Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal (4 page)

Imoen winced and paled at the sight. In a shaky voice she whispered, “Guess I don’t heal as fast as you, big brother.”

Jaheira dropped down beside them, still wiping away the last vestiges of vomit from her lips. “Horrible,” she said simply. “Those things were once animals, and something turned them into those… perversions of nature. We should burn the corpses of those abominations.”

Neither Abdel nor Imoen replied, and Jaheira suddenly seemed to notice the vicious gash in Imoen’s arm. “I am sorry, child,” she said as she quickly examined the damage. “I did not mean to let my outrage over nature’s defilement interfere with my attending to your suffering.”

From a pouch at her belt Jaheira pulled a handful of small, blood-red berries. She held them in a fist above Imoen’s torn flesh and squeezed, letting the crimson juice dribble down into the wound. Imoen grunted in shock and tried to jerk her arm away, but Jaheira’s sure grip kept the girl’s limb immobilized.

“Does it hurt, child?”

Imoen nodded, but she was gritting her teeth too tight to reply.

“There is infection and disease setting in already. I shudder to even imagine what foul afflictions could result from the touch of those beasts. This will cleanse the wound.”

Now that he was certain Jaheira had attended to Imoen, Abdel was able to return his attention to the unseen threats that might still linger within the forest. Something was still out there, watching them.

Illasera arrived at the edge of the small clearing shortly after her scouts, but the battle was already over. Not that she was surprised. She fully expected two Bhaalspawn to be more than a match for the wolves—even wolves touched and transformed by Illasera’s own powerful magic. But her minions had done their job—the Huntress now had her quarry in sight.

Still unnoticed by the three people in the clearing, the archer took a silent half-step back, willing herself to vanish among the dead and leafless gray branches. From her well-camouflaged position, Illasera surveyed the situation.

As she had been told, and as the tracks indicated, there were indeed three—two females, and a very large, very muscular male. Illasera knew only two were children of the Lord of Murder. Bhaal’s Anointed, the leader of the Five, had been quite clear on that point: two tainted by the divine essence, and one mortal companion. Of course, all three would die beneath the hand of the Huntress.

The man, Illasera guessed, was one of the Bhaalspawn. His great size, his immense, rippling muscles, the natural, predatory grace with which he moved—these signs alone would have been enough to give him away. When she looked at the amazing physical specimen, Illasera could almost see the man’s body as a physical representation of Bhaal’s divine fury.

The females, however, were not so simply identified. Not all the Bhaalspawn were as easy to spot as the male warrior had been. Many were humble, unremarkable folk like peasants, farmers, and merchants. Insignificant

in their lives, they were important only because of what their deaths would mean to the Five.

Illasera hesitated, carefully pondering her next move. She had a good supply of ordinary, reliable arrows. She could unleash a volley at her targets, virtually drowning them beneath a rain of feathered fletches, but the leader of the Five had warned Illasera that such mundane weaponry would be all but useless against these particular Bhaalspawn.

The manifestation of their immortal father’s legacy varied greatly with each of the god’s progeny. Miraculous invulnerabilities were uncommon but not unheard of among a select few of the most powerful children of Bhaal. The Five had long ago learned how to counter the powerful immunities that blessed some of the Lord of Murder’s offspring.

Noiselessly, the Huntress pulled an arrow from her quiver, taking care to choose one of her specially prepared weapons. The magically runed arrows were precious, she had only a few. Unable to determine exactly which two were the offspring of a god, Illasera had to assume they all possessed the tainted blood. She took careful, deliberate aim at the woman tending to the injured girl. Illasera understood death, she understood killing. She knew to eliminate the healers first.

Abdel never saw the camouflaged female form of Illasera as she raised her bow, but his eyes were drawn to the movement of the arrow she loosed. Abdel thrust his bare arm out and into the path of the projectile, intercepting it as it flew through the air on a line toward Jaheira’s throat. His action was one of pure instinct—an instinct based on the innate understanding that because of his tainted blood he was impervious to all physical harm.

The missile pierced his left forearm, ripping through the sinew and muscle until the metal tip protruded out several inches on the other side. Imoen shrieked in surprise and fear, and Jaheira threw herself over the vulnerable girl’s body. Abdel stepped into the unseen archer’s line of fire, offering himself up as a human shield, confident in his superhuman recuperative powers to protect him from the deadly projectiles.

