Lord Soth

by Edo Van Belkom

  There were hurried sounds coming from inside. Bedsheets ruffling. Hushed whispers.

  Again Soth pounded on the door, this time with the hilt of his sword.

  “It is open,” came of the voice of Korinne. It was soft and sweet, as if she’d just awakened from a pleasant dream.

  Soth turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  Several candles lit the room and moonlight beamed in through the open window. Korinne was smiling. “Loren,” she said, stretching her arms out to him.

  Her smile angered him even more. How could a woman who had proclaimed her love so passionately suddenly become so treacherous and unfaithful? He wanted nothing more than to shout his words at her, to let his anger be known, but he found he could not utter a single syllable.

  He moved toward the bed, ignoring the pleading words of his wife. Then he raised his sword above his head, both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt, blade pointed downward …

  And brought it down with force, running the pointed tip through the shape that cowered beneath the covers next to Lady Korinne.

  There was a loud grunt.

  Dark stains began to bloom outward around the sword.

  He reached down, pulled back the cover and saw a face familiar to him.

  His own.

  Korinne simply laughed.

  Soth awoke abruptly, covered in sweat and shivering. His breath came hard and fast as if he’d been running for hours. He sat up on the bed, an extra large one belonging to the Mayor of Halton, and glanced around him. The room was empty and dark. The night was still and quiet. By the position of the moons it looked as if sunrise was several hours away. Soth lay back on the bed, thankful that no one had seen him awaken in such a state.

  Such a horrible, horrible dream.

  A nightmare of his own design.

  He had no reason to distrust Lady Korinne, and even if he did, no one would be fool enough to covet the wife of Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep, Knight of the Rose.

  He took a deep breath and chased all thoughts of the distressing dream from his mind. One last shiver coursed through his body, then he took a final deep breath. He closed his eyes and tried to return to sleep, but fitfully tossed and turned until dawn.

  “How did you sleep?” Caradoc asked.

  Soth looked at him. “Like a fallen tree,” he lied.

  “As did I,” said Caradoc. “As we all did no doubt.”

  “Indeed,” replied Soth, turning away from his seneschal to hide his yawn while he busied himself in preparation to leave the village.

  The villagers had made sure the knights were served a grand breakfast, and while they ate, had loaded up their horses with all manner of provisions for the journey home. The provisions were unnecessary because the knights would be meeting up with the party of squires and footmen mere hours after leaving the village, but no matter how Soth told them this, the villagers would not accept the refusal of their offerings.

  And now as the sun rose higher in the morning sky, the villagers lined the main road leading north in order to give the knights a rousing final send-off.

  Unlike the knights’ charge out of Dargaard Keep, this departure was slow-paced and festive; the knights almost lingered in the village, not wanting to leave.

  Soth saw this as a good sign, ensuring that there would be no shortage of volunteers to relieve the three knights he was leaving behind to keep watch on the village.

  When they cleared the northern edge of the village, the knights continued on at a leisurely pace. They were all enjoying the freedom of the plains and none of them were in any particular hurry to return to the cold, bloodstone walls of Dargaard Keep.

  Even Lord Soth, whose mind had been filled with thoughts of Lady Korinne, was now of a mind to spend a little more time away from the keep to clear his head of the dreams which had been haunting him. Besides that, more time away would make their hearts grow fonder, assuring that their reunion would be a passionately amorous one.

  They met up with the party of squires and footmen just after midday and decided to make camp there on the plains. Several of the knights who had been wounded during the brief battle had been treated in Halton, but some of them had wounds that were best treated by the keep’s healer who had joined the squires on the journey. These knights were quickly attended to while the rest took the opportunity to remove battle armor and change into fresh clothes.

  And as the day wore on and food and drink were consumed in abundance, the knights began to relax. While they had had the opportunity to rest inside Halton, they were still required to maintain the dignified appearance expected of the Knights of Solamnia. But here, among their fellow Sons of Paladine, the mood was considerably more boisterous as they truly celebrated their victory.

