Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

Even further above, he knew, was the party sent by the League to obtain the treasures of the mountain. A group of black robes and apprentices, carefully balanced to represent each faction of the League council. After them the two from the Council of the North. And finally, himself, representing naught but his own interests.

Like a jackal following lions. He smiled sourly. Well enough. For when lions fight, jackals win.

Toth-Ra had little doubt these lions would fight. Even without the Northerners, the very richness of what lay above guaranteed that.

And if perchance he was wrong? If the fragile coalition that governed the League could hold together under the pressure of the indescribable wealth and power from this hoard? Well, there would still be crumbs for a clever jackal to gather.

With his face set in an unaccustomed smile, Toth-Ra continued his climb.

Shiara and Cormac were almost to the tree line when they heard a noise. The trail paralleled a cliff here and a thin moan came from a clump of bushes off the trail off the cliff side.

Cormac drew his sword, but Shiara moved instinctively to the sound of a creature in pain. She thrust through the narrow band of bushes that lay between them and the cliff face.

"Cormac, come here."

As Cormac breasted through the brush he saw a twisted shape like a small man lying on the rocks. Obviously it had fallen from the cliff above them.

"It’s a wood goblin," Cormac siad, looking over it. "Leave the poor creature."

Shiara shook her head. "He has a soul and so deserves succor."

"Have we time to do this?"

She looked up at him. "Have we time not to?"

Gently she moved the twisted broken body off the blood-smeared rocks and placed it carefully on a patch of grass. Quickly the wizardess spread out a collection of healing implements and set to work.

Shiara labored the chance-found creature as if it were one of her own. She chanted and muttered, made passes with her silver wand and sprinkled the body with herbs and powders.

As Cormac watched the wounds scabbed over and began to close. The twisted limbs straightened and the bones within them knit. The little creature’s breathing slowed and became more regular. At last it relaxed and began to snore sonorously.

"Now what?" Cormac asked as Shiara turned away fro the sleeping goblin.

"He needs rest and a chance to rebuild his strength. In another day or two he will be fine, but now…"

"We do not have a day or two to give over to nursing him. Have you forgotten what brought us here?"

"No, I have not forgotten. But he," she nodded to the creature, "will be awake soon and we can ask where his tribe is. I will have to rest a bit in any case." She finished packing her kit and sat down heavily beside her patient.

It was less than an hour later that the wood goblin stirred, moaned and opened his eyes. He started and tried to rise at the sight of the two humans, but Shiara placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Rest now," she told him. "We’re friends." The goblin looked dubious but settled back. "I am Shiara and this is Cormac. What is your name?"

"Ugo. Me Ugo." The goblin’s speech was creaky and slurred but he was understandable.

"Does your tribe live nearby?" Shiara asked.

"Tribe all dead," the little goblin said sadly. "Ugo all alone."

Cormac grunted in sympathy. Unlike their large cousins the hobgoblins, wood goblins lived in closely knit groups. A wood goblin whose tribe had perished had little to live for and scant chance of surviving.

"I am sorry," Shiara said. "Now rest here for a while and you will feel better." She rose and signaled Cormac that she was ready to move on.

"Wait, Lady," cried Ugo. The little creature scrambled painfully up and knelt in front of her. "Take me with you. I serve you, Lady," the goblin pleaded. "Let me stay and serve you."

Cormac looked at Shiara. The last thing they needed was a servant of any sort, much less an ailing wood goblin. But refusing would surely doom him. Without a substitute for his tribe the little creature had no will to live.

Shiara reached down and put a hand on the goblin’s head. "Very well, Ugo. We accept your service." His ugly face glowed and he looked up adoringly at Shiara.

"Here is your first task, Ugo, and it is an important one. We go to the top of this mountain on a mission from the Council of the North. If we are not back in three sunsets," she held up three fingers for emphasis, "you must make your way to the Fringe and contact the Council. Tell them we have failed and others must be sent to complete the business. Do you understand?"

"Yes, lady. Wait three sunsets. If you not back, go tell Council."

"Then wait for us here, Ugo. Do not follow. Rest and stay out of sight. we should be back in three days and if not, the message must reach the Council."

"Yes, Lady. Ugo wait."

"Do you really think the wight can get through the Wild Wood if something happens to us?" Cormac asked once they were out of earshot.

Shiara shrugged. "Probably not. But it gives him a reason to live and a sense of his own worth. We will be done in less than three days."

"Much less, I hope," said Cormac, scowling at the mountain jutting above them.

Evening found them above the tree line, halfway across a jumbled field of boulders. There was no snow but the air was cold and the wind keen and sharp. They used the faggots they had gathered on their climb through the forest to build a fire in a place where two great boulders leaned together and provided shelter from the winds.

"Our follower?"

"Camped down in the trees. He apparently plans to gain the summit in a single push tomorrow."

"By which time, luck willing, we will have completed our business and be away."

"Luck willing," Shiara agreed.

Their evening meal was barley porridge flavored with dried meat. It was quickly eaten, but neither made a move to bed down. Instead they sat, staring into the fire and enjoying the warmth reflecting off the boulders.

"Light, would you have chosen this life," Cormac asked her. "Could you have chosen freely, I mean?"

Shiara stared into the flames. "I do not know," she said at last. "Being a wizardess is not a free choice. You are born gifted and you try to build your life around it." She lifted her head and looked at him. "And you? Did you choose freely?"

He laughed easily. "Oh, aye. Even as a child I had a taste for trouble. Mine was a free choice." He sobered. "As freely as any man can choose, at least. I had no hand for farming and I did not want to starve."

"Do you regret it?"

Cormac shook his head. "We’ve had a good run, lass. We’ve had some fine times and our fame will live after us. But there are times I miss the things I have not had."

"A home?" She asked with a little smile. "And children?"

"The rest, aye. And children, perhaps. I was an only child you know. My line dies with me."

Shiara laid her fingertips on his shoulder. "That could still be," she said softly.

"Perhaps. But I’m an old horse to break. I suppose it’s a matter of making choices and then regretting that in making them we give up other things." He picked up a stick and poked the fire with it idly. "I chose the sword road because it promised honor and fame. I have had all that, so I cannot complain of a bargain unfulfilled."

"Did duty have no role in your choosing?"

Cormac grinned. "Oh, a mite. But I remember the day you came to the parade ground seeking a guardsman to cover your back while you burgled some trinkety bit of magic. I saw you and decided none other would be your quest companion." He shook his head. "There were one or two others who were minded to volunteer, but I convinced them otherwise."

"So you presented yourself to me the next day with knuckles bloody." Shiara smiled at the memory. "But was it only my beauty?"