Lord Soth

by Edo Van Belkom

  Soth’s charge had brought him through Center Square. He stopped his horse and dismounted, preferring to fight the rest of the battle on foot. The other knights had also dismounted and were now involved in close fighting, each knight battling one or more of the ogres who had remained to fight.

  Soth approached the fray, eager to even the odds.

  “It’s not fair,” said Farold.

  The Knight of the Sword had led his party through the fields unnoticed and now looked across the main road at the two buildings serving as a makeshift prison for the villagers.

  “What’s not fair?” asked Kris Krejlgaard, a Knight of the Crown who had just returned from inspecting the mercantile and trade center, both of which proved to have been cleared out by the ogres.

  “The stupid brutes have posted a single guard outside the prison and that one’s asleep on the job.”

  “Perhaps their victory celebrations went long into the night?” offered Krejlgaard.

  “Indeed, they must have.”

  “But you can’t kill him as he sleeps.”

  “No, of course not,” said Farold. It was forbidden by the Measure to kill an opponent whilst unawares. “But I doubt he’ll put up much of a fight after I wake him.”

  “No,” said Krejlgaard. “In his condition, I suppose not.”

  Farold rose up, walked boldly across the street and kicked at the feet of the sleeping ogre.

  “Huh? What?” the beast sputtered.

  “Surrender, or die at my blade,” said Farold.

  The ogre threw a handful of dirt into Farold’s face, reached for his nearby spike-end club and leaped up from the ground.

  Farold was blinded for a moment, cursing as he wiped his eyes. Luckily he was able to recover from the dirty tactic in time to meet the ogre’s challenge.

  While Farold and the ogre fought, Krejlgaard went to the two buildings on the west side of the road and released the imprisoned villagers. Then he escorted them to the mercantile where the two other knights in Farold’s command waited with the small amounts of food, water and other supplies they had carried in their packs.

  When Krejlgaard rejoined Farold, the Sword knight was standing over his fallen enemy looking none the worse for the battle.

  “That didn’t take long,” said Krejlgaard.

  “I suspect his abilities were muddled by sleep,” said Farold, his voice edged with a hint of regret. “That or by last night’s ale.”

  “Perhaps he would have been wise to remember the squire’s first rule.”

  “So it would seem,” said Farold, his eyes already scanning the village before him.

  Off in the distance, sounds of a much larger battle could be heard.

  Without another word between them, the two knights headed south.

  Soth searched the square for an opponent. He found one in the largest of the ogres who was looking behind a grain cart for an unsuspecting knight.

  “I’m over here, you ugly brute,” said Soth, putting a boot to the ogre’s backside and pushing him headfirst into the dirt.

  The ogre tumbled and grunted, then looked up at Soth. “Didn’t know Knights of Solamnia fought like common tavern wenches.”

  Soth was amused by the remark and grateful his opponent had a sense of humor. “Only when fighting old maids.”

  The ogre stood up, and for the first time Soth realized the beast was a full head taller than himself.

  They began trading blows and for a while it was all Soth could do to keep up with the ogre. He’d been able to cut his foe here and there, but the opportunity for a death blow had so far eluded him.

  The ogre blocked an overhanded swing of Soth’s sword, then countered with a punch to Soth’s ribs. His armor softened much of the blow, but it still hurt him.

  And that’s when the ogre made his one fatal mistake.

  He became a little overconfident.

  “You’re not a bad fighter for a human. There must be some ogre blood in you, probably on your mother’s side.”

  The remark enraged Soth, blinding him with fury. The Soth family was a noble one, certainly free of the vile taint of something as disgusting as ogre blood.

  With a roar, Soth was upon the beast, his broadsword moving surely and swiftly, making it seem as if there were two or more swords fighting on his behalf.

  The ogre fought off Soth’s advances, but eventually began to tire. Soth was able to strike him at will, and took great delight in killing him slowly—wounding him on the shoulder, then the leg, stabbing him in the chest, then the stomach.

  The ogre fell heavily to the ground, bleeding but still very much alive.

  But Soth showed no mercy, continuing to hack at the body, lopping off limbs and cutting deeply into the flesh, again and again until the once formidable beast was little more than a grotesque lump of gore.

  “Milord,” said a voice of one of the knights.

  Soth didn’t hear it.

  “Milord!” the knight called again.

  Soth continued to stab and chop at the dead ogre.

  Finally the knight, Darin Valcic, grabbed at Soth’s arm. “He’s dead, milord.”

  Soth stopped at last, his sword poised over his right shoulder and his breath coming hard and fast.

  “There are still others … alive,” said Valcic.

  “Then let us find them,” said Soth, his eyes alight with a dangerously bright glint of rage.

  Caradoc stepped quietly through the bush. He’d heard sounds of movement in the distance and was slowly making his way toward their source.

  After a few steps he stopped again and listened. It sounded as if someone was breathing hard. Most likely it was an ogre fleeing the battle that was now raging in the center of the village.

