CHAPTER THREE: PIRATES
"Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."
A scream of pain split through the air after the wizard muttered the ritual phrase. Alain watched as the curved dagger sliced through the chest of the Cyricist priest, tearing out his heart, and releasing a jet of crimson blood that splashed across the altar. The wizard bowed, then drew the symbol of Bhaal with blood, on the forehead of the dead priest. He then wiped his hands in the blood, and before the eyes of the gathered wizards of Spellhold, the blood vanished, as Bhaal drank.
Alain watched then, as another wizard strode forward, and smiled as another priest was flung onto the blood-dripping altar. As of yet, Alain had not sacrificed a priest to Bhaal… his wizards and apprentices were doing that. In past days, the priests of Bhaal would have conducted the sacrifice rituals, but there were no priests left, and so Alain had to use the wizards in Spellhold as the priests.
For now at least.
With the tomes that detailed the hierarchy and organisation of Bhaal's church, Alain intended to forge a new church within Amn, where he was its head, as the son of the god. Every priest, every temple, would bow to him, the immortal Bhaalspawn… the wizards of Spellhold would pray to Bhaal as well, but they would use magic to further the power of Murder, rather than the arts of the divine.
"Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."
Another scream, and this time there seemed to be much more blood than before. Alain smiled as a trickle of blood flowed towards him. Without pausing, he touched his finger into the blood, and lifted it to his lips, savouring the metallic taste, the warmth of the blood… the faint feel of cooling as the life it powered faded away. Again, the blood on the hand of the wizard conducting the ritual favoured, as Bhaal drank deep again.
The pirate lord of Brynnlaw, Harald Skae, was pale as he knelt beside Alain. He was an evil man, out for personal gain, who knew that by supporting Alain, he would be able to plunder ships bound for Waterdeep and the Gate to his hearts content. Already, he had command of all ships, which gave him the largest pirate fleet in the Sword Coast… and he gained that through loyalty to Alain… and worship to Bhaal. Yet he was pale at the sight of blood… or maybe it was just the sheer amount of it.
Alain found it difficult to understand how someone couldn't be exciting by the look, the feel, the taste of blood… but then, as the son of a god, with dark desires running through his veins, Alain knew he was different. But the wizards were not pale… only Harald…
"Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."
Once again, a priest of Cyric screamed, and this time, when Alain looked at Harald, he saw a look of excitement, as the pirate lord finally overcame his nausea, to delight in the spilling of warm, gushing blood. Alain found himself smiling as the pirate dipped his index finger in the blood, and sucked on his finger for a long moment.
"Are your ships on their way to Amn, Lord Harald?"
The pirate nodded. "Aye. They's skimming through water like birds, with the spells y'er wizards put on'em… thirty ships, all sailing t'wards Amn, packed with m'pirates, and ogres… the de'Arnise bitch won't know what hit'em."
Alain said, "You gave the captains express orders, like I commanded?"
"Again, aye. I told'em that they were to'ug the coast careful-like… and then t'beach at a deserted place, before marchin' east… and then'ey can burn and raze as'ey like. They's meant to march south then, t'take the garrisons by surprise."
The Master of Spellhold smiled. "Good. It has begun, then."
They knelt there silently for a moment.
"Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."
This time the shriek was louder and more agonised than it had been before, and Alain raised an eyebrow in interest as he saw- a young apprentice, this time- plunge the dagger without any finesse, into the stomach of the cleric, slicing roughly. Entrails, like many thin and writhing words blurted out onto the courtyard, and even Alain wrinkled his nose at the smell of excrement, as, with tears of agony and humiliation, the Cyricist lost control of his bowels, sending wave after wave of stinking mass tumbling upon the floor.
Again, he screamed, as the apprentice slashed with the knife, this time cutting the throat- but he didn't penetrate the jugular. Eyes shining with a fervent light, the apprentice stabbed again, the knife slicing into the eye of the priest, who writhed then in his chains, calling out to the Dark Sun.
The apprentice stopped then, and said, "This suffering will end if you embrace Bhaal!"
Alain raised an eyebrow, and wizards moved forward to eliminate the presumptuous apprentice, but the Master of Spellhold raised his hand. The fervour and commitment of this boy- who could only be fifteen, had impressed him, and he wanted to see what the dying priest would do.
"I serve no-one but the Dark Sun, servant of the usurper!"
The apprentice stabbed again, this time chopping into the shoulder of the priest. Then he removed the dagger, and chanted a quick spell. Alain watched as the stomach of the man shone with the blue light of a healing spell… he watched, still interested, as the boy said, "Embrace Bhaal, or I will cut you again and again, healing you as I do, so that you will know pain unimagined!"
The priest of Cyric shook his head, and the boy sighed, slicing the other shoulder, this time parting nerves. Asking the priest now, the boy said, "Will you embrace Bhaal?"
Again, the Cyricist shook his head, and the boy snarled. "Then perhaps it is time you lost the thing most precious to you. Viciously, the boy tore away the priest's loincloth, and placed the cold steel against his thigh, and proclaimed: "Embrace the Lord of Murder, and you will have a quick death!"
And this time, the Cyricist cried out: "I kneel before Bhaal! I kneel before the Lord of Murder! I am his slave, his loyal slave for all eternity! Please, do not hurt me anymore!"
The boy smiled, "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."
The priest screamed once, and then died as blood leaped from his torn throat, splashing at the courtyard in torrents of crimson froth. Looking directly at Alain, the boy placed his hands in the blood, and lifted them up into the air, the blood disappearing, as Bhaal once again, drank.
