Baldur's Gate II Shadows of Amn (11 page)

Jaheira sat in a corner and tried to stop screaming. It took her nearly an hour.

She had seen things like that before—subtle variations of spells that change the shape, the essence or appearance of a person. She herself had undergone similar transformations, taking on the shape of animals as part of her training as a druid. Spells did not shock her. The unnatural unsettled her but rarely surprised her. She’d been witness to rituals before as well, had been schooled in the religions of Faerun and knew of the many ways in which people honored the many gods. When the ritual started, she knew what to expect: anything. But what she saw, she could never have been prepared for.

Gods had walked the very real ground of the world around her. She herself had visited some of those places. Gods were real. She felt Mielikki’s power course through her on many occasions and knew how to call upon the will of the goddess to do amazing, beautiful things.

What she witnessed was neither amazing or beautiful. It was simply wrong.

Abdel and Imoen had been turned into monsters.

Jaheira didn’t like that word: monsters. It was disrespectful. What made one creature an animal and another a monster? Were monsters animals that were new, threatening, or dangerous to people? Monsters behaved like animals, didn’t they? When they were hungry, they ate. Calling something a monster made it easier to kill. She hated calling anything a monster, but that was what Irenicus had created in this underground hell of his. Monsters. These creatures were abominations—things outside nature.

He’d done it on purpose, Irenicus. The ritual was designed to transform them. He’d done it on purpose, but Jaheira could see—even Irenicus’s own insane henchmen could see—that he had gone too far somehow. He’d made these things out of Abdel and Imoen, but he couldn’t control them.

Animals kill everyday, to eat or to protect themselves or their young. It was part of Mielikki’s grace—the natural order of things. This was different. These things killed out of the pure joy of it—an evil sort of pleasure nothing natural could ever experience.

So Irenicus made these things and watched in surprise when they escaped their cages and killed his servants. He’d mumbled a quick spell and disappeared seconds before the thing that had been Abdel could rip him apart.

They killed the madmen, then started to turn back to their normal selves. It didn’t happen all at once. The evil force relinquished control slowly and with great reluctance. Jaheira knew she was alive only by sheer luck. She knew Abdel loved her and would never willingly see any harm come to her, but he had been completely transformed, and that love couldn’t have protected her—it couldn’t have been that. It had to have been luck.

When they came back to normal and got her out of the cage, the first thing they did was get out of the room. They were in a madhouse on an island off the coast of Athkatla—Abdel told them that much—but the place was a seemingly endless maze of passages and rooms, chambers and corridors, and they were lost right away. It was the worst place Jaheira had ever been and even with a restored, normal, though tired and confused Abdel at her side, she was afraid of what she might find around every corner.

The only thing she could think of besides that fear was a simple question: why not me? Irenicus had transformed Abdel and Imoen but why not her too? Maybe she was next, and Irenicus had been scared away before he could get to her. Abdel and Imoen had been turned with the same ritual though, so why not her too? Two at a time? Was that a limitation of the ritual spell? Or was there something else? Abdel had the blood of the dead God of Murder in his veins. It was easy enough to assume that had something to do with it, but what about Imoen?

What was going on, and why was this man doing all this? Why would anyone make some monster even he couldn’t control? Why?

“I was hoping you would know,” Abdel answered.

Jaheira almost laughed and looked away.

“I just want out of here, all right?” Imoen said, holding her own shaking arms close to her quivering body.

“I don’t even want to know what’s going on here anymore,” Abdel admitted. “I don’t want to know what he was supposed to gain from doing whatever he did to us. If we find him, I’ll kill him myself. If we don’t, that’s fine with me as long as we get out of this madhouse and back to Baldur’s Gate. I want to live some kind of life eventually, damn it.”

“Yeah,” Imoen mumbled, “that’ll be possible.”

Abdel scowled but didn’t say anything.

“This Irenicus wants something,” Jaheira said as they rounded yet another corner in a seemingly endless string of corners in the twisting labyrinth of the madhouse. “We can’t just let him—”

Something hit her on the head, and Abdel saw her spin around, fight briefly to remain conscious, then fall into a doorway and onto the floor of a dark room. Imoen squealed and stepped back, bumping into Abdel. The thing that had hit Jaheira jumped out into the corridor from the room and grabbed for Imoen. She evaded it out of sheer instinct, and Abdel was close enough to grab its arm.

