Robert Salvatore - The Spine of the World

The rogue turned the wagon off the wide road and onto a small trail that wove into the forest where Wulfgar waited. He came right up to the bottom of the bluff where Wulfgar sat, then stood up and bowed.

"Not so difficult a thing," he announced.

"The guards didn't notice you?" Wulfgar asked.

Morik snorted, as if the notion were preposterous. "They were the same guards as when we were escorted out," he explained, his tone full of pride.

Their experience at the hands of Luskan's authorities had reminded Wulfgar that he and Morik were just big players in a small pond, insignificant when measured against the larger pond that was the backdrop of the huge city-but what a large player Morik was in their small corner! "I even lost a bag of food at the gate," Morik went on. "One of the guards ran to catch up to me so that he could replace it on the wagon."

Wulfgar moved down the bluff to the side of the wagon and pulled aside the canvas that covered the load. There were bags of food at the back, along with rope and material for shelter, but most prominent to Wulfgar's sensibilities were the cases of bottles, full bottles of potent liquor.

"I thought you would be pleased," Morik remarked, moving beside the big man as he stared at the haul. "Leaving the city doesn't have to mean leaving our pleasures behind. I was thinking of dragging Delly Curtie along as well."

Wulfgar snapped an angry glare at Morik. The mention of the woman in such a lewd manner profoundly offended him.

"Come," Morik said, clearing his throat and obviously changing the subject. "Let us find a quiet place where we may quench our thirst," The rogue pulled off his disguise slowly, wincing at the pain that still permeated his joints and his ripped stomach. Those wounds, particularly in his knees, would be slow to heal. He paused again a moment later, holding up the wig to admire his handiwork, then climbed onto the driving bench, taking the reins in hand.

"The horses are not so fine," Wulfgar noted. The team seemed an old, haggard pair.

"I needed the gold to buy the drink," Morik explained.

Wulfgar glanced back at the load, thinking that Morik should have spent the funds on a better team of horses, thinking that his days in the bottle had come to an end. He started up the bluff again, but Morik stopped him with a call.

"There are bandits on the road," the rogue announced, "or so I was informed in town. Bandits on the road north of the forest, and all the way to the pass through the Spine of the World."

"You fear bandits?" Wulfgar asked, surprised.

"Only ones who've never heard of me," Morik explained, and Wulfgar understood the deeper implications. In Luskan, Morik's reputation served him well by keeping most thugs at bay.

"Better that we are prepared for trouble," the rogue finished. Morik reached under the driver's bench and produced a huge axe. "Look," he said with a grin, obviously quite proud of himself as he pointed to the axe head. "It's still stained with Creeps Sharky's blood."

The headsman's own axe! Wulfgar started to ask Morik how in the Nine Hells he'd managed to get his hands on that weapon but decided he simply didn't want to know.

"Come along," Morik instructed, patting the bench beside him. The rogue pulled a bottle from the closest case. "Let's ride and drink and plot our defense."

Wulfgar stared long and hard at that bottle before climbing onto the bench. Morik offered him the bottle, but he declined with gritted teeth. Shrugging, the rogue took a healthy swallow and offered it again. Again Wulfgar declined. That brought a puzzled look to Morik's face, but it fast turned into a smile as he decided that Wulfgar's refusal would leave more for him.

"We needn't live like savages just because we're on the road," Morik stated.

The irony of that statement from a man guzzling so potent a drink was not lost on Wulfgar. The barbarian managed to resist the bottle throughout the afternoon, and Morik happily drained it. Keeping the wagon at a swift pace, Morik tossed the empty bottle against a rock as they passed, then howled with delight when it shattered into a thousand pieces.

"You make a lot of noise for one trying to avoid highwaymen," Wulfgar grumbled.

"Avoid?" Morik asked with a snap of his fingers. "Hardly that. Highwaymen often have well-equipped campsites where we might find some comfort."

"Such well-equipped campsites must belong to successful highwaymen," Wulfgar reasoned, "and successful highwaymen are likely very good at what they do."

"As was Tree Block Breaker, my friend," Morik reminded. When Wulfgar still didn't seem convinced, he added, "Perhaps they will accept our offer to join with them."

"I think not," said Wulfgar.

Morik shrugged, then nodded. "Then we must chase them off," he said matter-of-factly.

"We'll not even find them," Wulfgar muttered.

"Oh?" Morik asked, and he turned the wagon down a side trail so suddenly that it went up on two wheels and Wulfgar nearly tumbled off.

"What?" the barbarian growled as they bounced along. He just barely ducked a low branch, then got a nasty scratch as another whipped against his arm. "Morik!"

"Quiet, my large friend," the rogue said. "There's a river up ahead with but one bridge across it, a bridge bandits would no doubt guard well." They burst out of the brush, bouncing to the banks of the river. Morik slowed the tired horses to a walk, and they started across a rickety bridge. To the rogue's dismay they crossed safely with no bandits in sight.

"Novices," a disappointed Morik grumbled, vowing to go a few miles, then turn back and cross the bridge again. Morik abruptly stopped the wagon. A large and ugly man stepped onto the road up ahead, pointing a sword their way.

"How interesting that such a pair as yourselves should be walking in my woods without my permission," the thug remarked, bringing the sword back and dropping it across his shoulder.

"Your woods?" Morik asked. "Why, good sir, I had thought this forest open for travel." Under his breath to Wulfgar, he added, "Half-orc."

"Idiot," Wulfgar replied so that only Morik could hear. "You, I mean, and not the thief. To look for this trouble. .»

"I thought it would appeal to your heroic side," the rogue replied. "Besides, this highwayman has a camp filled with comforts, no doubt."

"What're you talking about?" the thug demanded.

"Why, you, good sir," Morik promptly replied. "My friend here was just saying that he thought you might be a thief and that you do not own this forest at all."

The bandit's eyes widened, and he stuttered over several responses unsuccessfully. He wound up spitting on the ground. "I'm saying it's my wood!" he declared, poking his chest. "Togo's wood!"

"And the cost of passage through, good Togo?" Morik asked.

"Five gold!" the thug cried and after a pause, he added, "Each of you!"

"Give it to him," Wulfgar muttered.

Morik chuckled, then an arrow zipped past, barely an inch in front of his face. Surprised that this band was so well organized, the rogue abruptly changed his mind and started reaching for his purse.

However, Wulfgar had changed his mind as well, enraged that someone had nearly killed him. Before Morik could agree on the price, the barbarian leaped from the wagon and rushed at Togo barehanded, then suddenly changed his mind and direction. A pair of arrows cut across his initial path. He turned for the monstrous archer he'd spotted perched high in a tree a dozen feet back from the road. Wulfgar crashed through the first line of brush and slammed hard into a fallen log. Hardly slowing, he lifted the log and threw it into the face of another crouching human, then continued his charge.

He made it to the base of the tree just as an arrow thunked into the ground beside him, a near miss Wulfgar ignored. Leaping to a low branch, he caught hold and hauled himself upward with tremendous strength and agility, nearly running up it. Bashing back small branches, scrambling over others, he came level with the archer. The creature, a gnoll bigger than Wulfgar, was desperately trying to set another arrow.