Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (17 page)

Melissan clutched feebly at Abdel’s massive arms, her eyes bulging as she gasped for air.

“She betrayed us!” Abdel roared. “She lied to us about the Five! She wants us all to die!”

“No!” Imoen shrieked, now pounding on her invincible half brother’s back with her tiny fists. “Melissan drove off the dragon! She found you and brought you to this temple. If she wanted to kill us why did she save us?”

No longer so certain of Melissan’s treachery, Abdel’s grip loosened. He lowered the tall woman until her feet were on the floor and let go of her neck, giving her a disdainful shove that sent her reeling back into the surrounding priests of Ilmater, who caught her as she stumbled.

Imoen dropped from Abdel’s back and rushed over to see if Melissan was all right. Assured her new friend would survive, the young woman shot a harshly disapproving glance back at Abdel.

“What were you thinking, Abdel? Have you gone mad?”

Abdel didn’t answer but merely swore and spat on the hallowed floor of the church as he turned away from them.

With Imoen’s help, Melissan managed to stand. Her long, delicate fingers massaged her neck beneath the high, dark collar that reached up to just beneath her chin. Her throat was bruised beneath the fabric of her collar by Abdel’s savage and unwarranted assault, but when she spoke, there was no hint of Imoen’s anger in Melissan’s voice.

“Your brother has lost someone he loved,” she said softly, her abused throat making her voice rough and rasping. “He has a right to be upset.”

“Not like this,” Imoen protested, a protective arm around the taller woman’s shoulders as her eyes shot daggers at Abdel’s back. “After everything you’ve done for us, he has no right to treat you this way.”

The big man spun on his heel to face the two women. The ring of cowled priests slipped silently away, leaving the trio of interlopers alone to solve their disputes.

“She set us up, Imoen,” Abdel declared. “She led us right into a trap.”

Imoen started to protest, but Melissan raised her hand to hush the young girl.

“I will not deny Gromnir’s army was ambushed,” the tall woman said softly, her voice now closer to its normal tone. “But I assure you, I had nothing at all to do with the betrayal.”

“Who then?” Abdel demanded.

Melissan shook her head. “Regrettably I cannot say. There were many Bhaalspawn gathered in Saradush seeking shelter from Yaga Shura’s army. Perhaps one of them sought to trade his own life for the lives of all his kin.”

Despite his best efforts, Abdel felt his anger fading. He had accused Melissan based on his own assumptions. They were assumptions based on the dying accusations of the mad General Gromnir. Forced to look at the facts, he’ couldn’t find any evidence Melissan was the one responsible for the ambush. In fact, Melissan had saved Abdel’s life—at least according to Imoen.

Looking into his half sister’s eyes, Abdel realized she was infatuated with the powerful, beautiful woman. Abdel had seen that look in her eyes before, but in the past it had always been when she looked at him. Melissan was Imoen’s savior, and apparently she had supplanted Abdel in his role as the young woman’s hero.

Abdel himself wasn’t so awestruck.

“You haven’t been completely honest with me,” he said, remembering the parting words of the mysterious being in the Abyssal plane. “You know more about the Five than you have told me.”

Before Imoen could leap to her new idol’s defense, Melissan spoke. “It is true, Abdel. I have not been completely honest with you. But you must understand I could not trust you until you had proved yourself by defeating Yaga Shura.”

“Yet you expect me to trust you.”

Melissan sighed. “Abdel, my work is difficult. I seek to save the offspring of an evil, treacherous deity from their own kin. I must constantly be on guard against betrayal from my own allies. You know many of your kin are not to be trusted.”

Reluctantly, Abdel nodded. He could not deny the truth of her words, just as he could not deny his own tainted heritage.

“Many years ago I approached Sarevok and told him everything I knew about the Five and their purpose,” Melissan continued. “He used that information for himself and nearly started a war in his mad efforts to supplant the Five as the one who would resurrect your dark father. I have learned from such mistakes to guard my secrets well, Abdel Adrian.”

“And look at what happened with Gromnir,” Imoen chimed in. “The people here in Saradush offered him sanctuary, and he took over their town. No wonder Melissan was reluctant to tell us everything. You can’t blame her.”

“Where is Sarevok now?” Abdel asked, suddenly aware of his half brother’s absence.