  “How on Krynn did the ogres think they could actually get away with such an insane expedition?” asked Petr Hallis, a squire assigned to the Knights of the Sword.

  Soth considered the question as he and several of the knights sat under the shade of a tree late in the afternoon. “Ogres aren’t known for their ability to think a plan through to its end,” he answered. “They more than likely found themselves short on supplies for the coming winter and their only thought as to how to procure supplies was to steal them from those who had them in reserve. It’s unlikely that thoughts of purchasing supplies or bartering for them with goods of their own making ever entered their mind.”

  “Why did they think they could get away with it? Halton has been protected by the Knights of Solamnia for years.”

  Soth looked at the young squire. “Criminals seldom think that they will fail. Their thoughts are almost always concentrated on the success of their venture, not on the repercussions of being caught in the act.”

  The young squire nodded in understanding.

  Soth’s eyes caught Caradoc’s glance and for a moment he was reminded of his own past deeds. He imagined what might have happened if they had been caught, or implicated in any way in the murders of his half-siblings. A slight shiver ran through his body.

  “But enough of this,” said Soth. “Ogres are little more than bullies at heart. Bullies who quickly turn out to be cowards when confronted by those unafraid of their size, strength and most odorous smell.”

  A laugh rose up from the group surrounding Soth.

  “A toast to a victory for the Knights of Solamnia.” He raised his tankard. “A small victory for us, but none were ever larger or more important to the good people of Halton.”

  “Cheers!”

  Wine and ale flowed well into the night and the minor cuts, wounds, aches and pains obtained during the fight were slowly, and easily, forgotten.

  A dozen knights, squires and footmen gathered around the fire, telling stories as a way to keep them all amused. Although some of the tales concerned the exploits of bawdy women, most of the tales featured Knights of Solamnia both real and imagined and ranged from humorous anecdotes illustrating the stupidity of ogres, to more somber tales illustrating the wisdom of Paladine, or the benevolence of Mishakal.

  Currently the young squire Arnol Kraas was telling a tale, one he’d no doubt recently learned as part of his studies as an aspirant knight.

  “A young Knight of the Sword ventured upon the road to visit his friends in Vingaard Keep,” the squire began. “Along the way he came upon a young woman lying by the side of the road, weeping. Quickly, the knight dismounted and went to her side. When he lifted her up he saw that she had been severely beaten.”

  All of the knights were familiar with the tale, having studied it as squires themselves. Nevertheless, none interrupted him. The telling of the tales, even the most familiar, reminded them all of the lessons to be remembered.

  “When he asked the woman’s name, she told him it was Stalen Lamplight. The knight was shocked. He knew Stalen Lamplight, and truth be told, had loved her from afar for many years, had considered many times asking her to be his bride. Her beauty had been well-known throughout the land, but now it was gone, taken aw
ay by the weapons of the ogres who resented all beauty, whether it be in humans or their Irda brethren.

  “The knight took the young woman in his arms and prayed to Mishakal to restore Stalen’s beauty, promising to marry the woman and protect her for the rest of her days if she would only grant his wish. Mishakal answered the knight’s prayers, appearing before him as a glowing ball of soft white light.

  “ ‘I will restore her beauty,’ Mishakal told the knight, ‘but I will leave it up to you to decide whether you wish her beauty to return during the daylight hours when others might see her, or during the dark of night when you alone will be by her side.’

  “The knight was unsure which of Mishakal’s offers he should accept. Certainly he would want her to be beautiful as she lay by his side, but then again he couldn’t force her to show her hideously scarred face as he presented her as his wife during daylight hours.

  “In the end, he could not decide. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if it was his decision to make. And that is what he told the Healing Hand. ‘Mishakal,’ he said. ‘I can not decide the woman’s fate for her. I leave the decision up to her, and will stand by my offer of marriage whatever she decides.’

