Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (2 page)

Imoen, the young woman who had shared Abdel’s youth, hopes, and dreams during his upbringing at Candlekeep, was lagging behind. Barely five feet tall, she was forced to take twice as many steps as Abdel to keep the pace he set. The toll was clearly evident. Her normally bright and mischievous eyes were half closed, her head drooped to her chest, her chestnut bangs fell down across her pale, freckled brow. The sprightly bounce in her step was gone. She marched with the heavy, stiff-legged tread of one forced far beyond the limits of endurance. Like Abdel, Imoen had the blood of a god coursing through her veins. However, the tainted essence of their father had been largely purged from her body and soul by the mad experiments of the mage Irenicus, and so she lacked the superhuman fortitude of her half brother.

The semiconscious young woman stumbled on a gnarled root jutting up from the floor of the dark woods, but Abdel was there to catch her before she hit the ground. He moved with the unnatural speed of a being who was more than a man and only slightly less than a god. He scooped her up without a word and cradled her in his gigantic arms. They pressed onward through the thick trees, Jaheira now leading the way, until they found a small clearing. Abdel gently lowered his half-sister to the forest floor and turned a concerned face up to Jaheira.

“She’ll be all right,” the half-elf assured him. “She just needs to rest. As do I.” “How long?”

The question itself was simple, yet Jaheira hesitated before answering. Abdel understood. Living as fugitives was taking a steep toll on each of the trio, but Imoen suffered most of all. Hunted like animals, the three of them had spent the past few weeks on the run. Their pursuers— mercenaries, soldiers, bounty hunters, and religious fanatics—were relentless, driving Abdel and his companions ever southward through the inhospitable wilderness. Jaheira had to balance their need for rest against the urgency of their perpetual flight.

“We need a few hours, Abdel. At least.” Jaheira sighed before continuing. “That should be enough for Imoen to get back on her feet, but she won’t last long, even then. A week of bed rest wouldn’t be enough to get her back to full strength at this stage. Imoen is not like you Abdel… not anymore. Not since Irenicus stole your father’s essence from her soul.”

Abdel nodded. “A few hours then.” Jaheira might be stronger than Imoen, but Abdel could tell she too was suffering from sleep deprivation and exhaustion. The large warrior felt only the faintest hint of fatigue in his own massive muscles, but the life force of a god dwelt within him. “You rest, my love. I’ll stand watch.”

Jaheira shook her head slightly, too tired to give a more emphatic response. “Not yet. I think I can find something to revive us a little bit. Some mint, or some ginseng root, maybe. Not much, but it will help.”

There was no point in arguing with her, Abdel realized. Despite her exhaustion, Jaheira’s will was as adamant as ever. She was determined to seek out some beneficial plant or herb in the undergrowth of the surrounding forest, and nothing he said would change her

mind. Offering to explore the bushes himself would be pointless—Jaheira was a druid, a servant of the balance and of nature. She might recognize the medicinal and recuperative value of the nearby flora, but Abdel himself would have no clue. During his years as a mercenary and hired blade, the sellsword had picked up some basic survival knowledge. Here in the southern tip of Tethir Forest the plants were completely alien to Abdel’s eyes.

“Don’t go far,” Abdel warned.

Jaheira gave a slight nod in response and vanished into the thick darkness of the woods.

Imoen rested fitfully, mumbling and twitching often as she lay on the cold ground. Abdel could do little but watch and curse those who hunted them. If he was alone, he could stand and fight. For anyone but Abdel, such a thought would have been ludicrous, and until recently, even he would not have considered the idea.

As a teenager Abdel had been bigger and stronger than most of the grown men he had encountered, and as an adult Abdel was perhaps the largest, most imposing human on the face of Faerun. Standing seven feet tall, the heavily muscled young man had carved out a reputation for himself as a blade for hire, mercenary, bodyguard, warrior—as a sellsword, Abdel had done it all. Then he had learned the truth that would forever change his life.