With his companions safely guarded by his own body, Abdel seized the black shaft of the weapon embedded in his left arm with his free hand. He barely noticed the strange red runes intricately painted onto the dark wood as he yanked the missile out from his flesh, further damaging his already wounded arm. Agonizing white pain seared his soul, momentarily blinding Abdel. The big man grunted and tried to shake off the effect.

Pain for Abdel was meaningless, a useless byproduct of his mortal life, an evolutionary mechanism lesser organisms relied on to warn them of potentially lethal damage to their bodies. For Abdel, that warning could serve no purpose. All pain was transitory, all damage inflicted only temporary.

Abdel stared down at his wound to watch the regenerative process. Occasionally, his mind was still fascinated by the instantaneous healing abilities of his own body. But something strange happened, or rather, didn’t happen. The thick blood welling up from the ragged hole in Abdel’s arm didn’t abate. The tattered fragments of hanging skin around the edges of the gaping hole had not begun to mend themselves, the severed muscle tissue was still severed. Staring down at his hemorrhaging wound, Abdel was momentarily stunned by the dawning realization of his own vulnerability.

He heard the faint, unmistakable twang of a bowstring, and he spun his body to the right as he ducked down. The arrow that would have pierced his eye whizzed past his ear, and the arrow that would have

buried itself in his heart struck him in the meat of his left shoulder.

Only the soft voice of Imoen kept Abdel from charging blindly into the undergrowth in pursuit of the invisible assailant, the arrow still dangling from his shoulder. “Wait, Abdel.”

The confidence in her voice surprised Abdel, and he hesitated a split second—a hesitation that saved his life. The sharp hiss of another arrow split the air, the missile arcing toward the dried blood on Abdel’s unprotected throat. A foot away from where the big warrior stood, the arrow changed direction, and landed harmlessly on the surrounding undergrowth.

Amazed, Abdel turned to stare down at his younger sibling. Jaheira had bound Imoen’s arm with a tight wrap, and the slim girl was now sitting up. She flashed him a smile.

“A minor enchantment I learned while studying at Candlekeep. If we stay close, the arrows can’t harm us.”

Abdel nodded and raised his blade. Jaheira was up beside him an instant later, gently working the shaft of the arrow free from his shoulder. The sellsword flinched as another feathered shaft ricocheted off mere inches from his face, then laughed at his own reaction.

“If you want me,” he called out, “you’ll have to come out and face me!”

There was the sound of a blade being unsheathed, and a tall, dark-haired woman clad all in gray stepped into the clearing. In each hand she artfully balanced a rapier. Abdel noticed the thin blades did not reflect the magical illumination Jaheira had cast over the clearing, but seemed to absorb the light. Flecks of red on the twin blades merely confirmed what he already knew: Like the strange arrows, these weapons could do permanent damage to his body.

“I’ve killed greater Bhaalspawn than you,” the woman hissed as she slowly advanced. “I am one of the Five, and your blood is mine!”

From the way the woman held her blades—spread wide before her, one high, the other low—Abdel could tell she was skilled in more than just wielding a bow. Anxious to keep Jaheira and Imoen out of danger, and no longer needing Imoen’s magical shield to guard against incoming arrows, Abdel stepped forward to meet his foe.

His left arm dangled uselessly by his side. The blood still pouring out made Abdel feel sluggish and weak. The woman flicked her wrist, and one of her blades sliced a deep cut across Abdel’s cheek.

The warrior swore to himself. Caught completely off guard by the quickness of her attack, he had barely been able to lean back far enough to avoid losing an eye. He brought his own heavy sword to bear, carving a wide arc through the air. His long, black hair was now soaking wet with sweat and stuck to his face. His lithe opponent leaped nimbly out of the way and rewarded his effort by carving a pair of deep incisions across the back of his sword arm.

