Robert Salvatore: The Spine of the World

"A ravished woman is without blame," Wulfgar put in, for it all made sense.

"While a cheating woman. . " Morik added ominously.

Wulfgar gave another sigh and walked out of the shelter, staring again at the castle. "What will happen to her?" he called back to Morik.

"The marriage will be declared invalid, surely," Morik answered, having lived in human cities long enough to understand such things.

"And the Lady Meralda will be sent from the castle," the barbarian said hopefully.

"If she's fortunate, she'll be banished from Feringal Auck's domain with neither money nor title," Morik replied.

"And if she's un fortunate?" Wulfgar asked.

Morik winced. "Noblemen's wives have been put to death for such offenses," the worldly rogue replied.

"What of the child?" an increasingly agitated Wulfgar demanded. The images of his own horrible past experiences began edging in at the corners of his consciousness.

"If fortunate, banished," Morik replied, "though I fear such an action will take more good fortune than the banishment of the woman. It is very complicated. The child is a threat to Auck's domain, but also to his pride."

"They would kill a child, a helpless babe?" Wulfgar asked, his teeth clenched tightly as those awful memories began to creep ever closer.

"The rage of a betrayed lord cannot be underestimated," Morik answered grimly. "Lord Feringal cannot show weakness, else risk the loss of the respect of his people and the loss of his lands. Complicated and unpleasant business, all. Now let us be gone from this place."

Wulfgar was indeed gone, storming out from under the overhang and stalking down the trails. Morik was quick to catch him.

"What will you do?" the rogue demanded, recognizing Wulfgar's resolve.

"I don't know, but I've got to do something," Wulfgar said, increasing his pace with the level of his agitation while Morik struggled to keep up. As they entered the village, the storm again proved an ally, for no peasants were about. Wulfgar's eyes were set on the bridge leading to Castle Auck.

*****

"Give the child away, as you planned," Steward Temigast suggested to the pacing Lord Feringal.

"It is different now," the young man stammered, slapping his fists helplessly at his sides. He glanced over at Priscilla. His sister was sitting comfortably, her smug smile a reminder that she'd warned him against marrying a peasant in the first place.

"We don't know that anything has changed," Temigast said, always the voice of reason.

Priscilla snorted. "Can you not count?" she asked.

"The child could be early," Temigast protested.

"As well-formed a babe as ever I've seen," said Priscilla. "She was not early, Temigast, and you know it." Priscilla looked straight at her brother, reiterating the talk that had been buzzing about Castle Auck all day. "The child was conceived mid-summer," she said, "before the supposed attack on the road."

"How can I know for sure?" Lord Feringal wailed. His hands tore at the sides of his pants, an accurate reflection of the rending going on inside his mind.

"How can you not know?" Priscilla shot back. "You've been made a fool to the mirth of all the village. Will you compound that now with weakness?"

"You still love her," Steward Temigast cut in.

"Do I?" Lord Feringal said, so obviously torn and confused. "I don't know anymore."

"Send her away, then," the steward offered. "Banish her with the child."

"That would make the villagers laugh all the harder," Priscilla observed sourly. "Do you want the child to return in a score of years and take your kingdom from you? How many times have we heard of such tales?"

Temigast glared at the woman. Such things had occurred, but they were far from common.

"What am I to do, then?" Lord Feringal demanded of his sister.

"A trial of treason for the whore," Priscilla answered matter-of-factly, "and a swift and just removal of the result of her infidelity."

"Removal?" Feringal echoed skeptically.

"She wants you to kill the child," Temigast explained archly.

"Throw it to the waves," Priscilla supplied feverishly, coming right out of her chair. "If you show no weakness now, the folk will still respect you."

"They will hate you more if you murder an innocent child," Temigast said angrily, more to Priscilla than Lord Feringal.

"Innocent?" Priscilla balked as if the notion were preposterous.

"Let them hate you," she said to Lord Feringal, moving her face to within an inch of his. "Better that than to laugh at you. Would you suffer the bastard to live? A reminder, then, of he who lay with Meralda before you?"

"Shut your mouth!" Lord Feringal demanded, pushing her back.

Priscilla didn't back down. "Oh, but how she purred in the arms of Jaka Sculi," she said, and her brother was trembling so much that he couldn't even speak through his grinding teeth. "I'll wager she arched that pretty back of hers for him," Priscilla finished lewdly.

Feral, sputtering sounds escaped the young lord. He grabbed his sister by the shoulders with both hands and flung her aside. She was smiling the whole time, satisfied, for the enraged lord shoved past Temigast and ran for the stairs. The stairs that led to Meralda and her bastard child.

*****

"It's guarded, you know," Morik reminded him, yelling though his voice sounded thin in the howling wind.

Wulfgar wouldn't have heeded the warning anyway. His eyes were set on Castle Auck, and his line to the bridge didn't waver. He pictured the mounds of snow as the Spine of the World, as that barrier between the man he had been and the victim he had become. Now, his mind free at last of all influence of potent liquor, his strength of will granting him armor against those awful images of his imprisonment, Wulfgar saw the choices clearly before him. He could turn back to the life he had found or he could press on, could cross that emotional barrier, could fight and claw his way back to the man he once was.

The barbarian growled and pressed on against the storm. He even picked up speed as he reached the bridge, a fast walk, a trot, then a full run as he picked his course, veering to the right, where the snow had drifted along the railing and the castle's front wall. Up the drift Wulfgar went, crunching into snow past his knees, but growling and plowing on, maintaining his momentum. He leaped from the top of the drift, reaching with an outstretched arm to hook his hammer's head atop the wall. Wulfgar heard a startled call from above as it caught loudly against the stone, but he hardly slowed, great muscles cording and tugging, propelling him upward, where he rolled around, slipping right over the crenelated barrier. He landed nimbly on his feet on the parapet within, right between two dumbfounded guards, neither of them holding a weapon as they tried to keep their hands warm.

Morik rushed up the same path as Wulfgar, using agile moves to scale the wall nearly as fast as his friend had done with brute strength. Still, by the time he got to the parapet Wulfgar was already down in the courtyard, storming for the main keep. Both guards were down, too, lying on the ground and groaning, one holding his jaw, the other curled up and clutching his belly.

"Secure the door!" one of the guards managed to cry out.

The main door cracked open then, a man peeking out. Seeing Wulfgar bearing in, he tried to close it fast. Wulfgar got there just before it slammed, pushing back with all his strength. He heard the man calling frantically for help, felt the greater push as another guard joined the first, both leaning heavily.

"I'm coming, too," Morik called, "though only the gods know why!"

His thoughts far away, in a dark and smoky place where his child's last terrified cry rent the air, Wulfgar didn't hear his friend, didn't need him. Bellowing, he shoved with all his strength until the door flew in, tossing the two guards like children against the back wall of the foyer.