Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (10 page)

To their credit, neither Jaheira nor Imoen laughed.

The half-elf stepped over to help Abdel to his feet. Imoen hesitated to do the same for Sarevok, the blades jutting out from his armor keeping her momentarily at bay. Before she could steel herself to approach, the armored man was back on his feet.

“Shall we, my big strong hero?” Jaheira asked Abdel, her hand giving a graceful flourish in the direction of the now-accessible stairs leading up to the streets above.

The guards surrounded them less than a minute after they had emerged from the sewers. Abdel wasn’t surprised. It was early morning now. They had wasted the cover of darkness wandering the labyrinth of the sewers.

In the daylight warriors as big as he and Sarevok were hard to ignore, and the drying waste on all of their clothes left little doubt as to how they had entered the town. Given the ongoing siege, it was only natural that nervous citizens would rush to alert the local militia to their presence.

“Throw down your weapons or our archers will open fire!”

A dozen men in chain mail shirts armed with long spears had formed a large circle around them. Beyond this circle a half dozen archers stood with bows drawn and ready. Abdel slowly drew his blade from his back, resisting the urge to unleash his fury against the men threatening him. Instead, he tossed his sword to the ground. His companions did the same with their own weapons.

“You there,” the captain of the guards shouted out, “you in the armor. Remove it. I don’t want you slicing up any of my men.”

Sarevok made no move to comply with the order. “I cannot do that.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” the captain answered. “Take it off or my men will open fire.”

“We mean you no harm,” Jaheira interjected, trying to change the topic. “We have come seeking a woman named Melissan.”

Several of the guards turned to spit on the ground at the mention of Melissan’s name, but the captain only scowled.

“That name won’t win you any points with us. Now tell your friend to remove his armor.”

“He is no friend of ours,” Jaheira replied.

The captain shrugged and said a single word. “Fire.”

Abdel leaped in front of Jaheira, determined to catch the deadly projectiles hurtling toward her chest with his own body. As he did so, the realization that he couldn’t protect both her and Imoen flashed across his mind.

His concerns, however, were unjustified. The disciplined archers had launched their attacks only at Sarevok. A half dozen missiles split the early morning air and struck the armored warrior. Several bounced harmlessly off his heavy iron plates, but one pierced the vulnerable joint between the shoulder and the neck, burying itself several inches deep.

Sarevok reached up disdainfully and snapped the arrow off at the shaft, leaving a half inch of jagged wood protruding from the joint. The remainder he tossed to the floor.

There was stunned silence from the archers, and a look of understanding passed across the captain’s face.

“Bloody Bhaalspawn,” he whispered.

One of the pikemen encircling them snapped his head around at the captain’s whispered accusation, then turned back to Sarevok.

“Damn you!” he shouted, lowering his spear and charging forward to impale Sarevok on the point.

Sarevok swung his heavy gauntlet down, his fist a blur as he slapped the weapon from the young man’s grip with such force that it splintered the thick wooden shaft.

The momentum of the onrushing soldier carried him forward, bringing the now weaponless man within range of Sarevok’s other fist, already arcing toward his opponent’s unprotected head. Abdel had visions of Sarevok twisting his arm so that the blade jutting from the forearm of his armor would decapitate his unfortunate attacker.

Instead, Sarevok struck his opponent on the temple with the flat of his palm. The man crumpled beneath the vicious blow, and a shower of teeth flew from his mouth to skitter across the cobblestones of the street. His body twitched once then lay still, a pool of red gushing forth from his mangled mouth and a smaller trickle of blood dribbling from his nose and ear.

Abdel scooped-up his own sword up from the ground, intending only to defend himself. In response to his sudden movement, one of the archers embedded an arrow in Abdel’s chest. The big man screamed as he tore the arrowhead free from his flesh. His wound healed almost instantly, but the memory of the pain lingered. From deep within he felt the angry flames of his father’s blood sparking to life.

Dying enemies, slaughtered soldiers, butchered townsfolk—a fiery avalanche of violent images buried all reason and conscious thought. He would extract a horrendous toll on the town of Saradush for daring to attack the son of a god!