Abdel was the son of the Lord of Murder, the offspring of the god Bhaal. A dead god, true, but a god nonetheless. The identity of his father had turned Abdel into a fugitive on the run, pursued by enemies and bounty hunters wherever he went. His lineage had also changed Abdel’s life in even more astonishing ways. He was evolving, physically changing. He still looked like a normal, if remarkably large, human man, but he wasn’t human. Not anymore. Jaheira called him an avatar—a physical manifestation of his immortal father.

Being an avatar had its share of advantages. Abdel’s body had become a vessel for the essence of Bhaal. Even for his enormous size he was freakishly strong. Somehow his body was now able to draw on the immortal essence contained within to replenish itself, healing grievous and even fatal injuries at an astounding rate. Abdel’s endurance, strength, and physical prowess were unmatched throughout the lands of Faerun. His power was growing. Every day Abdel felt himself becoming stronger, felt his abilities passing further and further beyond the limiting thresholds of mortality.

His remarkable regenerative powers could now render the arrows and blades of his enemies all but useless. The wounds inflicted would heal almost instantly. Virtually invincible, Abdel believed he could single-handedly slaughter an entire company and walk away unharmed. Imoen and Jaheira were not blessed with his extraordinary constitution. They would be vulnerable, and in the chaos of a full-scale battle Abdel didn’t know if he could protect them.

There was something else: Immune to all physical weaponry, Abdel was vulnerable in another way. The big sellsword was no stranger to violence. His chosen profession had nurtured and honed his bloodlust, feeding the evil part of him that was the legacy of Bhaal to all his children. Only Jaheira’s love had prevented Abdel from succumbing to the taint of the dead Lord of Murder and becoming a soulless killing machine like his half brother Sarevok had been.

The support and guidance of the woman he loved had enabled Abdel to fight against his own impulses. With Jaheira’s patient and understanding hand on his shoulder, he had learned to control the hate and the rage within him, to suppress the terrible transformation that threatened to overwhelm him. But that control was fragile. The wholesale slaughter of his pursuers might unleash the terrible monster he had learned to cage within himself.

It had happened before—to both himself and Imoen, though Abdel had purged the beast from Imoen’s spirit in a vicious, bloody battle at the foot of the Tree of Life. But the potential for Abdel to turn into a mindless abomination bent only on killing every living being within reach was still very real. In victory over his enemies Abdel’s very identity could be consumed by the foul essence of his unholy father and his body would transform into the four-armed demon that was the physical manifestation of Bhaal’s evil on Faerun. If he wasn’t careful, Abdel knew, he might become the Ravager again.

The slightest whisper of leaves caused Abdel to spin around and drop into a low crouch, drawing his heavy broadsword from the sheath on his back in a single, fluid motion. He stood with the blade poised to strike at the first appearance of the unseen intruder, his powerful hands clenching at the hilt of his weapon so hard his knuckles were white. The enormous muscles of his arms and shoulders rippled and twitched in anticipation, then relaxed when Jaheira emerged from the forest and stepped into the clearing.

The attractive druid held up a handful of small, three-cornered leaves, then popped one into her own mouth. “These will help, but we still need to sleep. Even you, Abdel.” She handed him one of the leaves. “For Imoen. Just place it under her tongue if she’s too tired to chew.”

Abdel did as he was told, dropping to his knees and setting his sword on the ground as he tenderly lifted the head of his exhausted half sister. She didn’t respond to his voice when he urged her to take the leaf, so Abdel gently tilted her face back and opened her tiny mouth. He slipped the leaf beneath her tongue and lowered her head back to the cold ground. Jaheira handed him a blanket from the pack she carried on her back, and he carefully arranged it over the winsome body of the sleeping young woman.

Jaheira lay down a few feet away, and Abdel crawled over beside her. She snuggled up close, resting her head in the crook of his massive arm and pressing herself against him to try and draw warmth from his well-muscled body.

“I spoke to the animals of the forest,” the druid whispered in a groggy voice, already succumbing to the welcome embrace of sleep. “They will warn us if anyone approaches.”

Reassured by Jaheira’s words, Abdel shifted slightly on the cold ground, trying to get comfortable without disturbing the already sleeping druid. He had full confidence in Jaheira’s ability to commune with the birds and beasts of the forest. He knew they would be well watched over while they slept, but for some reason Abdel could not will himself to close his eyes.

