Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (23 page)

“Alas, little one,” the throaty voice chuckled. “I am not there.”

“You won’t gain anything by killing me,” Imoen declared, spinning to slash at the blackness behind her. “Whatever part of me belonged to Bhaal has long since vanished.” She leaped forward, stabbing blindly at where she guessed her would be assassin might be.

“Do not struggle, child. It will make things more difficult.”

“Abdel took Bhaal’s taint from me,” Imoen said, still vainly flailing away at the impenetrable gloom. Her words were punctuated by the swish of her blade as it sliced only air.

“We have plans for that one,” the voice assured her.’

It Sounded as if the assassin was right in her ear. Imoen swore she could feel the hot breath of her killer tickling her skin. But when she thrust her elbow back there was nothing to connect with.

“You may kill me, but Abdel will avenge me. He’ll kill you … all of you. You have no idea how strong he is.” Imoen warned.

“Yes, my pretty young girl, we do. The news of your death will break his warrior spirit.”

Imoen felt the blade plunge into her back, skewering vital organs as the assassin struck with uncanny, lethal accuracy. Her screams of agony were nothing but a silent rush of air and a faint gurgle of blood as Sendai mercifully slit her throat.

Abdel’s entire existence had become a world of pain. Fire rained down on him from the sky. It erupted from the ground to consume him. It arced in jets from the fingers of his tormentor to sear and melt his flesh.

Above the roaring blaze he could hear Abazigal’s laughter as the scaly skinned mage fed the conflagration devouring Abdel’s body and soul.

Then suddenly the fire stopped, winking out of existence. Abdel, his eyes shut tight against the heat, peeked from beneath his blistered lids. Abazigal’s body lay beside him on the hard rock of the plateau. The wizard’s reptilian head lay several feet away. Standing over them both was Sarevok, the blades on his forearms dripping with the green blood of the mage.

Abdel tried to speak, though he didn’t know what he would say. His scorched throat could only manage a feeble cracking cough.

Hampered by his heavy plate armor, Sarevok crouched down with difficulty beside Abdel. The dragons are returning,” he said simply. “Already I see their mighty forms on the horizon. They will rend us limb from limb if we do not escape.”

Unable to reply, Abdel could only shake his head. He could hear the shrieking screams of the enraged dragons reverberating across the mountain plateau, growing steadily louder as the wyrms ever closer. But he was too badly injured to even stand, let alone attempt the treacherous descent. Sarevok seemed to understand.

“You can escape into Bhaal’s realm,” the armored warrior explained. “You have done it before, when you killed Illasera and Yaga Shura. You are weaker now, and it will be more difficult. You must allow yourself to be drawn there by the essence of Bhaal as it flees Abazigal’s dead body. It will lead you to the plane of our father. There your body will be restored, and the dragons cannot follow you.”

Too weak to argue, Abdel closed his eyes and tried to do as Sarevok had instructed. He could feel it, a faint tug on his innermost being like a zephyr of wind on a still summer day. Abdel focused on the sensation, and the zephyr became a breeze. The breeze became a gale, the gale a hurricane. Abdel felt his soul snatched up by the roaring spirit wind and opened his eyes in surprise.

For a brief second he was still lying on the ground, the decapitated remains of Abazigal beside him. Sarevok stood several yards away, his body braced to meet the onslaught of the dragons alighting all around them. A pair of taloned feet struck the ground next to Abdel’s head. He could smell the terrible scent of the wyrm’s fury as it investigated the corpse of its master.

As one, the assembled dragons screamed, but Abdel never heard the sound. The material world had already begun to dissolve.

Abdel found himself prostrate on cool, brown dirt. His body was still covered in burns, but he could feel it healing. Within seconds he felt strong enough to stand.

He was back in the Abyssal realm of Bhaal. The great empty plains still stretched before him, but somehow they looked less barren. The earth was a dark, fertile brown, and in the sky were wisps of what might have been rain clouds beginning to form. Before him stood the familiar free-standing doors, but now they numbered only three.

The big sellsword cared little for the magical or mystical, but even he could plainly see what was happening to this world. With the death of the Bhaalspawn, the Lord of Murder’s essence was returning to the Abyssal plane from which it had first been born. The dead world was slowly being resurrected—though what hideous forms of life might sprout up in the accursed realm was anyone’s guess.

