Baldur's Gate (13 page)

Tranzig’s tracks picked up a small, rough, muddy animal trail that wound around low hills, making it difficult for Abdel, riding in the lead, to see more than a few yards ahead. He kept the pace brisk anyway. All three of them were as intent on leaving the horror of that afternoon behind them as they were on catching up to Tranzig.

Abdel hoped he’d never have to face that kind of sick, demented, impossible death again. That wasn’t a way for a man to die, reduced to jelly then burned away with acid poured on him from his wife’s—what? Not lover, but something. She was something to him. The kind of relationship they had might have had a name in the civilized courts of someplace like Waterdeep, but in Abdel’s experience they were only—

His thoughts piled into each other and burst apart as he pulled his horse to a sudden, bone-jarring stop. The others followed suit; a preoccupied Jaheira passed Abdel before she got her animal under control. One of the horses—Abdel thought it might have been Xan’s—snorted loudly, and Abdel hushed it. He slid from his horse, put his finger to his lips, and began to climb a short, bowl-shaped hill.

Xan looked like he wanted to say something but knew enough to heed Abdel’s warning to be quiet. The elf and Jaheira slid from their horses and followed Abdel up the hill. At the top they crouched behind a small, thorny bush, and Abdel pointed to a lone figure standing next to a well-rested horse on the edge of the little trail. Tranzig had one of the horse’s hind legs in his hands and was working at clearing something from the animal’s shoe.

“We almost rode right over him,” Xan whispered. Abdel nodded, and Jaheira sighed almost silently. She looked down on Tranzig with a face that was a mask of hate, a mask that hid the pain underneath, but not too well.

They watched Tranzig for a few minutes, then they heard one of their own horses shuffle in the weeds on the other side of the hill. Tranzig looked up sharply in that direction, and Xan cursed quietly in Elvish.

Tranzig paused a moment, then casually remounted his horse and followed the animal trail away from them at an easy pace. Abdel looked up, hoping to take advantage of the height of the hill to get some sense of where Tranzig was heading. He saw three thin tendrils of smoke drifting up into the air on the other side of a set of four higher, rounded-topped hills.

“Cook fires,” he whispered.

He followed his friends’ gazes back to the smoke and saw a star break through a gap in the relentless clouds. Night was coming fast, so Abdel fixed the site of the cook fires in his mind as best he could and led Jaheira and Xan down the hill to camp.

Jaheira was shivering, and Abdel wanted to put his arm around her. He thought about how that would feel and sighed when his mind wandered in a direction that embarrassed him. He let her hug her knees to her chin and shiver the cold away herself. He’d killed her husband that day, and the thought that either she or the ever-watchful and sarcastic Xan might think he was trying to move in sickened him. The night was turning decidedly colder with every increased gust of damp wind. Stars twinkled in patches in the sky, patches that were quickly obliterated by fast-moving clouds. They hadn’t built a fire on Xan’s urging. He was afraid the Iron Throne camp, into which Tranzig had ridden, might have outriders who would be attracted to a campfire so close to their secret lair.

“So they’re Zhents,” Abdel said, his words barely squeezing through a jaw held tight to keep his teeth from chattering.

“We think,” Xan said. “I want to find out for sure.”

“Not by yourself,” Jaheira said, her voice scratchy from screaming and crying, then hours of trying not to.

“We can all go,” Abdel said. “The three of us, with the element of surprise…”

“… would be swarmed by hundreds of Zhentarim men-at-arms,” Xan finished for him. “Not me, thank you.”

“How do you know that?” Abdel asked. “It could be this Tranzig and three or four of his smelly orc toughs back there. We’ve killed a lot of these Iron Thrones, you know, including the kobolds.”

“We don’t know,” Jaheira said. “That’s all Xan’s trying to say. There could be hundreds of them—a bandit army massing to bring down the mines… I don’t know.”

“They’re trying to start a war,” Abdel said. “If they have an army, why would they be sneaking around pouring potions on iron ore?”

“I can go there,” Xan offered, “in the dark, quietly, look around, and find out.”

“And get yourself killed,” Jaheira said quietly, “or worse.”

“I’ve been a prisoner of the Iron Throne before,” the elf said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Abdel said. “No offense, Xan, you’re an excellent swordsman and a good man, but…”

“But what?”

“We need you,” Jaheira answered for Abdel. “Now more than ever.”