With a shrug, Melissan replied, “He rode by my side when we charged from the gate, but we were separated during the chaos of battle. He has not returned. Perhaps he is one of the thousands who lie dead on the battlefield. Perhaps he was slain by the army that ravaged Saradush and only fled when they saw the dragon take to the sky.”

“I doubt these soldiers would have been capable of ending my half brother’s existence,” Abdel muttered.

“Maybe he was the traitor,” Imoen offered. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to destroy a city.”

“Perhaps,” Melissan admitted, though she did not seem convinced. “Sarevok was aware of our battle plan. He could have somehow arranged the ambush. When I first met Sarevok, he was easily capable of such treachery.

“But I sensed something different about him now,” the tall woman continued. “Sarevok has changed since I first met him. Do you believe he is still capable of such evil?”

“I… I don’t know,” Imoen admitted, “I guess not. But I didn’t really know him before.”

She turned to her brother. “What do you think, Abdel? Did Sarevok betray us?”

Abdel considered his answer for a long time. Sarevok had murdered Gorion and Khalid. He had nearly killed Jaheira, and he had done it all without conscience. But that was long ago. Like Melissan, Abdel sensed something fundamentally altered in the Sarevok who had accompanied them to Saradush.

“It hardly matters now,” Abdel finally answered, his voice weary. “If Sarevok is the traitor, I suspect he retreated with the rest of the army. I doubt we will run into him again. We have to focus on the task at hand. Tell me about the Five, Melissan.”

When Melissan hesitated, Abdel pressed his case. “I proved myself by risking my own life to slay Yaga Shura. Surely you realize that I have no desire to bring Bhaal back to life. If you expect me to aid your cause, you must tell me everything you know about the Five.”

Tilting her head to the side, Melissan seemed to be weighing Abdel’s words, balancing the risks of revealing too much against the rewards of obtaining Abdel’s help.

“Please, Melissan,” Imoen implored, “I’ve known Abdel my whole life. He’s a good man. You can trust him to do the right thing.”

The tall woman gave the younger girl a warm smile. “Very well, child. I will tell you both what I know about the Five, and you will understand why I was not surprised to see the dragon joining the battle against us.”

“Please, Abdel, come with us,” Imoen begged. “Melissan will take us both to the monastery at Amkethran. She has promised that Balthazar, the leader of the monks there, will hide us. They’ll protect us from the Five while we rest and regroup.”

Her brother shook his head. “You go with her now. I’ll catch up later after I find Jaheira.”

Imoen couldn’t bring herself to say the awful fact they both knew to be true. But Melissan was not afraid to speak the words.

“Your lover is dead, Abdel Adrian. You cannot save her.”

Abdel strapped the large, heavy blade he had claimed from the armory of Saradush across his back. “If I cannot save her, then I will avenge her death.”

“You intend to slay a dragon by yourself?” Melissan demanded. “Perhaps several of them?”

“If I have to.”

“What about Abazigal?” Imoen asked. “Their Bhaalspawn master Melissan told us about? What if he’s waiting for you, using Jaheira as bait to lure you to his lair?”

“I’ve already killed two of the Five. I don’t see why a third should be any different. In fact, killing this one should be easier. If Melissan is right this wizard doesn’t share Yaga Shura’s immunity to conventional weapons.”

“All the information I have gathered seems to indicate that you and Yaga Shura were the only Children of Bhaal to have such remarkable invulnerabilities,” Melissan admitted. “But just because it is physically possible to run Abazigal through with an ordinary sword does not mean he will give you that chance.

“Your confidence is admirable, but foolish,” Melissan warned. “Have you not been listening to what I have said? Abazigal is a master of both dragons and sorcery. Unlike Yaga Shura and Illasera, he is not merely some warrior you can hack down with your sword.”

“Killing wizards is hard work,” Abdel admitted as he pulled on a pair of sturdy boots that were at least two sizes too small. His own clothing had been incinerated by the dragon’s fire, but Melissan had managed to find him a shirt and breeches that fit his enormous frame-barely. “But Abazigal won’t be the first mage whose plans I’ve thwarted.”

He stood up and gave Imoen a hug. Over her shoulder he could see out into the streets of Saradush. Already the survivors were beginning the task of rebuilding their city,

clearing away the debris and bodies that littered their ruined streets.

“Imoen, you stay with Melissan,” he instructed his sibling. “Don’t do anything stupid like trying to follow me, you’ll just get in the way. I’ll meet up with you later. I promise.”

