Robert Salvatore - The Spine of the World

"I can't do this alone," Wulfgar called again to Morik, his tone growing more angry.

Blowing out a great, long-suffering sigh, the rogue ambled over. Studying the situation briefly, he trotted off to where Wulfgar had left the rope, which he looped about the tree then brought one end back to tie off the upper rim of the coach. Morik passed by the woman, who jumped back from him, but he scarcely noticed.

Next, Morik took the horses by their bridle and pulled them around, dragging the coach carefully and slowly so that its wheels were equidistant from the tree. "You lift, and I will set the rope to hold it," he instructed Wulfgar. "Then brace yourself and lift it higher, and soon we will have it upright."

Morik was a clever one, Wulfgar had to admit. As soon as the rogue was back in place at the rope and the woman had a hold of the team again, Wulfgar bent low and gave a great heave, and up the carriage went.

Morik quickly took up the slack, tightening the rope about the tree, allowing Wulfgar to reset his position. A moment later, the barbarian gave another heave, and again Morik held the coach in place at its highest point. The third pull by Wulfgar brought it over bouncing onto its four wheels.

The horses nickered nervously and stamped the ground, tossing their heads in protest so forcefully that the woman couldn't hold on. Wulfgar was beside her instantly, though, grabbing the bridles and pulling hard, steadying the beasts. Then, using the same rope, he tied them off to the tree and went to the fallen driver.

"What's his name?" he asked of the woman. Seeing her hesitation he said, "We can't do anything worse to you than we have already, just by knowing your name. I feel strange helping him but not knowing what to call him."

The woman's expression lightened as she saw the sense of his remark. "His name's Liam." Apparently having found some courage, she came over and crouched next to her driver, concern replacing fear on her face. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Don't know yet."

Poor Liam seemed far from consciousness, but he was alive, and upon closer inspection his injuries didn't appear too serious. Wulfgar lifted him gently and brought him to the coach, laying him on the bench seat inside. The barbarian went back to the woman, taking her arm and pulling her along behind him.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," she protested and tried to fight back. She would have had an easier time holding back the two horses.

Morik's smile grew wide when Wulfgar dragged her by. "A change of heart?" the rogue asked.

"She's coming with us for a while," Wulfgar explained.

"No!" the young woman protested. Balling up her fist, she leaped up and smacked Wulfgar hard across the back of his head.

He stopped and turned to her, his expression amused and a little impressed at her spunk. "Yes," he answered, pinning her arm as she tried to hit him again. "You'll come with us for just a mile," he explained. "Then I'll let you loose to return to the coach and the driver, and you may go wherever you please."

"You won't hurt me?"

"Not I," Wulfgar answered. He glowered at Morik. "Nor him." Realizing she had little choice in the matter, the young woman went along without further argument. True to his word, Wulfgar released her a mile or so from the coach. Then he and Morik and their purse of gold melted into the mountains.

*****

Meralda ran the whole way back to poor Liam. Her side was aching by the time she found the old gnome. He was awake but hardly able to climb out of the coach, let alone drive it.

"Stay inside," the woman bade him. "I'll turn the team around and get us back to Castle Auck."

Liam protested, but Meralda just shut the door and went to work. Soon she had them moving back west along the road, a bumpy and jostling ride, for she was not experienced in handling horses and the road was not an easy one. Along the way, the miles and the hours rolling out behind her, an idea came to the woman, a seemingly simple solution to all her troubles.

It was long after sunset when they pulled back into Auckney proper at the gates of Castle Auck. Lord Feringal and Priscilla came out to greet them, and their jaws dropped when they saw the bedraggled woman and the battered coachman within.

"Thieves on the road," Meralda explained. Priscilla climbed to her side, uncharacteristically concerned. In a voice barely above a whisper, Meralda added, "He hurt me." With that, she broke into sobs in Priscilla's arms.

*****

The wind moaned about him, a sad voice that sang to Wulfgar about what had been and what could never be again, a lost time, a lost innocence, and friends he sorely missed yet could not seek out.

Once more he sat on the high bluff at the northern end of the pass through the Spine of the World, overlooking Icewind Dale, staring out to the northeast. He saw a sparkle out there. It might have been a trick of the light, or maybe it was the slanted rays of late afternoon sunlight reflecting off of Maer Dualdon, the largest of the three lakes of the Ten-Towns region. Also, he thought he saw Kelvin's Cairn, the lone mountain north of the range.

It was probably just his imagination, he told himself again or a trick of the light, for the mountain was a long way from him. To Wulfgar, it seemed like a million miles.

"They have camped outside the southern end of the pass," Morik announced, moving to join the big man. "There are not so many. It should be a clean take."

Wulfgar nodded. After the success along the shore road to the west, the pair had returned to the south, the region between Luskan and the pass, and had even bought some goods from one passing merchant with their ill-found gold. Then they had come back to the pass and had hit another caravan. This time it went smoothly, with the merchant handing over a tithe and no blood spilled. Morik had spotted their third group of victims, a caravan of three wagons heading north out of Luskan, bound for Icewind Dale.

"Always you are looking north," the rogue remarked, sitting next to Wulfgar, "and yet you will not venture there. Have you enemies in Ten-Towns?"

"I have friends who would stop us if they knew what we were about," Wulfgar explained.

"Who would try to stop us?" cocky Morik replied.

Wulfgar looked him right in the eye. "They would stop us," he insisted, his grave expression offering no room for argument. He let that look linger on Morik for a moment, then turned back to the dale, the wistfulness returning as well to his sky-blue eyes.

"What life did you leave behind there?" Morik asked.

Wulfgar turned back, surprised. He and Morik didn't often talk about their respective pasts, at least not unless they were drinking.

"Will you tell me?" Morik pressed. "I see so much in your face. Pain, regret, and what else?"

Wulfgar chuckled at that observation. "What did I leave behind?" he echoed. After a moment's pause, he answered, "Everything."

"That sounds foolish."

"I could be a king," Wulfgar went on, staring out at the dale again as if speaking to himself. Perhaps he was. "Chieftain of the combined tribes of Icewind Dale, with a strong voice on the council of Ten-Towns. My father-" He looked at Morik and laughed. "You would not like my father, Morik. Or at least, he would not like you."

"A proud barbarian?"

"A surly dwarf," Wulfgar countered. "He's my adoptive father," he clarified as Morik sputtered over that one. "The Eighth King of Mithral Hall and leader of a clan of dwarves mining in the valley before Kelvin's Cairn in Icewind Dale."

"Your father is a dwarven king?" Wulfgar nodded. "And you are out on the road beside me, sleeping on the ground?" Again the nod. "Truly you are a bigger fool than I had believed."

Wulfgar just stared out at the tundra, hearing the sad song of the wind. He couldn't disagree with Morik's assessment, but neither did he have the power to change things. He heard Morik reaching for his pack, then heard the familiar clink of bottles.