abdel began the ascent. Any ordinary man foolish enough to even attempt the climb would have surely plunged to his death long before reaching the first ledge, unable to push his body through the tremendous physical strain of literally crawling up the side of an unassailable mountain. Abdel had the strength necessary to drag himself ever higher.

His powerful hands found holds in the countless tiny cracks and fissures that covered the cliff wall. His boots scrabbled and scratched at the hard surface, seeking and finding footholds in the rough stone. Often he was forced to support his entire weight with a single arm, hauling his massive body up until the sweat-slicked, groping fingers of his free hand were able to fasten onto a tiny outcropping of stone higher up the mountain. Again and again his limbs fought against fatigue as he dangled hundreds of feet above the rocks below, but each time the essence of his immortal father gave him the endurance to press on and up to the next ledge where he could stop and allow his body a few minutes to recuperate.

The higher he climbed, the more difficult the trial became. The atmosphere grew thin, and Abdel found himself gasping for breath. The cold air of the mountain’s upper reaches chilled his limbs, making them stiff and heavy. A sheen of icy frost coated everything, seeping into the crevices he used to pull himself along and making his grip slip and slide.

When he finally slung his leg up over the ledge of the plateau at the summit, the sun was at its zenith. The climb had taken him well over three hours, time Abdel was afraid he couldn’t spare. Determined as he was to rescue Jaheira, he had no illusions about what would happen if all the dragons returned at once to find him atop their mountain lair. He had barely survived an encounter with a single of the winged monsters—a dozen would shred him to bits.

In the center of the plateau was a great, gaping hole— an entrance to the miles of passages, caves, and caverns descending deep into the mountain’s heart. Somewhere in the rock labyrinth, Abdel prayed, he would find Jaheira.

He his heavy broadsword from the sheath on his back and marched toward the cavern’s entrance. Before he reached his destination, a single figure emerged from the pit and stood to face him.

The thing was shaped like a man, but its skin was patched with multicolored scales. Its head was smooth and hairless, its eyes reptilian in appearance.

“I did not expect you ssso sssoon,” it hissed, a serpentine tongue flicking from its mouth as it spoke. “Even now my petsss are out hunting for you in the plainsss to the north.”

“I have come for Jaheira,” Abdel said, brandishing his sword as he bargained for his lover. “Return her to me and I will leave.”

“Your lover isss no more,” the monster hissed at him. “I sssaw her lassst breath myssself.”

The lizard thing laughed, and Abdel could no longer deny the awful truth. Jaheira was dead. Numb with grief, he could only shake his head in helpless denial. Images of her grisly end came unbidden to his mind, spurred on by the memory of his last image of Jaheira writhing in the dragon’s grasp.

In his mind’s eye he could see her beautiful features twisted in relentless agony as she was crushed within the dragon’s ruthless grip, her bones snapping like kindling. He imagined her head thrown back in a soundless scream as one of the beast’s savage talons pierced her armor and chest, impaling her frail body even as she was frozen by the icy winds of the dragon’s flight.

“No!” Abdel screamed, his mind desperately scrambling to find some small sliver of hope. “No! I will not accept this!” He remembered this pain. He had thought Jaheira lost to him once before, but she had been brought back to life by the clerics of Gond Wonderbringer.

“Give her to me! She may yet be saved!”

Abazigal sneered, his reptilian lips curling into a disdainful sneer. “What makesss you think I will lisssten to your pleasss?”

Abdel knew how ludicrous his request seemed. He understood the lunacy of begging his mortal enemy for the life of his lover, but he didn’t care anymore. All he wanted was Jaheira back.

“I will give you anything,” Abdel promised, his voice wild. “My essence, my spirit, my soul … anything!”

The only response was a scornful hiss. “Ssshe isss gone, fool! Her blood-soaked, broken body gasssped itsss lassst as my pet dropped her at my feet, as an offering for my approval.

“Ssshe sssuffered, Abdel,” Abazigal whispered, his voice dripping venom. “Ssshe died in pain. And then I gave her to my petsss. They ripped her apart and devoured her mangled corpssse pieccce by pieccce!”

“No!” Abdel’s scream ripped the sky, the very mountain trembled beneath the fury of his outrage. Had he the words, he would have vowed a million excruciating deaths upon Abazigal to avenge his fallen lover. But words rarely came to Abdel. He was a man of actions.

“Your half-elf isss dead, Abdel Adrian,” Abazigal replied mockingly. “Asss are you.”

The creature’s taloned hands began to weave the arcane patterns of sorcery in the air, and he began to recite the words of a spell. Abdel leaped toward the monster, determined to hack the reptilian sorcerer down before he could complete his incantation.

