“Fear not, for I’ll not tell, nor will Meralda, whose life you have truly saved this day,” the steward went on. “You are a fine man, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar, of the Tribe of the Elk of Icewind Dale.” Wulfgar blinked in amazement, both at the compliment and at the simple fact that the man knew so much of him.
“The wizard who caught you told him,” Morik reasoned. “I hate wizards.”
“There will be no pursuit,” said Temigast. “On my word.”
And that word held true, for Morik and Wulfgar rode without incident back to the overhang, where they retrieved their own horses, then continued down the east road and out of Auckney for good.
“What is it?” Wulfgar asked Morik later that night, seeing the rogue’s amused expression. They were huddled around a blazing fire, keeping the child warm. Morik smiled and held up a pair of bottles, one with warm goat’s milk for the child, the other with their favored potent drink. Wulfgar took the one with the goat’s milk.
“I will never understand you, my friend,” Morik remarked.
Wulfgar smiled, but did not respond. Morik could never truly know of Wulfgar’s past, of the good times with Drizzt and the others, and of the very worst times with Errtu and the offspring of his stolen seed.
“There are easier ways to make gold,” Morik remarked, and that brought Wulfgar’s steely gaze over him. “You mean to sell the child, of course,” Morik reasoned.
Wulfgar scoffed.
“A fine price,” Morik argued, taking a healthy swig from the bottle.
“Not fine enough,” said Wulfgar, turning back to the babe. The little girl wriggled and cooed.
“You cannot plan to keep her!” Morik argued. “What place has she with us? With you, wherever you plan to go? Have you lost all sensibility?”
Scowling, Wulfgar spun on him, slapped the bottle from his hands, then shoved him back to the ground, as determined an answer as Morik the Rogue had ever heard.
“She’s not even yours!” Morik reminded him.
The rogue could not have been more wrong.
orik looked at Wulfgar’s disguise one more time and sighed helplessly. There was only so much one could do to change the appearance of a nearly seven-foot-tall, three hundred pound, blond-haired barbarian.
Wulfgar was clean shaven again for the first time since his return from the Abyss. Morik had taught him to walk in a way that would somewhat lessen his height, with shoulders drooped but arms crooked so that they did not hang to his knees. Also, Morik had procured a large brown robe such as a priest might wear, with a bunched collar that allowed Wulfgar to scrunch down his neck without being obvious about it.
Still, the rogue was not entirely happy with the disguise, not when so much was riding on it. “You should wait out here,” he offered, for perhaps the tenth time since Wulfgar had told him his wishes.
“No,” Wulfgar said evenly. “They would not come at your word alone. This is something I must do.”
“Get us both killed?” the rogue asked sarcastically. “Lead on,” Wulfgar said, ignoring him. When Morik tried to argue, the barbarian slapped a hand over the smaller man’s mouth and turned him around to face the distant city gate.
With one last sigh and a shake of his head, Morik led the way back into Luskan. To the great relief of both of them, for Wulfgar surely did not wish to be discovered while carrying the baby, they were not recognized, were not detained at all, but merely strode into the city where the spring festival was on in full.
They had come in late in the day by design. Wulfgar went straight to Half-Moon Street, arriving at the Cutlass as one of the evening’s first patrons. He moved to the bar, right beside Josi Puddles.
“What’re ye drinking?” Arumn Gardpeck asked, but the question caught in his throat and his eyes went wide as he looked more carefully at the big man. “Wulfgar,” he gasped.
Behind the barbarian a tray dropped, and Wulfgar turned to see Delly Curtie standing there, stunned. Josi Puddles gave a squeal and leaned away.
“Well met, Arumn,” Wulfgar said to the tavernkeeper. “I drink only water.”
“What’re ye doing here?” the tavernkeeper gasped, suspicious and more than a little fearful.