Abdel grunted in surprise and pain and chopped down with another blow. The woman dodged out of the way again, but this time Abdel was expecting it. His move had been a feint, and when she spun to avoid his sword, he lashed out with his leg, sweeping her off her feet. His heavy broadsword stabbed down to finish off his prone opponent, but she managed to roll out of the way, and Abdel struck only the hard ground, the shockwave sending a jarring bolt of pain up through his injured arm.

The woman was on her feet again, blades poised to deliver another series of razor quick slashes to Abdel’s bare skin. If he had been whole, Abdel knew, he would have easily dispatched the woman. She was fast, but Abdel was faster, but only when he wasn’t hampered by a useless arm. Unable to grip his massive sword with both hands, Abdel couldn’t deliver the lightning-quick counterstrikes he often used to overwhelm his opponents.

Instead, he was forced to take a defensive approach, delivering several wide, sweeping passes of his blade to force his opponent back. The woman moved out of range easily each time, and despite her retreat, her hungry eyes constantly sought the slightest hint of an opening that would allow her to finish the battle.

Weary from blood loss, the warrior stumbled, and the woman was on him. Abdel managed to parry the first blade as it flashed toward his eyes, but the point of the second struck unimpeded, piercing his side just above the belt. Abdel screamed in frustrated rage and pain, dropped his weapon to the ground, and unleashed the wrath of Bhaal.

The unholy taint that pulsed within the sellsword’s veins erupted in an explosion of insane fury, overwhelming Abdel’s mind and soul. Although there was no change in Abdel’s physical appearance, the part of him that was Abdel nearly ceased to exist, all but consumed by the raging inferno of hate and bloodlust. The Lord of Murder walked the land again.

Mindlessly Abdel seized the woman with both hands, heedless of his mangled left arm. The horrified female was pulled into a lethal bear hug, Abdel’s massive, muscled limbs wrapping around her body and pinning her arms to her sides. He squeezed, and the sound of cracking, snapping bones echoed through the clearing.

Tilting back her head to scream, the woman could only manage a choking gurgle. Her eyes rolled back into her head, blood bubbled up from her mouth and nose, and crimson tears rolled down her cheeks.

Trapped within his own consciousness, Abdel fought to regain his sense of self, fought to cage the part of him he had unwittingly unleashed. He was powerless to do anything but watch as Bhaal’s avatar leaned his head forward and tore a piece of flesh from the dying woman’s neck, feasting on his vanquished foe. The struggles of the woman grew weaker, and Abdel disdainfully let her drop to the ground in a quivering mass of pulpy flesh.

The monster turned its attention to the two women standing only a few yards away. The essence of Bhaal tried to advance the body it now possessed, but through sheer force of will Abdel refused to let it take a single step. It stood with one foot raised as Abdel struggled to regain control of his physical being, struggled to douse the unquenchable fire of Bhaal within his own soul.

“Abdel,” Jaheira asked, a concerned look on her face. “Abdel, what’s happening?”

He wanted to scream out a warning to her, but all of his focus was on preventing his own possessed body from taking that first, fateful step. Then he felt the transformation begin. Despite all his efforts, his body was beginning to change. He was becoming the four-armed demon known to mortals as the Ravager.

“Abdel!” Imoen shrieked, her own expression mirroring that of Jaheira’s. “No, Abdel!”

The faces of Imoen and Jaheira seemed to melt into the gray nothing that suddenly surrounded him, and the entity threatening to take over his body and soul vanished with them. Abdel Adrian had returned to the void, and the Ravager was no more.

Instinctively, his hand reached over his shoulder to feel the reassuring touch of his broadsword’s hilt, strapped to his back as it had been in his dream. This time, however, the Abyssal plane was somehow different. For one thing, this was no dream. Abdel had been conscious and fully awake when he felt the mortal world slipping away—or was it he who had slipped away? And his left arm still dripped blood from the ragged wounds inflicted by the arrows of the huntress in the clearing. But it was more than the awareness that this was no dream that differentiated the void from the last time he had been here.

He felt ground beneath his feet. At least, he felt as if he was standing on something solid, though when he looked down there was nothing there. The endless gray surrounding him was altered as well. Instead of a bleak plane of nonexistent nothingness, Abdel felt himself to be lost within obscuring mist. There was something in this plane, something concealed by the fog. Unlike his dream world, this place was not an empty void, it was a place of secrets.