“Abazigal is far more powerful than the wizard you defeated at the Tree of Life,” Melissan cautioned as the big sellsword headed toward the door. “Irenicus lusted to be immortal, but he did not have the blood of a god coursing through his veins. Do not discount Abazigal’s status as one of the Five. He is the son of Bhaal himself.”

Abdel slung a large pack of provisions over his right shoulder. “And so am I.”

______

Driven by urgency and fueled by his immortal blood, Abdel didn’t even stop to rest the first day. Even so, he could not traverse the ground as quickly as a dragon in flight. The lost time galled him, but Abdel couldn’t move any faster. In fact, as weariness set in he was forced to slow his pace. Though his stops were few and far between, even the son of a god needed to rest.

Tracking the dragon was easy. Everywhere the creature passed, it left an indelible impression on both the landscape and the minds of the people fortunate enough to witness the spectacle and survive. The creature was flying almost due south. At first, Abdel suspected it was headed for the dense woods of the Forest of Mir. There the trees grew so thick, it was said, that the light of the sun never touched the forest floor. In many places the trunks grew so close together it was impossible for either man or beast to pass—or so Abdel had heard. In fact, everything he knew about the Forest of Mir was hearsay and legend. Eyewitness accounts were exceedingly rare, as few who ever entered the dark wood ever emerged again.

Abdel hoped the creature wasn’t heading into the deepest recesses of those accursed woods. The sellsword wasn’t afraid of whatever monsters might lurk within the trees, but he was worried that the tales of vast stretches of thick, virtually impassable growth were true. If he had to constantly hack his way through branches, roots, and thickets in his pursuit of the dragon the already slim hope of arriving in time to save Jaheira would become even fainter.

By the middle of the third day Abdel realized the dragon wasn’t heading for the Mir Forest. The near edge of the wood was now a half day’s march to the west, but the creature’s path had not veered from its southerly course. Calling upon the long-buried memories of the maps he had been forced to study in his lessons at Candlekeep, Abdel made an educated guess as to where the beast was heading. It was probably heading toward the Alimir Mountains on the coast of the Shining Sea, a small range located a tenday’s journey south of Saradush.

It was there, Abdel guessed, that the beast had made its lair. It was there he would confront the Bhaalspawn Abazigal, and it was there, Abdel hoped, he would find Jaheira.

Part of his mind knew his half-elf lover had left this world, but Abdel refused to consciously acknowledge that part of himself. Against all logic and reason, he still harbored the faint hope that somehow, someway he would find Jaheira alive. If he didn’t, the small corner of his mind he refused to acknowledge vowed that he would extract a gruesome vengeance.

Abdel pressed onward, his thoughts a churning maelstrom of improbable hope and despair and violent images of retribution. His being was focused on the goal before him, and he was oblivious to the man pursuing him.

A half day’s march behind the determined sellsword, an immense figure in dark plate mail followed Abdel’s

path. Sarevok had picked up Abdel’s trail on the plains outside the ruins of Saradush, and he had been tracking him ever since.

The relentless pace of his half brother kept Sarevok from closing the distance between them, but the armored warrior shared enough of Abdel’s blood and physical prowess to keep himself from falling farther behind. Sarevok knew his brother sought revenge for the female druid’s death. Sarevok also knew Abdel was heading to a confrontation with another of the Five that might very well end Abdel’s existence, and Sarevok was determined to be there when the confrontation took place.

Even now, long after the ritual had ended, the flames in the pit at the center of the abandoned temple burned high and hot, fuelled by the essence of the countless Bhaalspawn slaughtered in the sacking of Saradush. The orange light of the fire reflected off the walls, giving the painting of Bhaal’s grinning gray skull on the wall a hideous glow and bathing the entire room in its ghastly illumination.

The three cowled figures huddled in the farthest corner of the temple. Conditioned by years of operating in hiding and secrecy, they were still loathe to let the revealing light of Bhaal’s ceremonial fire touch their hooded forms.

“The blaze has never been so strong,” the smallest of the figures whispered, brushing a strand of silver-white hair from her dark skin. Of the three, the light bothered the drow most of all. Extremely young by elf standards, most of her thirty years of life had been spent among the blackness of the Underdark where the only illumination was the diseased glow of pale lichens. Recruited by the Anointed One several years ago to join the Five, the drow still found bright light painfully uncomfortable.