Josi hopped off his stool and started for the door, but Wulfgar caught him by the arm and held him in place. “I came to apologize,” the barbarian offered. “To you, and to you,” he added, turning to Josi.
“Ye tried to kill me,” Josi sputtered.
“I was blind with anger, and likely drink,” Wulfgar replied.
“He took yer hammer,” Arumn reminded.
“Out of rightful fear that I would use it against you,” the barbarian answered. “He acted as a friend, which is much more than I can say for Wulfgar.”
Arumn shook his head, hardly believing any of this. Wulfgar released Josi, but the man made no move to continue for the door, just stood there, dumbfounded.
“You took me in, gave me food, a paying job, and friendship when I needed it most,” Wulfgar continued to Arumn alone. “I wronged you, terribly so, and can only hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“Are ye looking to live here again?” Arumn asked.
Wulfgar smiled sadly and shook his head. “I risk my life by even entering the city,” he replied. “I’ll be gone within the hour, but I had to come, to apologize to you two, and mostly,” he turned around, facing Delly, “to you.”
Delly Curtie blanched as Wulfgar approached, as if she didn’t know how to react to the man’s words, to the mere sight of him again.
“I am most humbly sorry for any pain that I ever caused you, Delly,” he said. “You were as true a friend as any man could ever have desired.”
“More than a friend,” Wulfgar quickly added, seeing her frown.
Delly eyed the bundle in his arms. “Ye’ve a little one,” the woman said, her voice thick with emotion.
“Mine by chance and not by heritage,” Wulfgar replied. He handed the little girl over to her. Delly took her, smiling tenderly, playing with the child’s fingers and bringing a smile to that innocent little face.
“I wish ye might be stayin’ again,” Arumn offered, and he sounded sincere, though Josi’s eyes widened in doubt at the mere mention.
“I cannot,” Wulfgar replied. Smiling at Delly, he leaned over and took the babe back, then kissed Delly on the forehead. “I pray you find all the happiness you deserve, Delly Curtie,” he said, and with a look and a nod at Arumn and Josi, he started for the door.
Delly, too, looked hard at Arumn, so much her father. The man understood and nodded once again. She caught up to Wulfgar before he reached the exit.
“Take me with ye,” she said, her eyes sparkling with hope—something few had seen from the woman in a long, long time.
Wulfgar looked puzzled. “I did not return to rescue you,” he explained.
“Rescue?” Delly echoed incredulously. “I’m not needin’ yer rescue, thank ye very much, but you’re needin’ help with the little one, I can see. I’m good with tykes—spent most o’ me young life raisin’ me brothers and sisters— and I’ve grown more than a bit bored with me life here.”
“I don’t know where my road shall lead,” Wulfgar argued.
“Safe enough, I’m guessing,” Delly replied. “Since ye’ve the little one to care for, I mean.”
“Waterdeep, perhaps,” said Wulfgar.
“A place I’ve always wanted to see,” she said, her smile growing with every word, for it seemed obvious that Wulfgar was becoming more than a little intrigued by her offer.
The barbarian looked curiously to Arumn, and the tavernkeeper nodded his head yet again. Even from that distance Wulfgar could see a bit of moisture rimming the man’s eyes.
He gave the child back to Delly, bade her wait there, and moved back to the bar with Arumn and Josi. “I’ll not hurt her ever again,” Wulfgar promised Arumn.
“If ye do, I’ll hunt ye down and kill ye,” Josi growled.
Wulfgar and
Arumn looked at the man, Arumn doubtfully, but Wulfgar working hard to keep his expression serious. “I know that, Josi Puddles,” he replied without sarcasm, “and your wrath is something I would truly fear.”
When he got past his own surprise, Josi puffed up his little chest with pride. Wulfgar and Arumn exchanged stares.
“No drinking?” Arumn asked.
Wulfgar shook his head. “I needed the bottle to hide in,” he answered honestly, “but I have learned it to be worse than what haunts me.” “And if ye get bored with the girl?”