He heard the sound of someone walking behind him and spun to face his unknown companion. Abdel didn’t know who or what to expect. Had Sarevok followed him? Perhaps it was the spirit of the recently slain Abazigal, whose spirit had led Abdel here. Maybe it was the other star-covered being, waiting to taunt him with more maddening prophecies or eager to offer more shrouded, secretive, useless advice. Whatever awaited him, Abdel was ready for anything. Except what he saw.

“Jaheira!”

The half-elf smile at him. “I prayed to Mielikki you would come before it was too late,” she whispered.

Abdel pulled her close, clutching her to his chest, relentlessly pressing himself into her body as if he hoped they would become one and he might never lose her again.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, tears of relief streaming down his face.

The druid clung to him as fiercely as he clung to her, but when she spoke her voice was filled with grief. “I am dead, Abdel. That is why I am here.”

Reluctantly Abdel loosened his grip so that he could look into his lover’s eyes and see if she was joking. What he saw was a longing so deep it made his heart want to rend itself in two.

“You … are you a ghost?”

She brushed her long, delicate fingers across his brow, smoothing out the wrinkles of confusion on Abdel’s forehead. Her touch was warm and soothing. “This is but my spirit, my love. My body is no more, though in this world my spirit is as real as my physical self was on the material plane.”

“No!” Abdel declared, his voice rising in angry denial as he pulled Jaheira’s taut, muscular form tight against his own. “No, this cannot be!”

The half-elf nestled her head against Abdel’s powerful chest. The subtle scent of his lover’s hair filled the sellsword’s lungs.

“It is true, my love,” she whispered. “We must accept it and make the most of my time here. I begged Mielikki to grant me this time, but I cannot stay for long. My link to you keeps me here, but soon my soul must become one with the whole of nature.”

Abdel pushed her away, refusing to give up. “No, it doesn’t have to be like this! I brought Sarevok back to life. I can do the same for you!”

Jaheira gently shook her head. “No, Abdel. That cannot be. I am not a child of Bhaal, I do not possess the same essence you and Sarevok share. You cannot give me a piece of your soul to make me live again.”

“Why not?” Abdel demanded. “It might work. It’s worth a try.” He turned and marched toward the nearest door, determined to return to the material plane and reenact the ritual that had reincarnated Sarevok.

“I beg you, Abdel, stop this madness.” The soft pleas of Jaheira caused the big sellsword to freeze in mid-stride. Part of Abdel knew what she was about to say.

“Even if you can perform the ritual to restore me, what will that accomplish? You have seen Sarevok. He is not truly alive anymore. He is a thing, cold and passionless, without emotion. Is that what you would wish for me?”

Abdel dropped his head and turned back to face his lover, desperate tears burning his eyes. “Maybe Sarevok was like that to begin with. Maybe you will be as you always were.”

With a wan smile, Jaheira walked slowly over to him. “No, my love. This is not nature’s way. My time on that world has passed, and my time on this one grows short. Share this time with me, Abdel. Do not waste it with frantic plans and foolish wishes that cannot be fulfilled. Let us just enjoy the little time we have left.”

She reached out, and her touch caused Abdel’s skin to tingle. His blood boiled with desire, and he reached out with trembling hands to peel away the simple tunic Jaheira wore, exposing his lover’s breasts before pulling her close. Jaheira’s fingers slid beneath the scraps of his charred shirt still hanging from his shoulders and traced a sensuous path down Abdel’s powerful back, caressing his muscles before tearing away the tattered remains of his breeches.

Abdel took her there, in the soft brown earth of Bhaal’s realm. Their love making was savage and primal, fuelled by urgent desire and the fierce longing brought on by the knowledge of their imminent separation. Above them lightning crackled, and thunder rolled as the skies burst, dousing them with the shock of chill rains that couldn’t quell their desperate passion.

When they were finished, they lay side by side in the cool mud, letting the downpour wash their bodies clean.

Jaheira snuggled up against Abdel, pressing herself into the crook of his arm and drawing on her lover’s heat to ease the shivering of her naked form. Physically spent, exhausted by their furious copulation, Abdel held his half-elf lover and pretended they would be together forever.

