The Spine of the World

 

"We've not much time! What am I to wear?" Biaste Ganderlay wailed when Meralda told her the wedding had been moved up to the autumn equinox.



"If we're to wear anything more than we have, Lord Feringal will be bringing it by," Dohni Ganderlay said, patting the woman's shoulder. He gave Meralda a look of pride, and mostly of appreciation, and she knew that he understood the sacrifice she was making here.



How would that expression change, she wondered, if her father learned of the baby in her belly?



She managed a weak smile in reply despite her thoughts and went into her room to dress for the day. Liam Woodgate had arrived earlier to inform Meralda that Lord Feringal had arranged for her to meet late that same day with the seamstress who lived on the far western edge of Auckney, some two hours' ride.



"No borrowed gowns for the great day." Liam had proclaimed. "If you don't mind my saying so, Biaste, your daughter will truly be the most beautiful bride Auckney's ever known."



How Biaste's face had glowed and her eyes sparkled! Strangely, that also pained Meralda, for though she knew that she was doing right by her family, she could not forgive herself for her stupidity with Jaka. Now she had to seduce Lord Feringal, and soon, perhaps that very night. With the wedding moved up, she could only hope that others, mostly Priscilla and Temigast, would forgive her for conceiving a child before the official ceremony. Worst of all, Meralda would have to take the truth of the child with her to her grave.



What a wretched creature she believed herself to be at that moment. Madam Prinkle, a seamstress renowned throughout the lands, would no doubt make her a most beautiful gown with gems and rich, colorful fabrics, but she doubted she would be wearing the glowing face to go with it.



Meralda got cleaned up and dressed, ate a small meal, and was all smiles when Liam Woodgate returned for her, guiding her into the coach. She sat with her elbow propped on the sill, staring at the countryside rolling by. Men and gnomes worked in the high fields, but she neither looked for nor spotted Jaka Sculi among them. The houses grew sparse, until only the occasional cottage dotted the rocky landscape. The carriage went through a small wood, where Liam stopped briefly to rest and water the horses.



Soon they were off again, leaving the small woods and traveling into rocky terrain again. On Meralda's right was the sea. Sheer rock cliffs rose on the north side of the path, some reaching down so close to the water's edge that Meralda wondered how Liam would get the coach through.



She wondered, too, how any woman could live out here alone. Meralda resolved to ask Liam about it later. Now she spied an outpost, a stone keep flying Lord Feringal's flag. Only then did she begin to appreciate the power of the lord of Auckney. The slow-moving coach had only traveled about ten miles, but it seemed as if they had gone halfway around the world. For some reason she couldn't understand, the sight of Feringal's banner in this remote region made Meralda feel better, as if powerful Lord Feringal Auck would protect her.



Her smile was short lived as she remembered he would only protect her if she lied.



The woman sank back into her seat, sighed, and felt her still-flat belly, as if expecting the baby to kick right then and there.



*****



"The flag is flying, so there are soldiers within," Wulfgar reasoned.



"Within they shall stay," Morik answered. "The soldiers rarely leave the shelter of their stones, even when summoned. Their lookout, if they have one, is more concerned with those attacking the keep and not with anything down on the road. Besides, there can't be more than a dozen of them this far out from any real supply towns. I doubt there are even half that number."



Wulfgar thought to remind Morik that far fewer men had routed them just a couple of days before, but he kept quiet.



After the disaster in the pass, Morik had suggested they go out from the region, in case the merchant alerted Luskan guards, true to his belief that a good highwayman never stays long in one place, particularly after a failed attack. Initially, Morik wanted to go north into Icewind Dale, but Wulfgar had flatly refused.



"West, then," the rogue had offered. "There's a small fiefdom squeezed between the mountains and the sea southwest of the Hundelstone pass. Few go there, for it's not on most maps, but the merchants of the northern roads know of it, and sometimes they travel there on their way to and from Ten-Towns. Perhaps we will even meet up with our friend and his lightning wand again."



The possibility didn't thrill Wulfgar, but his refusal to go back into Icewind Dale had really left them only two options. They'd be deeper into the unaccommodating Spine of the World if they went east to the realm of goblins and giants and other nasty, unprofitable monsters. That left south and west, and given their relationship with the authorities of Luskan in the south, west seemed a logical choice.



It appeared as if that choice would prove to be a good one, for the pair watched as a lone wagon, an ornate carriage such as a nobleman might ride, rambled down the road.



"It could be a wizard," Wulfgar reasoned, painfully recalling the lightning bolts he'd suffered.



"I know of no wizards of any repute in this region," Morik replied.