Abdel punched the thing in the face and connected with a flat, porcine snout. He could feel the rough skin and the edge of a thick ivory tusk. It had been a while since Abdel had had the opportunity to punch an orc in the face, and all things considered, it felt good. The thing went down, and a straight-bladed broadsword clattered out of its grip onto the floor. Abdel scooped it up.

The minotaur attacked him the second Abdel crossed the threshold into the dimly lit, cramped room. It attacked low, at Abdel’s stomach, but the big sellsword deflected the bull-headed giant’s battle-axe blade easily with the orc’s broadsword. The defense forced Abdel a bit farther forward than he’d wanted to go, and the minotaur took advantage of it by recovering with surprising speed and coming in higher at Abdel’s neck. The sellsword hissed a sharp exhale and twisted back and to the side, painfully wrenching a tight, tired muscle in his back. The minotaur made to stab him through the heart, and Abdel had to parry with more desperation than he was used to. Spiraling his elbow around uncomfortably loosened his grip on the sword enough to allow the minotaur to grab the hand guard and actually twist it out of Abdel’s grasp.

Though Abdel couldn’t prevent his opponent from disarming him, he did pop his elbow hard and fast into the minotaur’s chin. The blow staggered the creature, and the blade came out of his hand too. The sword clattered onto the floor.

Abdel continued the same movement, bending forward and grabbing for the fallen weapon. The minotaur, unable to grab it himself, kicked it fast enough to send it sliding with a shrill metal-on-stone sound. It came to rest less than an inch from Abdel’s fingertips.

The sellsword swore and had to abandon the blade in order to roll out from under a downward slash from the creature. The minotaur kicked again, and the sword slid under a sheet that was hanging off some kind of bedlike table.

Abdel scuttled away, and the still partly stunned minotaur let him have the distance. The sellsword scanned the cramped room quickly and was as unsettled as he was confused by its contents.

Strapped to the table in one corner of the room was a naked man. He was conscious but obviously delirious. A tight leather strap was wrapped around his mouth. His eyes were dull and vacant. He made no attempt to struggle against the bonds that held him down. Around his temples and forehead was a steel crown from which ran a thick, ribbonlike band of copper. The copper band crossed half a dozen feet to a huge glass tank that took up more than half of the room. The tank was filled with green-tinged water that smelled sharply of brine. Dark shadows like thick, stubby snakes swam in lazy, slow circles, occasionally nudging against the side of the tank.

“What is this place?” Imoen asked.

“Another one of Irenicus’s little play rooms, I guess,” Abdel answered as he eyed the circling minotaur, trying not to look at the sheet behind which the broadsword had come to rest. “I don’t have any reason to fight you, minotaur.”

The minotaur exhaled through its nose, sending a hissing noise echoing through the chamber. It closed its eyes as if to dodge Abdel’s words, then lifted its sword high and came at Abdel fast, on its toes.

Unarmed, Abdel wasn’t terribly confident that he would survive this attack. He waited until the minotaur was close, almost close enough to kill him, then simply sat back fast and hard onto the stone floor. The minotaur couldn’t stop and couldn’t get its axe down fast enough to hit Abdel, so it kept going. It put its foot up onto Abdel’s shoulder and launched itself into the air, walking up the wall behind the big sellsword, its feet continuing up and around over its own head. The minotaur’s toes tapped the ceiling as it spun around, twisting in the air and hitting the floor a pace to Abdel’s left. Abdel might have been the only human on Faerun big enough to allow the minotaur to use that move.

Even as the minotaur’s foot came off his shoulder, Abdel launched himself forward and slid along the floor in the direction of the sheet-shrouded table.

He stopped short of being able to reach the sword and swore loudly just before the minotaur stabbed him deep in the left calf. Abdel sat up onto his knees and came backward, trapping the blade still protruding from the thick, corded muscles of his lower leg. Abdel knew he was lucky the blade had come down at that angle. If it was turned the other way, the wide-bladed axe would have severed his leg easily enough. He swore loudly again and growled more than screamed from the pain. The force of Abdel’s pinching the blade in his knee made the axe come out of the minotaur’s grip. The blade vibrated in Abdel’s leg and sent a wave of sensation up through him that caused him to actually gag.