  Caradoc continued his approach, being careful not to alert the ogre to his presence. Behind him, he could hear the faint footsteps of Wersten Kern as he came to join him. Caradoc turned, faced the knight and gestured that he should circle around the back of their enemy.

  Kern nodded and headed off through the bush.

  When the younger knight was out of earshot, Caradoc continued his hunt of the lone ogre. He’d traveled several more yards and stopped. The sound of the ogre’s breathing was heavy and loud. In fact he was so close now that he could almost smell the beast’s foul breath.

  Caradoc pulled back a branch …

  And there was the ogre, his back to Caradoc, no doubt watching the village to see if he were being pursued. The ogre was a large one, a full head taller than Caradoc and with long, wild hair that covered his shoulders and most of his back like a horse’s mane. The beast’s arms were as thick as Caradoc’s thighs and his legs easily reminded one of tree trunks.

  Caradoc took a breath and readied his sword. Then he slipped through the few remaining trees and prepared himself for a fight.

  And at that moment the ogre turned.

  From the look on his face, he was obviously surprised, but no longer inclined to flee. The ogre drew his huge sword and held it before him as he lunged toward Caradoc.

  The knight was able to deflect the initial thrust with his shield, but the force of the blow caused a sharp stab of pain to shoot up the length of his arm. Still, Caradoc managed to strike a retaliatory blow against the ogre’s naked thigh. It was a glancing blow, but still strong enough to slow the beast down.

  After trading several ineffective blows, the two combatants squared off once more, this time as if ready to begin the fight anew.

  “Caradoc!” It was the voice of Wersten Kern coming from somewhere deep in the bush.

  The ogre turned to face this new threat approaching from behind, and when he did, Caradoc raised his sword and struck the beast in the back of the head.

  Dead.

  Seconds later, Kern appeared through the bush. When he looked at the ogre lying prone on the forest floor, his eyes opened wide in awe. “Look at the size of him!”

  “He put up a valiant fight,” said Caradoc, standing over the fallen ogre with o
ne foot resting on its chest. “But in the end he proved to be no match for my blade.”

  Kern looked upon his fellow knight with an admiring eye, obviously not having seen the underhanded way in which Caradoc had felled the beast. “Well done, Knight Caradoc,” cheered Kern.

  “Thank you, Knight Kern,” Caradoc said, bowing slightly.

  There was a moment of silence between them.

  “Well, enough of this,” said Kern. “This fight is over, but there is still a battle to be won.”

  “Lead the way,” said Caradoc.

  The battle in Center Square was brief.

  Several of the ogres had fallen during the initial attack, reducing their force to a more manageable number. Then as the battle continued and more ogres fell, the will to fight in the ones that remained seemed to weaken, opening the way for a virtual rout over the loosely knit army of marauding beasts.

  And now, bloody ogres littered the square.

  Those who had fled the battle had been taken care of by Farold to the north and Caradoc to the south. It was possible that one or more of the ogres had managed to escape the slaughter and would eventually make it back to Throtyl, but Soth wasn’t too concerned about that. If an ogre were to reach Throtyl it would mean he would be able to tell the rest of them what had happened to their party, thereby providing an effective warning to those who might try a similar attack on villages within the realm of Knightlund.

  There was also a chance that the ogres would attempt to mount reprisal attacks, but their numbers would be no match for an extended war with the combined forces of all the Knights of Solamnia. This had been little more than an isolated skirmish, and now it was over.

  Soth wiped his blade clean on a dead ogre’s loincloth, then sheathed the sword and looked around to inspect the damage. Except for what the ogres had consumed while they had been in control of the village, most of their booty—the village’s store—was recovered intact. A few villagers would be inconvenienced by having to cart their valuables back to their homes, and others would need time to get over the shock of the ogres’ attack, but all in all, everything had gone as well as, or perhaps even better, than Soth could have hoped.

  Best of all, not one of his knights had suffered a serious injury. Of course, a few of them had suffered cuts and gashes, and others had been bruised by the ogres, but their pains were nothing a tankard or two of ale wouldn’t cure.

  Soth detected some movement to his left. He turned and saw Farold approaching the Square from the north. “All clear, milord,” he said.

  “And the villagers?”

  “Safe.”

  Soth nodded and looked to the south. Caradoc was there with Kern. Soth raised his head, as if asking a question of his seneschal.

  “No more ogres in the forest, milord,” said Caradoc. “If there are, they’re halfway to Throtyl by now.”

  Soth nodded. His chest swelled with pride at the way his knights had handled themselves, but he was also rightly proud of himself for planning a battle strategy that ensured all of his knights would be able to fight again another day. As their leader, this had been one of Soth’s prime concerns.

  “Well done, Knights of Solamnia,” he said loudly.

  “Well done, milord!” the knights cheered in unison.

  It was a good day to be a Knight of Solamnia.

  When they ventured out into their village and found their streets rid of the dreaded ogres, the grateful villagers of Halton insisted that the knights remain in the town for a celebratory feast.

  And, after a day and a half’s ride and a short, but intense battle, the knights quickly acquiesced to the offer.

