Robert Salvatore - The Spine of the World

Wulfgar stared at him unblinking, but his expression spoke clearly that he did not deny the words.

"That alone would cost you your hands and imprison you for as many years as Lord Feringal decided was just," Temigast explained. "Or that alone could cost you your life."

"Your driver, Liam, was injured," Wulfgar replied, his voice a growl. "Accidentally. I could have let him die on the road. The girl was not harmed in any way."

"Why would she say differently?" Temigast asked calmly.

"Did she?" Wulfgar came back, and he tilted his head, beginning to catch on, beginning to understand why the young lord had been so completely outraged. At first he had thought mere pride to be the source-the man had failed to properly protect his wife, after all-but now, in retrospect, Wulfgar began to suspect there had been something even deeper there, some primal outrage. He remembered Lord Feringal's first words to him, a threat of castration.

"I pray that Lord Feringal has a most unpleasant death prepared for you, barbarian," Temigast remarked. "You cannot know the agony you have brought to him, to Lady Meralda, or to the folk of Auckney. You are a scoundrel and a dog, and justice will be served when you die, whether in public execution or down here alone in the filth."

"You came down here just to deliver this news?" Wulfgar asked sarcastically. Temigast struck him in the hand with the lit torch, forcing Wulfgar to quickly retract his arm.

With that the old man turned and stormed away, leaving Wulfgar alone in the dark and with some very curious notions swirling about in his head.

*****

Despite his final outburst and genuine anger, Temigast didn't walk away with his mind made up about anything. He had gone to see the barbarian because of Meralda's reaction to the man in the audience hall, because he had to learn the truth. Now that truth, seemed fuzzier by far. Why wouldn't Meralda identify Wulfgar if she had, indeed, recognized him? How could she not? The man was remarkable, after all, being near to seven feet in height and with shoulders as broad as a young giant's.

Priscilla was wrong, Temigast knew, for he recognized that she was thinking that Meralda had enjoyed the rape. "Ridiculous," the steward muttered, verbalizing his thoughts that he might make some sense of them. "Purely and utterly ridiculous.

"But would Meralda protect her rapist?" he asked himself quietly.

The answer hit him as clearly as the image of an idiotic young man slipping off a cliff.

"I hate wizards," Morik muttered, crawling out of the rubble of the slide, a dozen cuts and bruises decorating his body. "Not really a fair fight. I must learn this spellcasting business!"

The rogue spent a long while surveying the area, but of course, Wulfgar was nowhere to be found. The wizard's choice in taking Wulfgar seemed a bit odd to Morik. Likely the man thought Wulfgar the more dangerous of the two foes, probably the leader. But it had been Morik, and surely not Wulfgar, who had made an attempt at the lady in the carriage. Wulfgar was the one who had insisted that they let her go, and quickly enough to save the wounded driver. Obviously, the wizard had not come well informed.

Now where was Morik to turn? He went back to the cave first, tending his wounds and collecting the supplies he would need for the road. He didn't want to stay here, not with an angry band of goblins nearby and Wulfgar gone from his side. But where to go?

The choice seemed obvious after but a moment's serious thought-back to Luskan. Morik had always known he would venture back to the streets he knew so well. He'd concoct a new identity as far as most were concerned, but he'd remain very much the same intimidating rogue to those whose alliance he needed. The snag in his plans thus far had been Wulfgar. Morik couldn't walk into Luskan with the huge barbarian beside him and hope to maintain secrecy for any length of time.

Of course, there was also the not-so-little matter of dark elves.

Even that potential problem didn't hold up, though, for Morik had done his best to remain with Wulfgar, as he had been instructed. Now Wulfgar was gone, and the way was left open. Morik took the first steps out of the Spine of the World, heading back for the place he knew so well.

But something very strange happened just then to Morik's sensibilities. The rogue found himself taking two steps westward for every one south. It was no trick of the wizard but a spell cast by his own conscience, a spell of memory that whispered the demands Wulfgar had placed on Captain Deudermont at Prisoner's Carnival that Morik, too, must be set free. Bound by friendship for the first time in his miserable life, Morik the Rogue was soon trotting along the road, sorting out his plan.

He camped on the side of a mountain that night and spotted the campfire of a group of circled wagons. He wasn't far from the main northern pass. The wagons had come from Ten-Towns, no doubt, and were on the road to the south, thus wouldn't go anywhere near to the fiefdom in the west. It was unlikely these merchants had even heard of the place.

"Greetings!" Morik called to the lone sentry later that night.

"Stand fast!" the man called back. Behind him, the others scrambled.

"I am no enemy," Morik explained. "I'm a wayward adventurer separated from my group, wounded a bit, but more angry than hurt."

After a short discussion, which Morik could not hear, another voice announced that he could approach, but it warned that a dozen archers were trained on his heart and he would be wise to keep his palms showing empty.

Wanting no part of a fight, Morik did just that, walking through twin lines of armed men into the firelight to stand before two middle-aged merchants, one a great bear of a man, the other leaner, but still quite sturdy.

"I am Lord Brandeburg of Waterdeep," Morik began, "returning to Ten-Towns, to Maer Dualdon, where I hope to find some remaining sport fishing for knucklehead. Fun business that!"

"You are a long way from anywhere, Lord Brandeburg," the heavier merchant replied.

"Late in the year to be out on Maer Dualdon," the other replied, suspicious.

"Yet that is where I am going, if I find my playful, wandering friends," Morik replied with a laugh. "Perchance have you seen them? A dwarf, Bruenor Battlehammer by name, his human daughter Catti-brie-oh, but the sun itself bows before her beauty! — a rather fat halfling, and. ." Morik hesitated and appeared somewhat nervous suddenly, though the smiles of recognition on the faces of the merchants were exactly what he had hoped to see.

"And a dark elf," the heavy man finished for him. "Go ahead and speak openly of Drizzt Do'Urden, Lord Brandeburg. Well known, he is, and no enemy of any merchant crossing into the dale."

Morik sighed with feigned relief and silently thanked Wulfgar for telling him so much of his former friends during their drinking binges over the last few days.

"Well met, I say to you," the heavy man continued. "I am Petters, and my associate Goodman Dawinkle." On a motion from Petters, the guards behind Morik relaxed, and the trio settled into seats around the fire, where Morik was handed a bowl of thick stew.

"Back to Icewind Dale, you say?" Dawinkle asked. "How have you lost that group? No trouble, I pray."

"More a game," Morik answered. "I joined them many miles to the south, and perhaps in my ignorance I got a little forward with Catti-brie." Both merchants scowled darkly "Nothing serious, I assure you," Morik quickly added. "I was unaware that her heart was for another, an absent friend, nor did I realize that grumbling Bruenor was her father. I merely requested a social exchange, but that, I fear was enough to make Bruenor wish to pay me back."

The merchants and guards laughed now. They had heard of surly and overprotective Bruenor Battlehammer, as had anyone who spent time in Icewind Dale.