went on. "All we want is their money, fair payment for the work we have done for them."
Strangely, it made a bit of sense to Wulfgar. In that respect, the work to which Morik referred was no different than Wulfgar had been doing for many years with Drizzt and the others, the work of bringing justice to a wild land. The difference was that never before had he asked for payment, as Morik was obviously thinking to do now.
"Our easiest course would be to show them our power without engaging," the rogue explained. "Demand a tithe in payment for our efforts, some supplies and a perhaps a bit of gold, then let them go on their way. With only two wagons, though, and no other guards evident, we might be able to just knock them off completely, a fine haul, if done right, with no witnesses." His smile as he explained that latter course disappeared when he noted Wulfgar's frown.
"A tithe then, no more," Morik compromised. "Rightful payment for our work on the road."
Even that sat badly with the barbarian, but he nodded his head in agreement.
*****
He picked a section of trail littered with rocks where the wagons would have to slow considerably or risk losing a wheel or a horse. A single tree on the left side of the trail provided Wulfgar with the prop he would need to carry out his part of the attack, if it came to that.
Morik waited in clear view along the trail as the pair of wagons came bouncing along.
"Greetings!" he called, moving to the center of the trail, his arms held high. Morik shrank back just a bit, seeing the man on the bench seat beside the driver lifting a rather large crossbow his way. Still, he couldn't back up too much, for he had to get the wagon to stop on the appropriate mark.
"Out o' the road, or I'll shoot ye dead!" the crossbowman yelled.
In response, Morik reached down and lifted a huge head, the head of a slain giant, into the air. "That would be ill-advised," he replied, "both morally and physically."
The wagon bounced to a stop, forcing the one behind it to stop as well.
Morik used his foot, nearly straining his knee in the process, to move a second severed giant head out from behind a rock "I am happy to inform you that the trail ahead is now clear."
"Then get outta me way," the driver of the first wagon replied, "or he'll shoot ye down, and I'll run ye into ruts."
Morik chuckled and moved aside the pack he had lain on the trail, revealing the third giant head. Despite their bravado, he saw that those witnessing the spectacle of the heads were more than a little impressed-and afraid. Any man who could defeat three giants was not one to take lightly.
"My friends and I have worked hard all the week to clear the trail," Morik explained.
"Friends?"
"You think I did this alone?" Morik said with a laugh. "You flatter me. No, I had the help of many friends." Morik cast his gaze about the rocky outcroppings of the pass as if acknowledging his countless "friends." "You must forgive them, for they are shy."
"Ride on!" came a cry from inside the wagon, and the two men on the bench seat looked at each other.
"Yer friends hide like thieves," the driver yelled at Morik. "Clear the way!"
"Thieves?" Morik echoed incredulously. "You would be dead already, squashed flat under a giant's boulder, were it not for us."
The wagon door creaked open and an older man leaned out standing with one foot inside and the other on the running board. "You're demanding payment for your actions," he remarked, obviously knowing this routine all too well (as did most merchants of the northern stretches of Faerun).
"Demand is such a nasty word," Morik replied.
"Nasty as your game, little thief," the merchant replied.
Morik narrowed his eyes threateningly and glanced pointedly down at the three giant heads.
"Very well, then," the merchant conceded. "What is the price of your heroism?"
"We need supplies that we might maintain our vigil and keep the pass safe," Morik explained reasonably. "And a bit of gold, perhaps, as a reward for our efforts." It was the merchant's turn to scowl. "To pay the widows of those who did not survive our raid on the giant clan," Morik improvised.
"I'd hardly call three a clan," the merchant replied dryly, "but I'll not diminish your efforts. I offer you and your hiding friends a fine meal,