The wagon rocked, sometimes soothing, sometimes jarring, as it rolled along the rocky path, heading north. Sitting on the open bed and looking back the way they had come, Wulfgar watched the skyline of Luskan recede. The many points of the wizard's tower seemed like a single blur, and the gates were too far for him to make out the guards pacing the city wall.
Wulfgar smiled as he considered those guards. He and his accomplice Morik had been thrown out of Luskan with orders never to return, on pain of death, yet he had walked right into the city, and at least one of the guards had surely recognized him, even tossing him a knowing wink. No doubt Morik was in there, too.
Justice in Luskan was a sham, a scripted play for the people to make them feel secure and feel afraid and feel empowered over the specter of death itself, however the authorities decided was timely.
Wulfgar had debated whether or not to return to Luskan. He wanted to join in with a caravan heading north, for that would serve as his cover, but he feared exposing Colson to the potential dangers of entering the forbidden place. In the end, though, he found that he had no real choice. Arumn Gardpeck and Josi Puddles deserved to learn of Delly Curtie's sad end. They had been friends of the woman's for years, and far be it from Wulfgar to deny them the information.
The tears shed by all three - Arumn, Josi, and Wulfgar - had felt right to the barbarian. There was so much more to Delly Curtie than the easy, cliched idea that many in Luskan had of her, and that Wulfgar had initially bought into himself. There was an honesty and an honor beneath the crust that circumstance had caked over Delly. She'd been a good friend to all three, a good wife to Wulfgar, and a great mother to Colson.
Wulfgar tossed off a chuckle as he considered Josi's initial reaction to the news, the small man practically launching himself at Wulfgar in a rage, blaming the barbarian for the loss of Delly. With little effort, Wulfgar had put him back in his seat, where he had melted into his folded arms, his shoulders bobbing with sobs - perhaps enhanced by too many drinks, but likely sincere, for Wulfgar had never doubted that Josi had secretly loved Delly.
The world rolled along, stamping its events into the books of history. What was, was, Wulfgar understood, and regrets were not to be long held - no longer than the lessons they imparted regarding future circumstance. He was not innocent of Josi's accusations, though not to the extent the distraught man had taken them, surely.
But what was, was.
After one particularly sharp bounce of the wagon, Wulfgar draped his arm over Colson's shoulder and glanced down at the girl, who was busying herself with some sticks Wulfgar had tied together to approximate a doll. She seemed content, or at least unbothered, which was the norm for her. Quiet and unassuming, asking for little and accepting less, Colson just seemed to go along with whatever came her way.
That road had not been fair so far in her young life, Wulfgar knew. She had lost Delly, by all measures her mother, and nearly as bad, Wulfgar realized, she had suffered the great misfortune of being saddled with him as her surrogate father. He stroked her soft, wheat-colored hair.
"Doll, Da," she said, using her moniker for Wulfgar, one that he had heard only a couple of times over the last tendays.
"Doll, yes," he said back to her, and tousled her hair.
She giggled, and if ever a sound could lift Wulfgar's heart....
And he was going to leave her. A momentary wave of weakness flushed through him. How could he even think of such a thing?
"You don't remember your Ma," he said quietly, not expecting a response as Colson went back to her play. But she looked up at him, beaming a huge smile.
"Dell-y. Ma," she said.
Wulfgar felt as if her little hand had just flicked against his heart. He realized how poor a father he had been to her. Urgent business filled his every day, it seemed, and Colson was always placed behind the necessities. She had been with him for many months, and yet he hardly knew her. They had traveled hundreds of miles to the east, and then back west, and only on that return trip had he truly spent time with Colson, had he tried to listen to the child, to understand her needs, to hug her.
He gave a helpless and self-deprecating chuckle and patted her head again. She looked up at him with that unending smile, and went immediately back to her doll.
He hadn't done right by her, Wulfgar knew. As he had failed Delly as a husband, so he had failed Colson as her father. "Guardian" would be a better term to describe his role in the child's life.
So he was on that road that would pain him greatly, but in the end it would give to Colson all that she deserved and more.
"You are a princess," he said to her, and she looked up at him again, though she knew not what it meant.
Wulfgar responded with a smile and another pat, and turned his eyes back toward Luskan, wondering if he would ever travel that far south again.