  “The glowing light that was Mishakal shone brighter. ‘You have chosen correctly,’ she said. ‘It is not up to you to decide another’s fate, but to allow her to make her own choices in life. As a reward, she will have her beauty restored … both night and day.’ ”

  His story finished, Kraas looked around. The knights, who were expecting a more polished ending to the tale were caught slightly off guard, but recovered by giving the young squire a polite smattering of applause.

  Kraas seemed satisfied.

  Soth took the opportunity to put another piece of wood on the fire. The familiarity of Kraas’s tale had calmed the knights. Perhaps it was time to make their blood run faster. “How about a tale from you, Knight Grimscribe?” asked Soth.

  “Yes.” “How about it?” chimed the knights.

  Derik Grimscribe was a Sword knight originally from one of the small villages surrounding Dargaard Keep. A knight of average skill on the battlefield, Grimscribe was a master of words, able to tell stories or negotiate between warring clans with equal amounts of tact and skill. A story from Grimscribe was a treat to be sure.

  “Very well then,” said Grimscribe, moving closer to the fire to give his face an eerie sort of otherworldly glow. “A new story … of terror.” He looked around at the knights, his face a mask of twisted light and shadow.

  “A long time ago, before your grandfather had finished suckling his mother’s breast …” he began in a low voice.

  The knights rolled forward to listen more closely.

  “… a Rose knight of Solamnia had lost his way after a long and exhausting battle with an especially foul blue dragon.”

  “A battle he no doubt won,” quipped a footman.

  “Yesss,” hissed Grimscribe, “but as the knight left the dragon for dead, the evil blue spoke words in an ancient tongue, placing a powerful curse on the knight.”

  The knights were silent. Although there were no longer such things as dragons, all of the knights respected the power they were credited with in the stories told of the great dragon wars.

  “So, the knight entered the Darken Wood in search of his fellow Sons of Paladine. But the forest was so dark, even in the middle of the day, that it wasn’t long before the brave knight was utterly lost.

  “Still he carried on through the darkness, hoping to come upon one of his fellows, but after a few hours he finally conceded that he was indeed hopelessly lost.” Grimscribe paused after the word to let the thought sink in.

  “But just then,” snapped Grimscribe, making several squires jump in surprise, “he came upon what looked to be a mounted knight. At first he thought he’d found a fellow Knight of Solamnia, but as he got closer to the figure it was obvious that the stranger’s manner of dress was unlike that of any knight he’d ever seen before, Solamnic or otherwise. He was dressed in a deep-blue, almost black, cloak that went from the top of his head and on down past his feet. His horse too, was blacker than any knight had ever dared to ride. The Rose knight was leery about asking such a stranger for help, but he was lost and any help was better than none at all.”

  The knights were silent, but judging by their faces some were obviously skeptical about this last bit of wisdom.

  “ ‘Excuse me,’ the Rose knight called out. But there was no answer from the stranger, who kept on riding as if he hadn’t heard a word. The knight then brought his horse to a trot and quickly caught up to the dark traveler. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he said, this time tapping on the stranger’s shoulder to get his attention. Still, there was no response.

  “Becoming somewhat frustrated, the knight reached over and grabbed the man’s cloak in his hand and pulled on it. ‘I’m talking to you!’ he said forcefully. At that moment the cloak fell away from the traveler’s head.”

  The knights were silent. Several held their breath.

  “The traveler turned around and the knight suddenly saw that the traveler’s face wasn’t human, but that of the blue dragon.”

  Gasps all around.

  “Well, even though the Rose knight and his mount had been tested countless times in battle, they were terrified by the unexpected sight and ran off into the darkest part of the woods, never to find their way out again.”

  Soth smiled and looked around at the somewhat apprehensive faces of the knights. “Well done, Grimscribe,” he said. “An excellent tale for such a dark and frigid night.”