You haven't been in this region for years, Wulfgar reminded him. "Who would dare travel in such an elaborate carriage alone?" he wondered aloud.



"Why not?" Morik countered. "This area south of the mountains sees little trouble, and there are outposts along the way, after all," he added, waving his hand at the distant stone keep. "The people here are not trapped in their homes by threats of goblins."



Wulfgar nodded, but it seemed too easy. He figured that the coach driver must be a veteran fighter, at least. It was likely there would be others inside, and perhaps they held nasty wands or other powerful magical items. One look at Morik, though, told the barbarian that he'd not dissuade his friend. Morik was still smarting from the disaster in the pass. He needed a successful hit.



The road below made a great bend around a mountain spur. Morik and Wulfgar took a more direct route, coming back to the road far ahead of the coach, out of sight of the stone outpost. Wulfgar immediately began laying out his rope, looking for some place he might tie it off. He found one slender tree, but it didn't look promising.



"Just jump in," Morik reasoned, pointing to an overhang. The rogue rushed down to the road, taking out a whip as he went, for the coach appeared, rambling around the southern bend.



"Clear the way!" came Liam Woodgate's call a moment later.



"I must speak with you, good sir!" Morik cried, holding his ground in the middle of the narrow trail. The gnome slowed the coach and brought it to a halt a safe distance from the rogue-and too far, Morik noted, for Wulfgar to make the leap.



"By order of Lord Feringal of Auckney, clear the way," Liam stated.



"I am in need of assistance, sir," Morik explained, watching out of the corner of his eye as Wulfgar scrambled into position, Morik took a step ahead then, but Liam warned him back.



Keep your distance, friend," the gnome said. "I've an errand for my lord, and don't doubt that I'll run you down if you don't move aside."



Morik chuckled. "I think not," he said.



Something in Morik's tone, or perhaps just a movement along the high rocks caught the corner of Liam's eye. Suddenly the gnome understood the imminent danger and spurred his team forward.



Wulfgar leaped out at that moment, but he hit the side of the carriage behind the driver, his momentum and the angle of the rocky trail putting the thing up on two wheels. Inside the coach a woman screamed.



Purely on instinct, Morik brought forth his whip and gave a great crack right in front of the horses. The beasts cut left against the lean, and before the driver could control them, before Wulfgar could brace himself, before the passenger inside could even cry out again, the coach fell over on its side, throwing both the driver and Wulfgar.



Dazed, Wulfgar forced himself to his feet, expecting to be battling the driver or someone else climbing from the coach, but the driver was down among some rocks, groaning, and no sounds came from within the coach. Morik rushed to calm the horses, then leaped atop the coach, scrambling to the door and pulling it open. Another scream came from within.



Wulfgar went to the driver and gently lifted the gnome's head. He set it back down, secure that this one was out of the fight but hoping he wasn't mortally wounded.



"You must see this," Morik called to Wulfgar. He reached into the coach, offering his hand to a beautiful young woman, who promptly backed away. "Come out, or I promise I will join you in there," Morik warned, but still the frightened woman curled away from him.



"Now that is the way true highwaymen score their pleasures," Morik announced to Wulfgar as the big man walked over to join him. "And speaking of pleasures. . . ." he added, then dropped into the coach.



The woman screamed and flailed at him, but she was no match for the skilled rogue. Soon he had her pinned against the coach's ceiling, which was now a wall, her arms held in place, his knee blocking her from kicking his groin, his lips close to hers. "A kiss for the winner?"



Morik rose suddenly, caught by the collar and hoisted easily out of the coach by a fuming Wulfgar. "You cross a line,"



Wulfgar replied, dropping the rogue on the ground.



"She is fairly caught," Morik argued, not understanding his friend's problem. "We have our way, and we let her go. What's the harm?"



Wulfgar glared at him. "Go tend the driver's wounds," he said. "Then find what treasures you may about the wagon."



"The girl-"



"-does not count as a treasure," Wulfgar growled at him.



Morik threw his hands up in defeat and moved to check on the fallen gnome.



Wulfgar reached into the coach, much as Morik had done, offering his huge paw to the frightened young woman. "Come out," he bade her. "I promise you won't be harmed."



Stunned and sore, the woman dodged his hand.



"We can't turn your wagon upright with you in it," Wulfgar explained reasonably. "Don't you wish to be on your way?"



"I want you to be on your way," the woman snarled.



"And leave you here alone?"



"Better alone than with thieves," Meralda shot back.



"It would be better for your driver if you got out. He'll die if we leave him lying on the rocks," Wulfgar was trying very hard to comfort the woman, or at least frighten her into action. "Come. I'll not hurt you. Rob you, yes, but not hurt you."