The village of Auckney seemed to have changed not at all in the three years since Wulfgar had last seen it. Most of his last visit, of course, had been spent in the lord's dungeon, an accommodation he hoped to avoid a second time. It amused him to think of how his time with Morik had so ingratiated him to the towns of that region, where the words "on pain of death" seemed to accompany his every departure.
Unlike those guards in Luskan, though, Wulfgar suspected that Auckney's crew would follow through with the threat if they figured out who he was. So for the sake of Colson, he took great pains to disguise himself as the trading caravan wound its way along the rocky road in the westernmost reaches of the Spine of the World, toward the Auckney gate. He wore his beard much thicker, but his stature alone distinguished him from the great majority of the populace, being closer to seven feet tall than to six, and with shoulders wide and strong.
He bundled his traveling cloak tight around him and kept the cowl up over his head - not an unusual practice in the early spring in that part of the world, where the cold winds still howled from on high. When he sat, which was most of the time, he kept his legs tucked in tight so as not to emphasize the length of the limbs, and when he walked, he crouched and hunched his shoulders forward, not only disguising his true height somewhat, but also appearing older, and more importantly, less threatening.
Whether through his cleverness, or more likely sheer luck and the fact that he was accompanied by an entire parade of merchants in that first post-winter caravan, Wulfgar managed to get into the town easily enough, and once past the checkpoint, he did his best to blend in with the group at the circled wagons, where kiosks were hastily constructed and goods displayed to the delight of the winter-weary townsfolk.
Lord Feringal Auck, seeming as petulant as ever, visited on the first full day of the caravan faire. Dressed in impractical finery, including puffy pantaloons of purple and white, the foppish man strutted with a perpetual air of contempt turning up his thin, straight nose. He glanced at goods but never seemed interested enough to bother - though his attendants often returned to purchase particular pieces, obviously for the lord.
Steward Temigast and the gnome driver - and fine fighter - Liam Woodgate, stood out among those attendants. Temigast, Wulfgar trusted, but he knew that if Liam spotted him, the game was surely up.
"He casts an impressive shadow, don't he?" came a sarcastic voice from behind, and Wulfgar turned to see one of the caravan drivers looking past him to the lord and his entourage. "Feringal Auck...." the man added, chuckling.
"I am told that he has a most extraordinary wife," Wulfgar replied.
"Lady Meralda," the man answered, rather lewdly. "As pretty as the moon and more dangerous than the night, with hair blacker than the darkest of 'em and eyes so green that ye're thinking yerself to be in a summer's meadow whenever she glances yer way. Aye, but every man doing business in Auckney would want to bed that one."
"Have they children together?"
"A son," the man answered. "A strong and sturdy lad, and with features favoring his mother and not the lord, thank the gods. Little lord Ferin. All in the town celebrated his first birthday just a month ago, and from what I'm hearing, they'll be buying extra stores to replenish that which they ate at the feast. Finished off their winter stores, by some accounts, and there's more truth than lie to those, judging by the coins that've been falling all the morning."
Wulfgar glanced back at Feringal and his entourage as they wound their way along the far side of the merchant caravan.
"And here we feared that the market'd be thinner with the glutton Lady Priscilla gone."
That perked up Wulfgar's ears, and he turned fast on the man. "Feringal's...?"
"Sister," the man confirmed.
"Died?"
The man snorted and didn't seem the least bit bothered by that possibility, something that Wulfgar figured anyone who had ever had the misfortune of meeting Priscilla Auck would surely appreciate.
"She's in Luskan - been there for a year. She went back with this same caravan after our market here last year," the man explained. "She never much cared for Lady Meralda, for 'twas said she'd had Feringal's ear until he married that one. I'm not for knowing what happened, but that Priscilla's time in Castle Auck came to an end soon after the marriage, and when Meralda got fat with Feringal's heir, she likely knew her influence here would shrink even more. So she went to Luskan, and there she's living, with enough coin to keep her to the end of her days, may they be mercifully short."
"Mercifully for all around her, you mean?"
"That's the way they tell it, aye."
Wulfgar nodded and smiled, and that genuine grin came from more than the humor at Priscilla's expense. He looked back at Lord Feringal and narrowed his crystalline blue eyes, thinking that one major obstacle, the disagreeable Lady Priscilla, had just been removed from his path.
