Chapter One
I do not know what name my mother gave me.
I do not know, because every person who knew my name died -- killed by a dark creature, a demon called Asbeel -- mere days after I first entered the world.
Until I met Perrault, I was an orphan. And ten days after my twelfth birthday, I was alone once again.
Perrault lay unmoving on a bed in an inn. I had gone looking for help, but no help was to be found.
There was only Asbeel.
"Where are you, boy?"
". . . . boy . . . boy . . . boy . . . boy?" His voice echoed off every wall, shaking the timbers of houses all along the streets in that section of the city, shaking the ground beneath my feet. I looked around at the crowded marketplace, expecting to see panic, for how could the people of Baldur's Gate not react to that clamor?
But . . . nothing. Was the voice just for me? Was some demonic magic guiding it to my ears alone?
" . . . boy . . . boy . . . boy . . . boy?"
I couldn't tell where the voice was coming from.
I darted frantically back and forth, looking for some clue, for some place to hide. A man leaning against a tavern door eyed me, thinking me out of my mind, no doubt. And perhaps I was.
The echoes grew louder. " . . . boy . . . boy . . . boy . . . boy!"
I raced down the alley beside the tavern and looked toward the sky. In that instant, all the sound came crashing together and nearly knocked me from my feet.
Asbeel stood a hundred strides away and thirty feet up, and I could see the fires in his eyes and the gleam of his teeth.
I knew -- a sensation as heavy as drowning in cold water -- that Asbeel had seen me.
I tried to run, but I could not, as if the cobblestones had reached up and grabbed my feet.
Asbeel jumped off the roof, landing in the alleyway with such strength that he hardly bent his legs to absorb the weight of the fall. The buildings shook and the ground trembled, and even the man at the tavern gave a shout, so I knew I was not imagining it.
But how could it be? Asbeel was no larger than an elf, a lithe and sinewy creature who seemed to weigh little more than I did. It made no sense, but nothing did.
The shock of the demon's jump seemed to break away the confining cobblestones, or free me from my own bindings. I knew not which and didn't care. I just turned and ran for all my life.
Not four steps out of the alleyway, I tripped and fell, skinning both my knees and jarring my wrists. But before I could begin to curse at my clumsiness, a huge crate soared over my head and smashed to pieces in the street in front of me.
I looked back just in time to see Asbeel kick another crate as if it weighed no more than a child's rag-ball. He laughed as it soared out for me, and I could only yelp and fall aside as it shattered precisely where I had been kneeling.
"Hey, now!" the man at the tavern cried, and another came out the door to see what was happening.
My mouth went dry, my heart sank. I wanted to call out to them to run away, to go back inside, but I could not. I hadn't the strength or the courage.
I just ran.
The ground trembled behind me as the beast gave chase. Then the shaking stopped, replaced by screams.
I covered my ears, but could not block out the cries. Not knowing where I was going, I turned every corner I came to, only wanting to be out of Asbeel's sight.
The ground trembled again and I knew he paced me. I ran into one of the main streets and the trembling grew more violent. I could hear his scaly feet slapping the cobblestones. He would grab me at any moment and tear me apart!
I should pull out Perrault's stiletto, I told myself, use its magic to make it a sword, and stab the beast through the heart.
I should . . . I should, I thought, but I could not.
Asbeel's face burned behind my eyes, evil and hideous and hungry, and the thought of it made my legs weak and my heart faint.
As I neared an intersection, a wagon driven by a team of four huge horses veered toward me. I couldn't stop. The driver screamed and tugged the reins with all his might.
The horses, neighing in complaint, barreled past me. I threw myself down and flattened myself between the wheels then managed to get out between the back two just as the driver stopped the cart.
"What, boy? Are ye dead, then?" the driver cried out.
I managed to scream, "No!" as I ran off.
Barely ten strides away, I heard the explosion as Asbeel slammed into the cart. I could picture the wagon shattering, its load of fruits flying wildly. I heard the driver yelp in surprise. I heard the horses whinny in terror and pain.
I peeled around the corner and looked back, just in time to see one of those horses kick Asbeel in the chest, sending him flying backward. He slammed against a wall and stumbled, but did not fall.
I yelled and ran. The demon refocused his anger -- I heard more screams.
I turned down another cobbled street, and at last I knew where I was.
I had reached the heart of the temple district of Baldur's Gate. Massive structures all around dwarfed me, churches dedicated to each of the myriad gods of Faerûn, gargoyles and statues gazing down at me, leering or smiling with equal irony and equal uselessness.
The demon's voice rang out again, but it was farther away and full of even greater rage -- an echo that would not die.
"You cannot hide, boy," the voice said. "Fall down and let yourself be taken."
But beneath his voice rang another, a woman's, perfect and clear as a clarion in the fog. It was but a whisper, but I could hear it distinctly.
Run now, and take heart.
Despite the clutch in my chest and the pain in my knees, the woman's voice compelled me.
I sprinted toward the sun that descended over the cityscape. The voices in my head grew fainter, and I felt less of the fear that had nearly crippled me. I felt myself coming under my own control again, aware of my surroundings. I slowed my pace.
As I tried to catch my breath, the leather bandolier I hid beneath my shirt dug into my shoulder, as if it were made of thick chains and not leather. In a pouch on that leather bandolier was a stone, dark as night and heavier than its small size suggested.
It had been in my possession for only ten days -- a gift from Perrault -- and already it had brought more grief than I had known possible. It had brought ruin to everyone I knew. And if I could not find a way to escape Asbeel, it would bring about my ruin too.
I glanced up and down the crooked street. The shadows grew longer; soon darkness would fall. I didn't want to be out alone, at night. And I didn't want to face Asbeel, alone, in the dark.
But where could I go? I thought of returning to the Empty Flagon, the inn where I had left Perrault only a few hours ago. By then the tavern would surely be full of patrons. The proprietor, a crazy old dwarf named Alviss, would be floating behind the bar and around the room on one of his flying blue discs. Flagons of mead would drift of their own accord out to thirsty customers then return, emptied, and with the coin paid.
And in the room at the back of the tavern, I would find Perrault, lying in bed. For a moment, I imagined I could race back to the inn, speak the password, enter the place, and have Perrault tell me what I should do. But Asbeel would surely come to look for me at the Empty Flagon. And I did not know the city well enough to find another place to hide. I had no other choice. I had to leave Baldur's Gate without him. The only question was how.
From the high hill of the temple district where I stood, I saw the whole sweeping descent of the bustling port and the long wharf at its end. The last of the day's vessels were just sailing up toward the city. I watched as one cut down the river, the small flag atop its mainmast fluttering in the wind. The weight lifted from my chest.
And a plan formed in my head.
Excerpted from The Stowaway, Stone of Tymora Book One (ISBN 978-0786950942).
Copyright © 2008 Wizards of the Coast, Inc.
