Drew Karpyshyn - Baldurs Gate II: Throne of Bhaal (Forgotten Realms)

Baldur's Gate 2: Throne of Bhaal

A Forgotten Realms novel

by Drew Karpyshyn

Proofread and formatted by BW-SciFi

Ebook version: 1.0

Release Date: August, 1st, 2008

Mom & dad, this one's for you.

Acknowledgments

This novel would not have been possible without the creative contributions of James Ohlen, Kevin Martens, David Gaider and the rest of the Bio Ware Throne of Bhaal design team. Thanks, guys.

Prologue

Marpenoth, 1368 DR

"Hush, Ravia," Gerdon warned his wife. "You'll wake the child. You'll scare him."

"He should be scared, Gerdon. I'm scared," Ravia replied, her voice on the verge of a sob. "You know what people are saying. Executions, public burnings..."

"No, Ravia!" Gerdon slammed his fist down hard on the heavy table in the middle of the small room his family used as their kitchen. He had crafted the table with his own two hands, just as he had made the chairs around it, just as he had made the bed in the next room. Gerdon had even built the wooden walls around them and the thatch roof overhead. "I will not be driven from my landmy homeby this madness!"

Ravia shook her head, and her voice was soft as she addressed her husband. "Would you rather die, Gerdon? You and your son? The tainted blood runs in Terrel's veins, too."

Gerdon didn't answer right away, but paced the floor of their tiny home. He was sick of having this argument with his wife night after night. He was angrywith Ravia, with the world, even with himself. But more than that, he was afraid. Afraid she might be right. Part of him, however, refused to give in to her desire to flee.

"Those stories come from the north, from Amn. They are barbarians there! The Amnish would kill their neighbors for a handful of coins. They are just looking for any excuse."

Rising from where she sat at the table, Ravia crossed the room and blocked the path of her husband's frantic pacing, forcing him to acknowledge her, forcing him to carefully weigh her words, rather than dismiss them out of hand.

"Each week we hear more tales, husband. Each week we hear rumors from towns and villages that grow ever closer to our own land. Not just Amn anymore. You know it is happening in Tethyr and Calimshan now, too. You cannot ignore this, Gerdon!"

"This town is not like that," Gerdon protested, reaching out and pulling his wife close to give her a reassuring hugthough who he was trying to reassure Gerdon could not truly say. "They are simple farmers, like ourselves. Our neighbors would never harm us. We know them."

Ravia made no reply. Uncomfortable with the oppressive silence, Gerdon continued to try and ease the fears of his wife. "Anyway, they would never believe it if anyone told them. Nobody knows but us. Even Terrel does not know."

In a soft whisper Ravia replied, "Maybe he should."

* * * * *

Run. No questions, no answers. No hesitation, no explanation. Run. Just run.

His father had drilled the lesson into Terrel's head every night for the past month. Terrel was only ten. He did not fully understand many of the words his father usedpersecution, lynching, genocide, legacy, Bhaalspawn. Terrel was old enough to understand what was most important in his father's words.

"If you see strangers at the farm, Terrel, you run. As fast and as far as you can. Just run."

Coming back from his chores in the field, Terrel heard them long before he saw them. Angry shouts of many voices carried far on the evening wind. The mob was marching straight through the fields, heedlessly trampling the crops of Terrel's father under foot. Their torches blazed in the darkening gloom of evening twilight, bathing the crowd in an orange glow. They didn't seem to have noticed Terrel yet. Their attention was focused on the tiny farmhouse in the distance, not on the small figure barely visible in the darkness on the far side of the fields.

But Terrel could see them, illuminated by the flames they held aloft. Even at this distance the young boy recognized many of the men who periodically came to the farm to do business with his father. Only when he saw the unfamiliar uniforms of soldiers amidst the throng did Terrel heed his father's instructions. He ran.

* * * * *

The small house was surrounded. The wall of soldiers and mercenaries encircling the tiny farm slowly closed ranks, drawing the noose ever tighter around the neck of the foul Child of Bhaal. An eager crowd of townsfolk hovered just outside the edges of the circleanxious to see, but fearful of being seen. The leader of the soldiers, hidden by dark shadows and a heavy hooded cloak, oversaw the entire scene from a safe distance.

The house was quiet as the armored men approached, but a light from within shone through small cracks in the walls. The soldiers stopped, and from the crowd of civilians behind them the mayor was reluctantly pushed to the fore.

Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the mayor looked around, seeking some comfort or reassurance in the faces of the people he represented. The townsfolk hung back beyond the circle of soldiers, staring at the ground. Their downcast faces were blurred by flickering torchlight and shadows, their true feelings inscrutable.

The mayor could clearly see the expression on the faces of the nearby soldiers. Or rather, he could see that their faces held no expression at all. Each of the armored men surrounding the small farmhouse returned the mayor's searching gaze with a look of apathy, devoid of all thought or compassion. They were highly trained not to feel anything but a fanatical obedience to duty and to the will of their cowled leader, almost completely hidden in the shadows.

The mayor cleared his throat, and when he spoke his voice projected clear and loud, despite his reservations the voice of a man used to making public speeches.

"Gerdon, for the safety of the community you are to be taken into custody, lest your unholy taint bring destruction down on us all! If you surrender without bloodshed, you will be arrested and given a fair trial!"

There was no reply from within the house. The only sound was the occasional crackle or sputter from one of the burning torches. The mayor waited a suitable length of time before speaking again.

"Ravia, your wife, will be allowed to go free if you surrender to us. If you resist, I cannot guarantee her safety."

Again, the only reply was silence. The mayor continued.

"Your son, Terrel, must also be surrendered to us of course. The foul blood of Bhaal runs in his veins as well."

This time the mayor allowed the silence to drag for many minutes before he resumed speaking. He had delivered the carefully composed speech as the hooded figure had instructed him to do. Now he was left with only his own words. When he spoke again, his voice no longer held the deep timbre of an official proclamation.

"Gerdon, please ... be reasonable. This is unpleasant for us all. For the safety of our families, and yours, you must turn yourself and your son over to the auth"

The arrow embedded itself in the mayor's chest, the metal point biting deep into the flesh, penetrating between the tough bone of the ribcage and puncturing a lung. The pleas of the mayor were lost in a choking froth of blood. The mayor clutched feebly at the shaft protruding from his torso and slowly collapsed to the ground, dead. Cries of alarm and horror rose up from the mob of townspeople still gathered tightly behind the wall of soldiers surrounding the farmhouse.

As one, the ring of armored men advanced on the building, their faces registering neither shock nor surprise, as if they had expected this result all along. A volley of arrows arced out from the small window of the cabin to thwart their approach, but the deadly projectiles bounced harmlessly off the large, heavy shields of the soldiers as they marched in perfect formation. They closed their ranks until they formed a tight circle less than a dozen feet from the walls of the townhouse.