  “How about one from you, Lord Soth?” asked Grimscribe.

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  The knights quickly joined together in prodding Soth to tell a story and at last he agreed. “All right, all right, but I doubt my story will be told as skillfully as Knight Grimscribe’s.”

  “Whose are?” someone shouted, the words followed by soft laughter.

  “Very well, then,” Soth said. He knew few tales, but at last chose one he knew well enough to relate orally.

  “Before Vinas Solamnus organized the Knights of Solamnia, he was employed by the Emperor of Ergoth as commander of the palace guard in the capital city of Daltigoth.”

  A soft murmur of hushed voices circulated around the fire. This was a story that deserved to be told over and over again. Especially in such select company.

  “Vinas Solamnus was a pious man, a gallant warrior and a leader truly beloved by his men. He was also loyal to the emperor and provided him with a palace guard which no single army could rival. Meanwhile, on the northeastern plains of Ergoth, the people there—proud, noble and independent folk—had grown tired of the emperor’s iron-handed style of government and, joining forces, mounted a rebellion.

  “Solamnus and his knights were dispatched to the region to quell the uprising. After several fierce battles, Solamnus grew to respect and admire the rebel fighters for their tenacity and courage. He also realized that there must be some truth to their claims in order for them to fight so fiercely for what they believed to be right and just. And so, Solamnus agreed to meet with the rebel leaders so that they could tell their side of the story. The great knight listened patiently to the people detail their grievances. Solamnus was moved by their plight and investigated their claims. To his surprise and dismay, he discovered that the rebels had been telling the truth. But worst of all for Solamnus was the realization that his loyalty to the emperor had left him blind to the injustices being done to the people. Solamnus immediately called his followers together, much in the same way you are gathered here, and presented the people’s case to them.

  “When he was done, he gave his knights a choice.” He gave a nod to Arnol Kraas, connecting the lesson learned from his tale to the story he was telling now. “Those who believed in the rebels’ cause were welcome to stay. Those who did not were given leave to return to Daltigoth.

  “Most of the knights chose to remain loyal to Vinas Solamnus, eve
n though it would mean certain exile from Ergoth for them, and quite possibly death. Those who returned to Daltigoth gave Solamnus’s message to the emperor—correct the wrongs being done to the people, or prepare for war.”

  Soth paused to wet his throat. The knights remained silent, listening intently. Even though they knew this story well, it must have sounded different coming from a knight such as Soth.

  “Of course, the emperor denounced Solamnus as a traitor, stripping him of his lands and title. The people of Daltigoth prepared for a war which would eventually come to be known as the War of Ice Tears because that winter was the most severe in Ergoth’s recorded history. But despite the cold, Solamnus was able, with the loyal and steadfast support of his knights”—Soth put extra emphasis on these last few words for obvious reasons—“to lay siege to the city, destroying its food supplies and spreading the news of the emperor’s corruption. All the while the emperor himself remained hidden like a coward deep within the bowels of his palace.”

  Several knights let out mild harumphs of contempt.

  “In two months the capital fell and the emperor was forced to sue for peace. As a result, the northeastern part of Ergoth gained its independence. The people named it Solamnia in honor of their new king, Vinas Solamnus. And although Solamnia never achieved its greatness and power until long after the death of Vinas Solamnus, it quickly came to be known as a land populated by people who possessed great amounts of honesty, integrity, and fierce determination.”

  The knights remained silent for several long moments and all that could be heard was the snap and crackle of the slightly greener wood on the fire.

  And then a voice.

  “May our loyalty to you, milord,” said Colm Farold, “someday be compared to that of the knights who served Vinas Solamnus so well.”

  “Hear, hear!” the rest of the knights said in unison.

  “I have no doubt that it will,” said Soth, nodding graciously.

  After the tales had ended, the fire burned through the night, providing some warmth against the cool nocturnal winds that blew across the plains.