Alain whispered to a wizard, "When the rituals are over, send the boy to me… I think he may be a useful addition to our inner ranks… and perhaps he might be the first new priest of Bhaal… as interesting as that may be."
The wizard nodded, and Alain stood, walking up the stone steps to the library, brushing his hands through the blood that clung to the banisters as he did so. Behind him, there was another agonised scream, followed by the chilling words, "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."
*
It was midnight, and the ritual had finished half and hour ago. The blood now formed a small lake in the courtyard, and wizards walked through two inches of it as they strode to their private quarters. Looking out at the lake of crimson, Alain could see the shadow of Bhaal's symbol, as blood, in spinning rivulets moved in odd patterns. It was a sign of Bhaal's approval for the blood that had been spilt this day for him.
The stars in the sky above Spellhold rose, flickering and gleaming, like tiny globes of silver fire, and Alain cast his mind back, thinking of his youth at Candlekeep, when he had looked up into the night sky, after having learned a new spell from Gorion… his foster-father.
Inevitably, when his mind remembered Candlekeep, he also remembered Imoen, and the touch of her soft hands as they made love in Saradush, as the flaming stones from catapults plunged the city into fire, shattering building and street alike. He remembered the hunger that had risen to claim him, and the hunger that had shone, pure, in her own eyes, as they kissed and gave themselves to each other while the city stood besieged by Yaga-Shura and his Fire Giants.
On that day, Alain's son had been conceived, and Imoen had told him that she loved him. But both knew that it could not work. Imoen was firmly committed to the cause of good, and intended to join the Harpers when the Five were defeated. Alain was out for power beyond all else, and wanted to carve out his own empire… yet the two of them possessed a bond, because only they understood what it was like to be a Child of Bhaal, fighting for survival with the taint of their father.
She had cried, after Amelyssan lay shattered, for she knew that their love was meaningless. Neither of them could change, although both wanted it so very much. The Solar had come to them, and Imoen had immediately given up the dark power within her. Alain had wrestled with it for a moment, and then had given up the power also, and from the pool of corruption beneath Boareskyr Bridge, where Bhaal had fallen, the Lord of Murder rose again, his evil blotting out the son for hours, as he lashed upwards towards the heavens, seizing power from Cyric, and standing then, supreme and unchallenged, before Imoen, Alain and the rest of his company.
Imoen had denounced him, and Bhaal had let her go, because he owed her much, despite being diametrically opposed to his stance. Alain had been given a portion of Bhaal's power, and had become first of his Chosen… Korgan had been given new powers, ones that harnessed his bloodlust. He was a true servant of Bhaal, for the deaths he brought to the Lord of Murder had been in their thousands. Sarevok too, had been honoured with power, and had been given new armour and sword, possessed of greater power than they had before… Bodhi had been given a soul to defeat the elven curse… and Anomen, priest of Helm, had turned from his god, to become the first knight of Bhaal, for over the year of fighting, he had fallen in love with the blood, fallen in love with the killing.
It had been a dark day for the Realms indeed, for out of six companions, rose four terrors blessed with the power and patronage of a god. And with the four terrors, stood a Chosen, one with power and abilities to match the power of Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff and the Seven Sisters. Yet a small spark of hope remained, for Imoen left Alain then, realising that their love could never be anything more, and with her went the son of Alain, who had absorbed the power of fallen dragons, wizards and angelic foes while in her womb.
A tear trickled down Alain's cheek, as he thought about his son. He had scried him often enough- Imoen had mercy enough not to put wards on the child… he was now ten, and possessed the beauty and vitality of his mother. But it was apparent from the way he acted, often unleashing spells in a fury against other children, that he took after his father… and grandfather, in more ways than one.
Imoen had tried to teach him the path of right, Alain had seen her struggling to teach him restraint more than once, but she was failing, and he was becoming undisciplined because of it. She should have seen the futility of teaching him goodness years ago, and worked instead on teaching him discipline… but then, she had always been blind to evil in those she loved… and the evil in her own actions.
For what else could drive her to incest with one who embraced evil magic, and walked with the foulest creatures of the world… what else could have driven her to love him, the cold, calculating Chosen who wanted nothing more than his own empire, and an army of slaves.
"Master… the boy is here."
In a few seconds of folly, Alain thought that man spoke of his son, but then he remembered the boy who had forced the dying priest of Cyric to turn to Bhaal as he died… a boy whose eyes had shone with desire for blood, and a fervent dedication to the Lord of Murder.
A single word was whispered and the tear on his cheek evaporated. His eyes grew hard and cold, as befitted the Master of Spellhold, and then he turned around, to see a black-robed wizard standing beside the boy from the ritual.
He looked completely different without blood all over him. His hair was brown, his eyes were a brilliant blue, and his skin was pale. There was a hint of nervousness about him, but mainly Alain could sense… excitement.
"Leave us," said Alain, making a swift gesture with his hand. The wizard bowed, and walked out of the library, leaving the two of them alone. "What is your name, boy?"
The boy licked his lips nervously. "Laadan, Master…"
Laadan… the name shivered through his mind like ice, and tore viciously like flame.
Laadan…
There was something in that name that made the darkness in his blood stir, and he felt his throat tighten as he looked at the boy… whoever he was, he was important… but why? What was he meant to do… why was he here?
Alain hated not knowing the answers to questions.