He took a half step toward the pikemen, still foolishly holding their positions as ordered by their captain. Jaheira placed a hand on his shoulder, and Abdel spun to face her with hate in his eyes.

The sight of Jaheira’s troubled face instantly cooled his passion. Beneath the reassuring touch of his lover, the Bhaal fire burning in Abdel’s belly was quenched.

Glancing to the side he was surprised to see that Sarevok had also managed to rein in his Bhaalspawn temper and stood implacably over the unconscious soldier at his feet.

“Stop this!” Imoen screamed as the archers took aim for another volley. Amazingly, they listened to her plea and held their fire.

The captain glared at Sarevok and Abdel, his eyes smoldering orbs of resentment. He raised his hand, and the archers drew back on their bows but did not fire, awaiting their captain’s signal.

“They’ll kill us all,” Imoen warned, nodding in the direction of Sarevok and then Abdel. The captain’s brow furrowed, and he lowered his hand. In unison, the archers lowered their arrows.

From around the nearest corner a small platoon of soldiers charged into view, their broadswords already drawn. The reinforcements were wearing the uniforms of the Calimshan military. Abdel found this particularly strange, since Saradush was a Tethyrian city.

The captain of the Saradush platoon shook his head in resignation when he noticed the new arrivals.

“Captain,” the leader of the swordsmen called out as the troop took their positions behind the pikemen, “I demand to know what is going on here!”

“Invaders, Garrol. They’re Bhaalspawn.”

Garrol arched an eyebrow. “All of them?”

“Well, no… I don’t think so.”

Jaheira interrupted the conversation. “Some of us are indeed Children of Bhaal, but we mean no harm to you. We are here seeking a woman named Melissan.”

Garrol ignored the druid’s words, and continued to speak directly to the Saradush captain. “This is a matter for General Gromnir. Take your men, and return to your posts on the walls.”

The captain made no reply, but at his signal two of the pikemen dropped their weapons and cautiously approached the body of their fallen comrade. Sarevok stepped back, allowing them to pick up their friend’s unconscious form without having to come within range of his fierce fists.

“Uh… what about that missing grate?” Imoen asked. “And the sewer pipe?”

Garrol finally turned his attention to the four strangers. “What are you talking about?”

“The sewer drain on the west wall,” Imoen explained. “That’s how we got in. It’s large enough for a man in full field plate to crawl through. If you want to keep your enemies on the outside of your gates, I’d suggest putting some guards down there.”

“The enemies are already inside,” the captain mumbled, but Garrol pretended not to hear him.

“Captain, I suggest you take this young lady’s words to heart and see to this breach in the defenses immediately. I will appraise General Gromnir of the situation when I bring these Bhaalspawn before him for judgment.”

“Judgment?” Jaheira exclaimed indignantly. “For what are we being judged, exactly?”

Nobody answered her. The captain and his Saradush troops were already on the move, and the Tethyrian company of Garrol had taken up positions surrounding the four companions.

“For your own safety, and that of the town, I urge you to accompany me without further incident.” Garrol’s voice was gruff, but polite. He spoke as a man simply doing his job.

Before Jaheira or Imoen could object, Abdel voiced his consent. “We want no trouble. Take us where you will.”

The memory of how close he had just come to loosing his father’s ruthless violence on the Saradush troops was still fresh in his mind. His mind recoiled as he imagined the unholy carnage the Ravager would wreak if unleashed within the walls of a besieged town. The big sellsword was willing to do just about anything to avoid another confrontation and risk a repeat episode of the all-consuming bloodlust he had succumbed to in the forest clearing when he had killed the Huntress with his bare hands. Abdel could only hope his companions, especially Sarevok, would defer to his lead.

Nobody said anything to challenge his will.

Garrol nodded curtly. “Very good. General Gromnir will be most eager to speak to you.”

As the strangely-out-of-place Calimshan soldiers escorted Abdel, Imoen, Sarevok, and Jaheira through the town of Saradush, the half-elf was reminded why she disliked cities.