“I didn’t come here for Delly Curtie,” Wulfgar replied. “Only to apologize. I didn’t think she would accept my apology so completely, but glad I am that she did. We’ll find a good road to travel, and I’ll protect her as best I can, from myself most of all.”
“See that ye do,” Arumn replied. “I’ll expect ye back.”
Wulfgar shook Arumn’s hand, patted Josi on the shoulder, and moved to take Delly’s arm, leading her out of the Cutlass. Together they walked away from a significant part of their lives.
Lord Feringal and Meralda walked along the garden, hand in hand, enjoying the springtime fragrance and beauty. Wulfgar’s ploy had worked. Feringal and all the fiefdom believed Meralda the wronged party again, freeing her from blame and the young lord from ridicule.
Truly the woman felt pain at the loss of her child, but it, like her marriage, seemed well on the mend. She kept telling herself over and over that the babe was with a good and strong man, a better father than Jaka could ever have been. Many were the times Meralda cried for the lost child, but always she repeated her logical litany and remembered that her life, given her mistakes and station by birth, was better by far than she could ever have imagined. Her mother and father were healthy, and Tori visited her every day, bobbing happily among the flowers and proving more of a thorn to Priscilla than Meralda had ever been.
Now the couple was simply enjoying the splendor of spring, the woman adjusting to her new life. Feringal snapped his fingers suddenly and pulled away. Meralda regarded him curiously.
“I have forgotten something,” her husband replied. Feringal motioned for her to wait, then ran back into the castle, nearly running down Priscilla, who was coming out the garden door.
Of course, Priscilla still didn’t believe any of Wulfgar’s tale. She scowled at Meralda, but the younger woman just turned away and moved to the wall, staring out over the waves.
“Watching for your next lover to arrive?” Priscilla muttered under her breath as she moved by. She often launched verbal jabs Meralda’s way, and Meralda often just let them slide down her shoulders.
Not this time, though. Meralda stepped in front of her sister-in-law, hands on her hips. “You’ve never felt an honest emotion in your miserable life, Priscilla Auck, which is why you’re so bitter.” she said. “Judge me not.”
Priscilla’s eyes widened with shock and she trembled, unused to being spoken to in such a forward manner. “You ask—”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” Meralda said curtly.
Priscilla stood up and grimaced, then slapped Meralda across the face.
Feeling the sting, Meralda slapped her back harder. “Judge me not, or I’ll whisper the truth of your wretchedness into your brother’s ear,” Meralda warned, so calm and calculating that her words alone made Priscilla’s face burn hot. “You can’t doubt that I have his ear,” Meralda finished. “Have you thought of what a life in the village among the peasants might be like for you?”
Even as she finished her husband bounded back out, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand, flowers for his dear Meralda. Priscilla took one look at her fawning brother, gave a great cry, and ran into the castle.
Feringal watched her go, confused, but so little did he care what Priscilla thought or felt these days that he didn’t even bother to ask Meralda about it.
Meralda, too, watched the wretched woman depart. Her smile was wrought from more than delight at her husband’s thoughtful present. Much more.
Morik said his farewells to Wulfgar and to Delly, then began at once to reestablish himself on Luskan’s streets. He took a room at an inn on Half-Moon Street but spent little time there, for he was out working hard, telling the truth of his identity to those who needed to know, establishing a reputation as a completely different man, Burglar Brandeburg, to those who did not.
By the end of the tenday many nodded in deference as he passed them on the streets. By the end of the month, the rogue no longer feared retribution from the authorities. He was home again, and soon things would be as they had been before Wulfgar had ever come to Luskan.
He was leaving his room one night with just that in mind when he stepped out of his bedroom door into the inn’s upper hallway. Instead he found himself sliding through a dizzying tunnel, coming to rest in a crystalline room whose circular walls gave the appearance of one level in a tower.