Xan smiled sympathetically and caught Jaheira’s exhausted, red-eyed gaze.

“I’m an elf,” he said simply.

Abdel sighed, then shrugged. “You’re a madman.”

Jaheira moved slowly, stiffly, sliding a gold bracelet from her left wrist. She reached out, offering the jewelry to Xan.

“For luck,” she said.

“Has it brought you luck?” the elf asked with a wry smile.

“It used to,” she answered in a husky voice.

Xan smiled and took the bracelet. The elf examined the piece with obvious admiration. A delicate engraving of twisting vines curved around the thin gold band. He looked at Abdel, touched the bracelet to his forehead in salute, stood, and disappeared into the darkness. Abdel heard only the first three steps, then nothing.

“He’s good,” Abdel said, “and I’ve seen enough to know. He’ll be fine.”

Jaheira nodded, not believing him, but not believing there was any choice.

“I’m cold,” she said after long, silent minutes had passed.

“We were ill prepared to travel,” Abdel said. His voice sounded loud and cumbersome. He cleared his throat and said more quietly, “Xan was right not to build a fire.”

“Put your arm around me,” she said quickly, like she wanted to get it out all at once. “Sit next to me, Abdel. Sit with me.” She started to cry, and Abdel moved next to her. She seemed tiny in his huge embrace.

She didn’t cry very long, and Abdel just sat there with her in his arms and was surprised that it felt so familiar, like he was supposed to hold her like that.

“We’ve lied to you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, though he hadn’t thought about it at all.

“All of us.”

“I know,” he whispered, and she cried some more.

Abdel opened his eyes onto the first blue sky he’d seen in quite some time. He was immediately aware of the warm pressure of Jaheira at his side. Her head was resting on his right arm, and though she was far from heavy, the warmth and weight of her made Abdel feel like he was being embraced by the whole world. Her tears had dried on his shoulder, and the rough blanket she’d spread over them that night had slipped away. The loose blouse she wore under the hardened leather armor had slipped too, revealing the gentle, smooth curve of her right shoulder. Her breathing was deep, regular, and as relaxed as it was relaxing. Abdel closed his eyes and just lay there, soaking in the feel of her and the soft whisper of her breath against his rough stubbled cheek.

Still asleep, she shifted, bending her right knee so that it slid up the length of Abdel’s leg. His body reacted, and his eyes came open. He cleared his throat and shifted, waking her. She seemed startled by the proximity, and he gently drew away just as she did. She was blushing. She was beautiful.

“Where’s Xan?” she asked, her voice as soft as her skin.

“I—” Abdel started to say that he didn’t know and then a rush of chill gooseflesh rippled across his body, and though the clear morning was cold he began to sweat. Torm take me,” he breathed. “Didn’t he come back?”

Jaheira, still not fully awake, shook her head and said, “I thought he—” then she stopped as she too realized “—he never came back?”

“By the gods and their cousins,” Abdel cursed, casting about for his sword. “I fell asleep. I can’t believe I fell asleep while he was out there.”

“We both did,” Jaheira told him, though neither found any comfort in that fact. “He should be back by now.”

Abdel collected his sword and struggled into his chain mail tunic too quickly and ended up getting fouled in it when some links locked together.

“Damn it all!” he shouted, too loud so close to the Iron Throne encampment.

“Abdel,” Jaheira whispered huskily, “let me help you.”

He felt her hands on his, cool and soft, and she guided the tunic down.

“I’ll find him,” Abdel told her. “I’ll find him if I have to—”

“—kill everyone on Toril?” Xan finished for him.

Abdel and Jaheira jumped at the sound of his voice. Abdel’s relieved and irritated exhale sounded like a hurricane in the still morning. Birds chirped in response. “Or kiss Umberlee’s—”

“Xan!” Jaheira stopped him. “Where were you?”

“Sleeping peacefully with a beautiful woman rubbing up against me,” the elf joked. “Oh no, that wasn’t me, that was—”

“Xan,” Abdel interrupted, “what did you find?”

The elf laughed, and Jaheira turned away to assemble her armor and weapons. She whistled quietly for the horses, and one of the animals responded with a snort.