"If Priscilla was at Castle Auck, as much as he'd be wanting to leave, Lord Feringal wouldn't dare be out without his wife at his side. He wouldn't leave them two together!" the man said.
"I would expect that Lady Meralda would wish to visit the caravan more than would the lord," Wulfgar remarked.
"Ah, but not until her flowers bloom."
Wulfgar looked at him curiously.
"She's put in beds of rare tulips, and they're soon to bloom, I'm guessing," the man explained. "'Twas so last year - she didn't come down to the market until our second tenday, not until the white petals were revealed. Put her in a fine, buying mood, and finer still, for by that time, we knew that Lady Priscilla would be journeying from Auckney with us."
He began to laugh, but Wulfgar didn't follow the cue. He stared across the little stone bridge to the small island that housed Castle Auck, trying to remember the layout and where those gardens might be. He took note of a railing built atop the smaller of the castle's square keeps. Wulfgar glanced back at Feringal, to see the man making his way out of the far end of the market, and with the threat removed, Wulfgar also set out, nodding appreciatively at the merchant, to find a better vantage point for scouting the castle.
Not long after, he had his answer, spotting the form of a woman moving along the flat tower's roof, behind the railing.
There were no threats to Auckney. The town had known peace for a long time. In that atmosphere, it was no surprise to Wulfgar to learn that the guards were typically less than alert. Even so, the big man had no idea how he might get across that little stone bridge unnoticed, and the waters roiling beneath the structure were simply too cold for him to try to swim - and besides, both the near bank and the island upon which the castle stood had sheer cliffs that rose too steeply from the pounding surf below.
He lingered long by the bridge, seeking the answer to his dilemma, and he finally came to accept that he might have to simply wait for those flowers to bloom, so he could confront Lady Meralda in the market. That thought didn't sit well with him, for in that setting he would almost surely need to face Lord Feringal and his entourage as well. It would be easier if he could speak with Meralda first, and alone.
He leaned against the wall of a nearby tavern one afternoon, staring out at the bridge and taking note of the guards' maneuvers. They weren't very disciplined, but the bridge was so narrow that they didn't have to be. Wulfgar stood up straight as a coach rambled across the structure, heading out of the castle.
Liam Woodgate wasn't driving. Steward Temigast was.
Wulfgar stroked his beard and weighed his options, and purely on instinct - for he knew that if he considered his movements, he would lose heart - he gathered up Colson and moved out to the road, to a spot where he could intercept the wagon out of sight of the guards at the bridge, and most of the townsfolk.
"Good trader, do move aside," Steward Temigast bade him, but in a kindly way. "I've some paintings to sell and I wish to see the market before the light wanes. Dark comes early to a man of my age, you know."
The old man's smile drifted to nothingness as Wulfgar pulled back the cowl of his cloak, revealing himself.
"Always full of surprises, Wulfgar is," Temigast said.
"You look well," Wulfgar offered, and he meant it. Temigast's white hair had thinned a bit, perhaps, but the last few years had not been rough on the man.
"Is that....?" Temigast asked, nodding to Colson.
"Meralda's girl."
"Are you mad?"
Wulfgar merely shrugged and said, "She should be with her mother."
"That decision was made some three years ago."
"Necessary at the time," said Wulfgar.
Temigast sat back on his seat and conceded the point with a nod.
"Lady Priscilla is gone from here, I am told," said Wulfgar, and Temigast couldn't help but smile - a reassurance to Wulfgar that his measure of the steward was correct, that the man hated Priscilla.
"To the joy of Auckney," Temigast admitted. He set the reins on the seat, and with surprising nimbleness climbed down and approached Wulfgar, his hands out for Colson.
The girl shoved her hand in her mouth and whirled away, burying her face in Wulfgar's shoulder.
"Bashful," Temigast said. Colson peeked out at him and he smiled all the wider. "And she has her mother's eyes."
"She is a wonderful girl, and sure to become a beautiful woman," said Wulfgar. "But she needs her mother. I cannot keep her with me. I am bound for a land that will not look favorably on a child, any child."
Temigast stared at him for a long time, obviously unsure of what he should do.