Dazed, Morik started to reach for his dagger, but he saw the ebon-skinned forms and changed his mind, wise enough not to resist the dark elves.
“You know me, Morik,” said Kimmuriel Oblodra, moving close to the man.
Morik did, indeed, recognize the drow as the messenger who had come to him a year before, bidding him to keep a watch over Wulfgar.
“I give you my friend, Rai-guy,” Kimmuriel said politely, indicating the other dark elf in the room, one wearing a sinister expression.
“Did we not ask you to watch over the one named Wulfgar?” Kimmuriel asked.
Morik stuttered, not knowing what to say.
“And have you not failed us?” Kimmuriel went on.
“But … but that was a year ago,” Morik protested. “I have heard nothing since.”
“Now you are in hiding, in disguise, knowing your crime against us,” said Kimmuriel.
“My supposed crimes are of another matter,” Morik stuttered, feeling as if the very walls were tightening around him. “I hide from the Luskan authorities, not from you.”
“From them you hide?” said the other drow. “Help you, I can!” He strode over to Morik and lifted his hands. Sheets of flame erupted from his fingertips, burning Morik’s face and lighting his hair on fire. The rogue howled and fell to the floor, slapping at his singed skin.
“Now you appear different,” Kimmuriel remarked, and both dark elves chuckled wickedly. They dragged him up the tower stairs into another room, where a bald-headed drow holding a great plumed purple hat sat comfortably in a chair.
“My apologies, Morik,” he said. “My lieutenants are an excitable lot.”
“I was with Wulfgar for months,” Morik claimed, obviously on the edge of hysteria. “Circumstance forced us apart and forced him from Luskan. I can find him for you—”
“No need,” said the drow in the chair, holding up his hand to calm the groveling man. “I am Jarlaxle, of Menzoberranzan, and I forgive you in full.”
Morik rubbed one hand over what was left of his hair, as if to say that he wished Jarlaxle had been so beneficent earlier.
“I had planned for Wulfgar to be my primary trading partner in Luskan, my representative here.” Jarlaxle explained. “Now, with him gone, I ask you to assume the role.”
Morik blinked, and his heart skipped a beat.
“We will make you wealthy and powerful beyond your dreams,” the mercenary leader explained, and Morik believed him. “You’ll not need to hide from the authorities. Indeed, many will invite you to their homes almost daily, for they will desperately want to remain in good standing with you. If there are any you wish … eliminated, that, too, can be easily arranged.”
Morik licked what was left of his lips.
“Does this sound like a position Morik the Rogue would be interested in pursuing?” Jarlaxle asked, and Morik returned the dark elf’s sly look tenfold.
“I warn you,” Jarlaxle said, coming forward in his chair, his dark eyes flashing, “if you ever fail me, my friend Rai-guy will willingly alter your appearance yet again.”
“And again,” the wizard happily added.
“I hate wizards,” Morik muttered under his breath.
Wulfgar and Delly looked down on Waterdeep, the City of Splendors. The most wondrous and powerful city on the Sword Coast, it was a place of great dreams and greater power.
“Where are ye thinkin’ we’ll be staying?” the happy woman asked, gently rocking the child.
Wulfgar shook his head. “I have coins,” he replied, “but I don’t know how long we’ll remain in Waterdeep.”
“Ye’re not thinkin’ to make our lives here?”
The barbarian shrugged, for he hadn’t given it much thought. He had come to Waterdeep with another purpose. He hoped to find Captain Deudermont and Sea Sprite in port, or hoped that they would come in soon, as they often did.
“Have you ever been to sea?” he asked the woman, his best friend and partner now, with a wide smile.
It was time for him to get Aegis-fang back.
THE LEGEND OF DRIZZT BOOK XII
THE SPINE OF THE WORLD
©1999 TSR, Inc.
©2007 Wizards of the Coast, Inc.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Published by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. FORGOTTEN REALMS, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc., in the U.S.A. and other countries.
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