“What did I find, indeed,” Xan said, pulling from his back the small leather rucksack Khalid had bought for him in Beregost. He looked inside first, as if reluctant to merely stick his hand in there. “I don’t think this is the Zhentarim we’re following. They look more like bandits to me—cutthroats and toughs—nobodies, but they’re organized, and there are indeed too many for the three of us to hack through… sorry, my friend.”

Abdel blushed a little at Xan’s grin.

“I managed to get inside and poke around a bit, though,” the elf continued, “and I found these.” He pulled two items from his rucksack: a neatly folded sheet of parchment and a rather impressive book. It was the book that caught Abdel’s eye first. He held out one big hand to the elf, who gently placed the book in his grip. It felt odd—like leather but smoother, somehow more dry. It was a strange, gray-green color, and the touch of it set off some of the same responses in Abdel as Jaheira’s touch often did. He remembered the feel of her leg on his and took a deep breath. On the cover was a symbol that Abdel recognized but couldn’t exactly place. It was a carved relief that actually looked like a human skull, split in half and somehow bonded to the center of a circle in which tear drops—or drops of blood—were sprinkled. The binding was two long, surprisingly delicate steel hinges. He opened the book and found it a neatly ordered, skillfully illuminated text in a language he couldn’t readily identify. He turned a page, and there was a line drawing of a woman tied to a wooden ring and—

Abdel closed the book with a loud thud and straightened his elbow sharply like he was throwing it away, but his hand didn’t open. He didn’t want to let go of it, but he didn’t want to see any more.

“Are you all right?” Jaheira asked him. When he didn’t respond she said, “Abdel?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Where did you find this book?”

Xan looked confused, surprised by the question. “It was on a stand in one of the tents. It seemed important, expensive, I don’t know. No one was around, so I took it. What is it?”

“Evil,” Abdel said simply. Jaheira and Xan exchanged a confused look. “It’s—it should go somewhere safe. I should bring it to Candlekeep.”

“Fine,” Xan agreed quickly. “Are you sure you’re—”

“Yes,” Abdel said, tucking the book safely into his backpack.

“Well,” the elf said, “I do have some bad news. I’m afraid the bracelet you gave me slipped off, Jaheira. I lost it.”

Xan held up a thin wrist as if to point out that he hadn’t gained back much weight yet.

Jaheira smiled and said, “Just as well, I don’t think it—”

Abdel burst into movement, and at the same time the thick bushes a few yards from their camp site exploded into a loud rustle. Something big moved through the brush away from them, and Abdel was following fast, his broadsword in his hand.

Abdel hit the wall of thorny growth fast and hard enough to break it down, and he found the other’s path in less than a second. He took big, almost careless strides and was on the man in less than three heartbeats. Abdel didn’t stop to look who it was, he thrust his sword hard through the man’s retreating shoulders, and the blade came up and out of the man’s mouth. The fleeing man didn’t have time to scream. His last breath was a gout of bright red blood. Abdel walked over him as he fell and came to a stop half a step past the man’s head.

Jaheira and Xan burst through the brush behind him, and Jaheira took a quick step back at the sight of the grisly scene.

Abdel waited for the rush to come over him as it always did when he killed so quickly, so without hesitation or remorse. He’d come to know the feeling as his reward for following his instinct to kill. It was a guilty pleasure, but his only pleasure for a long time. This time, though, it didn’t come. He looked up and met Jaheira’s gaze.

“He was headed for the camp,” Abdel said, not sure why he thought he needed to explain.

Xan crouched next to the body and grunted, pushing the corpse over onto its back.

“It’s one of the bandits,” he said.

“We should go,” Jaheira said. “There’ll be more.”

“The map shows our next step, I think,” Xan said.

“The map?” Abdel asked.

“While you were reading that book,” Jaheira said, “Xan was showing me the map he found… the parchment?”

Abdel nodded.

“It shows the location of a mining camp,” Xan told him, “an Iron Throne mining camp deep in the Cloak Wood.”

“So they’re mining their own iron,” Abdel said, “to sell at a higher price when the Nashkel mines go bust. Sounds like the Zhentarim to me.”

“They’re hoarding iron in the camp here,” Xan said, “I saw cart after cart of ore there.”

“All this,” Jaheira said, “for gold.”

“Men have done worse,” Xan said, “for less.”

Abdel, knowing he was right, nodded.

“I’m not looking forward to going into the Cloak Wood,” Jaheira said, “I’ve heard stories…”

“Me too,” Abdel said, “but if we had a guide…”