Three bounding strides brought Abdel in range. Spinning to build momentum he slashed his sword at the creature’s neck, intending to avenge Jaheira’s death by beheading his foe with a single blow. His sword deflected mere inches from the beast’s throat, ricocheting harmlessly as it struck some unseen, impregnable sorcerer’s shield.

Lightning flared from the creature’s clawed fingers and struck the big sellsword square in the chest, blowing Abdel backward through the air and nearly sending him over the plateau’s ledge. Abdel landed less than a yard from the cliff’s edge, then leaped to his feet and dived out of the path of a second blast of lightning that would have sent him plummeting over the precipice.

He ducked and dodged the onslaught of electrical bolts, slowly working his way ever closer to his enemy. The wizard didn’t seem to care that Abdel was steadily closing the distance between them. Just before Abdel got himself within range to try another swipe of his sword, the creature vanished.

Abdel spun around, certain his foe would reappear directly behind him, but the lizardlike mage was now standing on the far side of the plateau, already invoking another spell. Abdel heard a terrible roaring from above and just barely managed to dive clear of the column of flame plunging down on him from the sky Abdel screamed in pain as the terrible heat blistered and seared his skin. As with the dragon’s breath, the injuries inflicted by the fire did not heal.

Badly wounded, Abdel slowly struggled to his feet, only to be knocked to the ground by another lightning blast.

“You have no chance, Abdel Adrian,” his enemy hissed. “Your crude warrior’s skills are no match for my sssorcery.”

As he lay on the ground, singed and no longer even able to stand, Abdel knew Abazigal spoke the truth.

Imoen shifted from side to side on the thin straw mattress that served as her bed. Melissan had not been exaggerating when she claimed the monks within the monastery lived a sparse, barren existence. Apart from the none-too-comfortable sleeping mat, there were no furnishings in Imoen’s room. The walls were smooth, bare, white stone—just like every other wall she had seen since entering the sanctuary.

Imoen had been surprised to find the interior of the monastery was nothing more than a collection of single-story stone barracks lining either side of a large, open courtyard. In the center of the courtyard was a single stone tower, just slightly shorter than the thirty foot walls surrounding Balthazar’s simple keep.

Melissan had introduced her to two of the order’s members, Brother Regund and Brother Lysus. Imoen found herself fascinated by the intricate tattoos covering the shaved heads and faces of the two men. She was dying to ask the significance of the glorious designs, certain they carried some deep religious significance. Remembering how she had embarrassed herself in front of Melissan with her earlier erroneous observations and comments about Balthazar and the monastery, she was willing to let her curiosity go unsatisfied.

Balthazar, the monks had explained after the brief introduction, was temporarily unavailable. They had assured Melissan that they would see to Imoen’s comfort and safety to the best of their abilities.

It seemed to Imoen as if Melissan had found Balthazar’s absence particularly troubling, but the tall woman had merely nodded her head in acceptance of the news.

“Go with these men,” she had reassured Imoen. “They will take you somewhere safe. I have business to attend to, but I will come see to your comfort once I am free.”

Though she was reluctant to leave Melissan’s side, Imoen had followed the two men without protest into the solitary tower jutting up from the center of the courtyard. They led her through the tower’s only door and up a long staircase to the windowless second floor. The floor consisted of nothing but a long, dark hallway and open doors that led into half a dozen rooms—all empty except for a single torch and the straw mats Imoen now struggled to find a comfortable position on.

“Here in the meditation rooms you can rest without fear,” Brother Regund had assured her.

“The members of our order will patrol the entrance to the lower floor to ensure your safety,” Brother Lysus had added. “We will see that no one disturbs you until Balthazar has returned. Our leader will be most eager to speak with you.”

And on that rather ominous note, they had left her alone.

Time passed slowly for Imoen when she was by herself. If the austere surroundings were supposed to inspire peace and contemplation, they weren’t working for her. In fact they seemed to have the opposite effect. She was restless and bored, her quick and curious mind anxious to find anything to draw its attention.

Without the benefit of windows to see the passing of the moon outside, Imoen couldn’t even estimate how long she had been cooped up here. An hour? Four? She wished again that Melissan would come up to visit her. The taller woman had mentioned something about speaking to Imoen once they were safe inside, but she hadn’t come to check on Imoen yet.

Perhaps she was busy with more important matters. Or maybe, Imoen suddenly thought, the monks below would not allow Melissan inside the tower until Balthazar had returned.

The idea seemed preposterous at first glance, but the more she considered it the more plausible it seemed. Imoen had assumed that Melissan and she were guests, but the more she thought about the words and actions of the monks who had greeted them upon their arrival the more Imoen began to suspect she might be a prisoner.

Something about the guards had made Imoen nervous. Their strange tattoos had unnerved her, but it was more than that. Their words were spoken without emotion or feeling. Their faces were lined with intense focus and concentration, but Imoen couldn’t even began to guess what the object of their attentions might be.