  For the feast, all types of food—much of it taken directly from what the ogres had pillaged and loaded onto their carts—was served up on tables set up within Center Square itself. Ale and wine poured freely into what seemed to be bottomless tankards, and music and song from the town’s finest minstrels and bards gave the night an almost festival atmosphere.

  After the meal, the villagers continued to show the knights their gratitude by offering them a number of gifts ranging from heirloom quilted blankets to household bric-a-brac made from precious metals and rare wood. In a few cases the offered gifts included the favors of several of the more adventurous—not to mention attractive—women of the village. The knights, of course, all remained true to the Oath and the Measure and kindly refused such tempting entreaties.

  Especially virtuous among the knights was Lord Soth himself, who despite the intoxicating effect of the ale and the tempting proposition made to him by a pretty and buxom young farm girl, found his thoughts kept drifting back toward Dargaard Keep and his Lady Korinne who waited patiently for him to return.

  Chapter 6

  “Step forward,” said the Kingpriest.

  The young woman stepped forward, carrying her bundled infant in her arms.

  To the woman’s left was a somewhat older female mage dressed in the familiar yellow and white robes of the followers of the Kingpriest.

  “Mage Hailerin,” said the Kingpriest, indicating the mage standing beside the woman, “reports to me that you have had wickedly evil thoughts about this child.”

  “I’m not aware of having any evil thoughts your holiness,” the woman said, her head bowed, her voice full of humility.

  “Mage Hailerin,” said the Kingpriest.

  The female mage stepped forward. “I was walking along this woman’s street late last night when I heard a baby’s cry. It was loud and constant and seemed to convey great pain.”

  The Kingpriest nodded. “Go on.”

  “I went looking for the source of the cry, a search that led me straight to this woman’s house.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “When I arrived I looked in through the window and saw this woman tending to her child.”

  “But the child was crying?” asked the Kingpriest.

  “He’s been colicky of late …” the woman said.

  “Silence!” said the Kingpriest. “You may speak when the mage is done.”

  The woman fell silent, but looked to be on the verge of tears.

  “She was trying to comfort the child at first, but it continued to cry and would not stop. And that’s when she began to shake the child, only a little at first, but then more rigorously.”

  The Kingpriest’s eyebrows arched and he nodded. He leaned forward. “And her thoughts?”

  The mage looked at the woman. “Her thoughts ranged from abandoning the child on a doorstep, to bashing its head with a large rock.”

  The Kingpriest looked surprised.

  The woman began shaking her head. “He’s been colicky for the longest time,” she said. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in six months. It seems like he’s been crying constantly. Nothing I’ve done has helped.”

  “Do you deny having these thoughts?” asked the Kingpriest.

  “I love my baby,” she said.

  “Answer the question.”

  “What mother hasn’t had such thoughts at some point in her life?”

  “So you admit to having thoughts about abandoning, even killing your infant child?”

  “I was frustrated and might have considered it for a second,” said the woman, her voice trembling with fear. “But I’d never do such a ghastly thing. I love my son and would never do anything to hurt him.”

  “But yet you were seen shaking the child.”

  “I was at my wit’s end, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Shaking an innocent child is an evil act. If you are capable of doing that, what is to prevent you from enacting your heinous thoughts of killing the child?”

  “I love my baby.”

  The Kingpriest looked away, no longer listening to the woman’s desperate pleas. “You are hereby sentenced to death so that your evil thoughts can never become evil deeds. But you need not worry for your child. He will be taken into the temple and raised by members of the clergy. When he is of age, he will be trained as
a cleric’s apprentice.”

  The child was unceremoniously torn from the woman’s arms.

  “No!” she screamed. “My baby …”

  The child began to scream.

  The woman was grabbed by two guards and escorted out of the temple, her cries echoing off the stone walls and down the stone corridors.

  The child was taken in the other direction, its cries as chillingly piercing as its mother’s.

  The Kingpriest looked at the mage, smiled and said, “Well done, Mage Hailerin. Well done.”

  Chapter 7

  Dargaard Keep was dark.

  Silent.

  Soth’s steps echoed off the cold, hard bloodstone, sounding like drops of water falling into a deep dark well. He climbed up the staircase toward the master bedchamber.

  He’d been away for weeks, leading his loyal knights in the fight against the forces of Evil. He had returned a hero, but without warning, and therefore had arrived without fanfare, without a proper hero’s reception.

  But all that was unimportant. All he really wanted was to see his lady love. To embrace her and love her over and over again, to somehow make up for the long chill nights he’d left her alone while he traveled the dark and lonely plains.

  He neared the bedchamber.

  And heard the voices.

  They were soft, whispery voices. The kind of voices lovers use to exchange secrets and fondest desires. One of the voices belonged to Lady Korinne, the other … The other was deeper in tone and louder. It was the voice of a man. Soth suddenly inhaled.

  A man’s voice in his lady’s bedchamber in the middle of the night. It could mean only one thing.

  Soth felt anger roil within him as his muscles tensed like iron bands. He drew his sword and pounded on the door.