The rains ceased, and their soaking bodies slowly dried beneath the empty night sky of the Abyssal plane. How many hours they spent together taking comfort in the simple closeness of each other, Abdel could not say. An eternity would have seemed but an instant to him, no length of time would ever be enough to justify the unfairness of having to ever let his lover go.

It was Jaheira who finally broke their embrace. “I can stay no longer,” she apologized as she tried to get up. “I must leave.”

Clutching her firmly but gently by the wrist, Abdel kept her from standing. “How can this be?” he asked, staring up into her violet eyes as she crouched overtop of him. “How can I go on without you?”

The half-elf bent to kiss him deep on the lips, then softly pulled herself away.

“You will find a way, Abdel. You must. Do not let my death poison you against the world,” the half-elf warned. “If you let hate and regret consume your mind, the foul essence of Bhaal will swallow your soul.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” he whispered.

‘You won’t always be alone,” she assured him. “There will be others. Other friends. Other lovers.”

The big sellsword shook his head. “No. Not like you. Never like you.”

The half-elf smiled again, though her eyes were sad. “I loved you Abdel, as I loved no other man. But I also loved my husband Khalid as I loved no other man. Someday I hope you will find another to share your love, as I have, but that will not diminish what we have shared.”

With a despondent sigh, Abdel rose to stand beside her. “You are my strength and my wisdom, Jaheira. Without you, I am lost. I cannot face the world alone. Without you I am nothing.”

“You are Abdel Adrian: hero of Baldur’s Gate, savior of the Tree of Life, son of Bhaal, ward of Gorion, lover of Jaheira,” the half-elf replied simply. “You are who you are, Abdel, and nothing will change that. The way before you will be difficult, the tunnel of your future is long and dark. But if you remember who and what you are, I am confident you will emerge in the light on the other side.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Abdel asked, frightened at what the answer might be.

Jaheira planted a kiss on his chest. Her lips were cold, bringing goose bumps to Abdel’s exposed skin. “Such questions not even the gods can answer, my love.”

Her voice sounded distant, as if she was speaking to him across a great chasm.

“No!” Abdel cried out reaching to grab hold of his lover. “No, not yet! Don’t go yet!”

His hands passed through Jaheira as if she was nothing but mist.

“No!” he screamed as the half-elf began to fade away before his eyes, vanishing like a column of smoke dissipating on the breeze. Her body was dissolving, whisked away by some force Abdel could neither see nor stop nor comprehend.

Just before all trace of her features vanished, Jaheira spoke the last words Abdel would ever hear from her lips.

“I love you, Abdel Adrian. Forever.”

Abdel clutched one last time at the vanishing wisp of wind, then collapsed to his knees. Jaheira was gone, and he was alone in his father’s realm, sobbing uncontrollably and clawing at the damp, dark earth in grief and anger.

The sun had yet to climb high enough to crest the monastery’s marble walls, but Melissan was already up. Balthazar had not yet turned up, despite the many reassurances of his followers that his arrival was imminent. Her own extensive investigation of the premises had not turned up the missing monk either. Melissan was beginning to grow suspicious.

She had learned long ago not to trust anyone. Many times the Bhaalspawn she had chosen to save in the past had betrayed her. She had known Balthazar for many years, ever since the Five had first come into existence. He had been her most powerful ally throughout all her efforts. Because of this she consented to allow Imoen to be separated from her when they arrived at Amkethran’s monastery. Now, with Balthazar still absent, Melissan had her doubts.

When she discovered the dead guards at the foot of the tower, still standing rigidly in position, it merely confirmed what she had most feared. The tall woman bounded up the steps two at a time, already knowing what she would find at the top of the stairs.

Imoen’s throat had been slit and her heart cut out. The mark of the drow assassin Sendai was carved into her forehead. Looking at the gruesome corpse, Melissan knew not even the most powerful cleric in Tethyr would be able to restore Imoen to life. Sendai had defiled her corpse, she had polluted the remains with foul poisons, and she had sucked what little immortal essence remained from Imoen’s soul.

Somehow she had done all this right beneath Melissan’s nose. The tall woman knew Sendai was long gone. The drow would never allow herself to be caught above ground during the light of day. A shiver ran down the tall woman’s long spine nonetheless. Melissan had not even been aware Sendai was on the prowl. There had been no warning of the slaughter. Melissan knew that could only mean one thing.