She timidly lifted her hand. Wulfgar took hold and easily hoisted her out of the coach. Setting her down, he stared at her for a long moment. Despite a newly forming bruise on the side of her face she was truly a beautiful young woman. He could understand Morik's desire, but he had no intention of forcing himself on any woman, no matter how beautiful, and he certainly wasn't going to let Morik do so.



The two thieves spent a few moments going through the coach, finding, to Morik's delight, a purse of gold. Wulfgar searched about for a log to use as a lever.



"You don't intend to upright the carriage, do you?" Morik asked incredulously.



"Yes, I do," Wulfgar replied.



"You can't do that," the rogue argued. "She'll drive right up to the stone keep and have a host of soldiers pursuing us within the hour."



Wulfgar wasn't listening. He found some large rocks and placed them near the roof of the fallen carriage. With a great tug, he brought the thing off the ground. Seeing no help forthcoming from Morik, he braced himself and managed to free one hand to slide a rock into place under the rim.



The horses snorted and tugged, and Wulfgar almost lost the whole thing right there. "At least go and calm them," he instructed Morik. The rogue made no move. Wulfgar looked to the woman, who ran to the team and steadied them.



"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.



Part 4



BIRTH



We think we understand those around us. The people we have come to know reveal patterns of behavior, and as our expectations of that behavior are fulfilled time and again we begin to believe that we know the person's heart and soul.



I consider that to be an arrogant perception, for one cannot truly understand the heart and soul of another, one cannot truly appreciate the perceptions another might hold toward similar or recounted experiences. We all search for truth, particularly within our own sphere of existence, the home we have carved and those friends with whom we choose to share it. But truth, I fear, is not always evident where individuals, so complex and changing, are concerned.



If ever I believe that the foundations of my world are rooted in stone, I think of Jarlaxle and I am humbled. I have always recognized that there is more to the mercenary than a simple quest for personal gain-he let me and Catti-brie walk away from Menzoberranzan, after all, and at a time when our heads would have brought him a fine price, indeed. When Catti-brie was his prisoner and completely under his power, he did not take advantage of her, though he has admitted, through actions if not words, that he thinks her quite attractive. So always have I seen a level of character beneath the cold mercenary clothing, but despite that knowledge my last encounter with Jarlaxle has shown me that he is far more complex, and certainly more compassionate, than ever I could have guessed. Beyond that, he called himself a friend of Zaknafein, and though I initially recoiled at such a notion, now I consider it to be not only believable, but likely.



Do I now understand the truth of Jarlaxle? And is it the same truth that those around him, within Bregan D'aerthe, perceive? Certainly not, and though I believe my current assessment to be correct, I'll not be as arrogant as to claim certainty, nor do I even begin to believe that I know more of him than my surface reasoning.



What about Wulfgar, then? Which Wulfgar is the true Wulfgar? Is he the proud and honorable man Bruenor raised, the man who fought beside me against Biggrin and in so many subsequent battles? The man who saved the barbarian tribes from certain extermination and the folk of Ten-Towns from future disasters by uniting the groups diplomatically? The man who ran across Faerun for the sake of his imprisoned friend? The man who helped Bruenor reclaim his lost kingdom?



Or is Wulfgar the man who harmed Catti-brie, the haunted man who seems destined, in the end, to fail utterly?



He is both, I believe, a compilation of his experiences, feelings and perceptions, as are we all. It is the second of that composite trio, feelings, brought on by experiences beyond his ability to cope, that control Wulfgar now. The raw emotion of those feelings alter his perceptions to the negative. Given that reality, who is Wulfgar now, and more importantly, if he survives this troubled time, who will he become?



How I long to know. How I wish that I could walk beside him on this perilous journey, could speak with him and influence him, perhaps. That I could remind him of who he was, or at least, who we perceived him to be.



But I cannot, for it is the heart and soul of Wulfgar, ultimately, and not his particular daily actions, that will surface in the end. And I, and anyone else, could no more influence that heart and soul as I could influence the sun itself.



Curiously, it is in the daily rising of that celestial body that I take my comfort now when thinking about Wulfgar. Why watch the dawn? Why then, why that particular time, instead of any other hour of daylight?



Because at dawn the sun is more brilliant by far. Because at dawn, we see the resurgence after the darkness. There is my hope, for as with the sun, so it can be true of people. Those who fall can climb back up, then brighter will they shine in the eyes of those around them.



I watch the dawn and think of the man I thought I knew, and pray that my perceptions were correct.