Baldur's Gate by Philip Athans Read Free Book Online Page A

busy.
    Besides, not many more Amnian soldiers’ll waste their time here.”
    “You sound like you’d be happy to see them march north, halfling,” Jaheira said. “Maybe you already know what is wrong here.”
    Montaron laughed, but the sound had an edge to it that Abdel had been hearing more and more often in the last thirteen days.
    “I know nothin’, girl,” Montaron told her, “less even than ye, if all this talk o’ war is true.”
    “Someone wants blood to spill in Baldur’s Gate and Amn,” Jaheira said, “that I know.”
    “An” what if it’s an Amnian wantin’ it, girl?” Montaron asked, a crafty look curling the side of his mouth. “Will ye be so dead set to stop it then?”
    Jaheira inhaled sharply and was about to say something when she stopped abruptly and turned on Abdel. He was trying not to laugh, and it showed.
    “This is very serious,” she said.
    Abdel smiled and nodded.
    “We should find an inn,” Khalid said, purposefully breaking into the deteriorating conversation. “We can get a good night’s sleep and head to the mines in the morning.”
    Jaheira nodded and followed him into a crowd of festival goers. Abdel watched her walk away, and Montaron noticed him noticing her. The halfling disappeared into the crowd.
    “We will go, son of Bhaal,” Xzar said, startling Abdel.
    The sellsword turned on the wiry mage and said, “Go with Khalid, mage.”
    Xzar hesitated, and Abdel reached for his arm.
    “Touch me!” Xzar shrieked. “Don’t touch me!”
    Two dozen or more people stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Abdel, though it was Xzar who was obviously insane. Abdel sighed, trying to breathe out his desire to kill the twitching mage, then just walked away.

    Abdel knew where they all went, but he didn’t go with them to the inn. He’d worked and traveled with others before, some of whom he liked and some of whom he didn’t. He’d traveled with women before, but none who moved him like Jaheira. He’d met a thousand men like Khalid, he reckoned, quiet, serious types on a mission. Montaron, halfling or otherwise, was a dime a dozen on the Sword Coast; a crafty survivor who knew what was in every pocket and behind every locked door—or would know, eventually. Xzar was a puzzle. He’d met madmen before, too, he figured, but this one was mad and highly intelligent at the same time— delusional and capable of wielding magic.
    He wandered the festival grounds and wondered what he was doing there. He’d followed two chance-met strangers—no, four chance-met strangers—on a mission he didn’t even understand and certainly wasn’t going to be paid for. Montaron seemed to be able to steal enough to keep them at inns and buy an ale or two, but that was not the way Abdel wanted to see the world. He was capable of working for his keep, and he wanted to do just that. Still, there was this problem in the mines—or was there?
    At first the festival did a good job of masking the problems that were becoming more obvious to Abdel as he walked on. There were merchant carts, sure, and the people of Nashkel were stopping to look, but almost no one was buying. The men looked nervous and the women serious.
    “They’re pourin’ ale,” Montaron said from behind Abdel, “are ye with me?”
    Abdel turned, as amused as he was amazed at the halfling’s ability to appear and disappear at will in crowds. Abdel would never understand what it was like to be two feet shorter than everyone around him—his problem was just the opposite.
    “There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Abdel asked.
    “If ye mean with the iron mines,” Montaron answered, “aye.”
    “So where is our employer? Who pays us to protect these mines?”
    Montaron smiled and shrugged.
    “We’ll go to the mines tomorrow an’ find out. In the meantime,” the halfling said, producing a worn leather pouch from a pocket inside his shirt, ” ‘ere’s a bit o’ coin. While away this festival a bit, then join me