It wasn’t just the paved stones beneath her feet, severing her contact with the living land. It wasn’t the lack of growing grass or trees. It wasn’t even the cold, hard buildings on every corner that blocked off the sky at every turn, confining and closing in on them.

The city had a scent to it, the inevitable smells that clung to people whenever they gathered in large numbers. The stale, acrid reek of sweat, the sickly odor of foodcarted in from the outlying farms, just slightly past fresh, horses, chamber pots, the faint whiffs of the now all-too-familiar sewers as they passed each grate. Over top of it all, the cloying perfumes and soaps the “civilized” masses used to try and mask their own foul stench. The smell of civilization.

Jaheira wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell was the worst, but at least she had come to expect it whenever she ventured into a village, town, or city. There were other things she disliked about Saradush—things that set it apart from most of the urban centers she had seen. The streets were deserted, barren of the typical teeming life of the city. People were few and far between, and those few the druid noticed glared back at her with unmistakable resentment and even hate in their eyes. Even more remarkable, there were no animals running through the streets. No dogs or cats, not even any rats.

“Where are the animals?” Jaheira asked, eager to break the oppressive silence of their journey. “Do they not keep pets here in Saradush?”

Garrol, from his position at the front of the escort, didn’t even turn his head when he answered. “They used to. But after a month-long siege supplies are scarce, and good food is hard to come by.” Though he attempted to maintain the decorum of duty, Jaheira detected the faintest hint of revulsion in his voice.

“Ewww!” Imoen’s unguarded reaction was evidence she had overheard their remarks. “That’s disgusting.”

As a druid, Jaheira understood the natural order. Many animals served as food so that other animals could survive. It was natural. But eating a pet—a faithful, loving companion—was abhorrent. The half-elf now had another reason to hate cities.

“A month?” It was Abdel who spoke now. “Where are the reinforcements? Why haven’t the king and queen of Tethyr come to Saradush’s aid?”

Garrol shifted uncomfortably. He was an officer in a foreign army occupying a city besieged by yet another force. Jaheira could understand his discomfort.

“Before the siege began there were widespread reports of bands of mercenaries looting and pillaging throughout the western reaches of Tethyr. The royals are too busy cleaning up the mess of raiders and bandits around Myratma and along the trade routes to bother sending their armies to the east to save our sorry hides.”

“Surely if they knew how bad things have become—” Imoen began.

“They don’t know,” Garrol replied. “We haven’t been able to get a single messenger safely past the army surrounding the walls. And even if we did, it might be another month before any help arrived. We’re a long, long way from the seats of power.”

“Well, you’d think the town would be a little more welcoming to us, considering the circumstance it’s in. I mean, we might be the only help they’re going to get, but those Saradush soldiers glared at us like they wished we were dead.” Imoen said.

“The last thing the townsfolk here want is more help from outsiders,” Garrol replied. “They don’t like your kind here. They blame you for this siege.”

“Our kind?” Jaheira asked for clarification. “You mean Bhaalspawn?”

“The citizens of Saradush offered this city as a refuge,” Garrol explained. “They wanted to help protect those who were being persecuted. At Melissan’s urging, they offered sanctuary to the children of Bhaal. Look what they get for their troubles. Gromnir was the last straw.”

There was a pointed cough from one of the escorting soldiers, and Garrol suddenly shut his mouth, biting down hard enough to make his teeth clack. His face burned with embarrassment, and Jaheira realized he must have overstepped his authority in revealing so much information.

The rest of their walk passed in silence. Even with her sense of direction distorted by the surrounding architecture, Jaheira could tell Garrol was leading them toward the hub of the town. As they neared the city center, a large stone castle came into view. Garrol led them straight up to the gates. They opened at their approach and slammed shut behind them.

They moved quickly through the courtyard and into the main structure of what once must have been the castle of the local nobility. Inside, the halls of the keep were lined with countless more soldiers standing at attention, all of them clad in the colors of Calimshan. They saluted as Garrol passed, but he did not bother to return the gesture.

Garrol marched quickly through the castle corridors— Jaheira’s long legs were barely able to keep up, and Imoen was forced to actually break into a run several times to avoid being trampled by the escort of soldiers marching behind them.