He struggled with the dilemma of their situation. The hunters were close, and with both Imoen and Jaheira able to travel less and less each day it was only a matter of time until the three were found. Abdel would be forced to fight, forced into a confrontation he desperately wanted to avoid.

Not for the first time, Abdel considered slipping away while Imoen and Jaheira slept. He could lure their pursuers away from the two women. Let them live in peace while he lived the never-ending life of a fugitive. Abdel sighed and closed his eyes, dismissing the option as he always did. Even if he could bring himself to leave Jaheira’s side, even if he could force himself to abandon Imoen and the woman he loved, he had no way to be certain the hunters would follow him.

They chased Abdel for his blood—the tainted blood of a dead god. They persecuted him for the sins of his father, Bhaal. Rumors of sudden arrests, senseless tortures, and immediate executions were too frequent and too widespread to be discounted. Like all the Bhaalspawn, Abdel was on the run—sentenced to incarceration or death not because of anything he had done, but simply because of who he was.

Imoen was a Bhaalspawn, too. Even though the taint of the dead god had been all but purged from her soul, her life would be forfeit if they were captured, just as surely as Abdel’s. Imoen was not strong enough to survive without Abdel and Jaheira helping her.

Overwhelmed by the hopelessness of his situation, Abdel at last gave in to sleep.

He was standing in a void, a dead world of gray nothingness. Abdel felt for the great blade he normally kept strapped to his back and was reassured when his hand brushed against the cold metal of the hilt.

“There is no need for that here—though if it comforts you, so be it.”

The voice was neither male nor female. It seemed to be the sound of a great host speaking in perfect, harmonious unison. Resisting the instinctive impulse to draw his sword, Abdel spun around. His head snapped from side to side, seeking out the unknown speaker or speakers. He saw nothing but empty gray on every side.

“Show yourself!” His voice echoed in the emptiness, drawing his attention momentarily back to his strange surroundings. Abdel glanced up and saw there was no sky above him, he glanced down and realized there was no earth below. He didn’t even feel as if he was standing on anything.

“There is nothing to fear, Abdel Adrian. You will not fall.”

Obviously, the disembodied voice could read his thoughts, wherever—or whatever—it was. Abdel was surprised to notice that the words of the voice did not echo like his.

“Show yourself,” Abdel said again. This time it was more of a request than a command.

“Prepare thyself, Child of Bhaal.”

Suddenly, Abdel was not alone in the void. The entity did not slowly materialize from the gray as Abdel had expected. It didn’t flash or magically shimmer into being as if from a wizard’s spell. One moment there was nothing, the next the entity was there—as real and permanent as if it had existed in this strange nether realm for an eternity before Abdel’s own appearance.

The being was male, with white hair and a beard. Though it resembled a human in form the features were neither handsome nor ugly and were unremarkable. It was not mortal. No mortal could compare to such a divine creation. It was clad in a black flowing robe, in contrast to its flawless alabaster skin. The material seemed to meld with the being that wore it, flowing together so that Abdel could not tell where the apparel ended and the entity began. His eyes swam with the dark depths of eternity, pierced with blazing points of purest light—like the starry sky on a clear, bright night. The face was both young and old, both omnipotent and innocent.

The creature towered over Abdel’s own seven-foot frame, and the robe encompassed all of the celestial patterns of the moons and stars. Bathed in the glorious presence, Abdel could only stand in speechless awe for several seconds.

When he at last found his voice, he could only utter, “I must be dreaming.”

“A dream can be no less true than that what you call the real world,” the entity assured him.

“Are you a god?” Abdel asked, unaware he had even formed the question in his head until he heard his own voice echoing in the surrounding void.

“Not a god, but a servant of the Divine Will. There are greater powers than the gods, Abdel Adrian.”

Abdel shook his head to try and dispel the fog of wonder that seemed to envelop his thoughts. His mind cleared somewhat.

“Where am I?” Abdel was certain the magnificent specimen before him knew the answer to his question. Perhaps it knew the answer to all questions.

“We are between, Abdel Adrian,” the being responded in its harmonious multitude of voices. “That which was, that which is, and that which may be. All things are possible here, yet none truly exist.”