The minotaur struck him hard against the face, and Abdel rolled with the blow, succeeding in getting the axe farther from the creature’s grip. Abdel spun, wrenching his back again and tore the axe from his leg.

The minotaur abandoned the battle-axe to Abdel and rolled on one shoulder toward the table. It shot out a hand and came up with the broadsword in a single, fluid motion. Abdel ignored the blazing pain in his leg, kept his footing in the blood now pooling on the stone floor from his wide, deep wound, and hopped to his feet, sliding the battle-axe in front of him fast enough to meet the minotaur’s attack. A spark shot out from steel meeting steel. The force of Abdel’s parry was enough to force the minotaur back a step. The minotaur collided with the table, and the man strapped there flinched.

Abdel feinted in, hoping to scare the minotaur back farther, but the creature turned its shoulder into the sellsword’s midsection and pushed off with both feet.

Abdel let the creature push him back, concentrating on the minotaur’s axe.

The minotaur took the broadsword in both hands and made to stab downward into Abdel’s chest. Abdel dropped the battle-axe and grabbed the minotaur’s wrists in both hands, falling back in an effort to flip the creature over backward. Abdel forgot about the big tank, though, and instead of pulling the minotaur over him in an arc, the creature’s sword dipped into the water, and its head struck the glass with enough force to send a hollow ringing sound echoing in the room. The sword pierced one of the swimming eels, and the minotaur’s body jerked harshly, and so did Abdel’s. The sellsword had felt a similar sensation when a doppelganger had used the power of some enchanted ring on him in the basement of a warehouse in Baldur’s Gate. It was as if every muscle in his body tensed and cramped, seeming to lock up with a force beyond its normal strength. The same thing was happening to the minotaur, and the man on the table gave a curious whimper through his tight gag.

Abdel’s head spun, and the minotaur’s hands came away from the broadsword, which fell into the water with a resounding splash. The minotaur fell backward and stared at Abdel with bulging, dry red eyes. Abdel’s vision blurred, and he fought hard not to lose consciousness but wasn’t sure he didn’t. He heard footsteps but could see the minotaur sitting, shaking, incoherent on the floor.

Abdel was aware that someone had come into the room, but he couldn’t do much more than sit and watch things transpire for what felt like forever. The intruder was huge, bigger than Abdel, and came into the room fast. The door swung into the huge sellsword and sufficed to block him from the view of the newcomer.

Someone else came into the room, and Abdel, realizing he wasn’t alone when he started this fight, said, “Imoen?”

“Abdel!” Imoen called, but her voice was too distant, still out in the corridor. He could hear the sound of steel on steel and knew that Imoen was fighting someone out there.

Abdel looked around at the person who’d entered the room. The big man was easily eight feet tall and a mass of corded muscle. The top of his head was strangely flat, and he moved slowly but deliberately, with the gait of a brute more than a trained fighter. Abdel, still stunned, thought he must be a half-ogre.

From the corridor outside came Imoen’s voice. “They’re trying to kill the minotaur,” she said. “The orcs are trying to kill the minotaur!”

The minotaur faced the half-ogre with a dazed sneer. The bull man only started to flinch—unable to dodge or block—when the half-ogre threw a punch and connected with its face with a cracking, meat-on-meat slap. The minotaur went down hard, eyes twitching closed. The way it hit the ground, it might have been dead.

Why Abdel thought he had to defend the minotaur who had been so bent on killing him mere moments before, he wasn’t sure, but he stood—the deep wound in his calf already hurting less—teeth clenched, and came at the half-ogre with determination. The aftereffects of whatever the eels had done to him was fading fast, and as he stood, he caught the glint of steel from the corner of his eye.

Sensing the movement behind him, the half-ogre whirled on Abdel, leading with a ham-sized fist. Abdel stopped his forward motion and dropped to one knee to retrieve the battle-axe. The motion sufficed as a dodge. The half-ogre’s fist flew over Abdel’s head close enough to ruffle the sellsword’s long black hair.

Abdel’s fingers curled around the axe handle, and he rolled to avoid a slow but strong kick. He spun around on one shoulder and was only dimly aware of deciding on a target. He dragged the simple but serviceable axe across the back of the half-ogre’s knee. When the blade came away, it was followed by a scream and a lot of blood. The half-ogre’s knee gave way, and he fell. Abdel had to roll again to avoid the falling brute and came up onto his feet with his back to the door.