There was little danger of reprisals from the ogres of Throtyl who would no doubt think twice in the future before attacking soil under the protection of the Knights of Solamnia. And, other than a few wild animals, there was little else to be wary of in this part of Knightlund. So the knights had all drunk their fill and set about to get a peaceful night’s sleep under the stars.
All except for Soth.
He did not look forward to the night. Considering the dreams he’d been having of late, sleep was something to be avoided or at least put off until absolutely necessary. For that reason, he wandered around the perimeter of the camp under the pretense of keeping watch.
“Milord,” said Meyer Seril. “It is my turn to keep watch. And with all the squires here I don’t think you are even scheduled to take a turn.”
Soth turned and looked at the young Crown knight appreciatively. “I’m not very tired,” he said. “I might as well keep watch if I’m going to be awake. You go to sleep, Knight Seril. You fought well, and you deserve to get some rest.”
“Thank you, milord,” the young knight said, proud to have been noticed by his lord.
“Go now,” said Soth. He had no idea how Seril had fought because the battle had been so brief, but it didn’t hurt to tell him he’d done well. Nor did it hurt for him to take the watch when he wasn’t required to. Such a thing did wonders for the knights’ morale and loyalty, not to mention their opinion of him as a leader.
With Seril gone, Soth walked around the encampment and looked north toward Dargaard Keep. The pinnacle of its rose-shaped silhouette was just discernible against the dark night sky. As he stared at the keep, he marveled at how black its form appeared even in the dead of night.
The sight chilled him.
And, as he wrapped his cloak around himself to stave off the chill shiver that ran through him, he suddenly looked forward to morning, and the coming of the sun.
Chapter 8
The knights broke camp early the next morning and rode across the plains with the outline of Dargaard Keep constantly before them, rising up from the horizon like a rose-shaped beacon. By midday they were close enough to make out details in the keep’s walls such as windows and battlements, and by late afternoon they had begun to discern the individual blocks of bloodstone.
Given that their approach would have been monitored throughout the day from one or more of the keep’s towers, the knights fully expected that their return would be accompanied by a suitable amount of fanfare.
They were not disappointed.
Residents of the keep and those employed in and around it all came out to welcome the triumphant knights. Men, women and children lined the path of their approach, all happy to see them returning so soon after their departure and in good health.
As the knights neared, the wooden drawbridge was lowered over the chasm that surrounded the keep and the heavy steel portcullis rose up like a welcoming hand being offered in greeting.
Gared Kentner, the keep’s quartermaster, counted the number of knights on horseback and asked Soth with a grave voice, “Casualties?”
Soth slowed and looked down at the clerk. “None. I’ve left several knights in Halton as a precautionary measure.”
“Excellent,” said Kentner, who was probably thankful that he wouldn’t have to process any personal belongings or make adjustments to the bunk allotments.
Soth continued on into the keep.
Heading up the welcoming party inside was Lady Korinne. As Soth rode toward her he noticed that she had donned her finest robes and jewels in order to greet him. He held his breath a moment. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
Feeling his heart gathering up in his throat, Soth quickly dismounted and approached her. He took her hand in his.
She said, “Milord.”
Soth removed his helm, leaned forward, took her in his arms and kissed her. There was passion in her kiss to be sure, but there was also something else to it, something that was keeping her from giving herself up to him completely.
For a moment Soth’s mind raced back to the dream he’d had during his night on the plains. Had she been unfaithful? He immediately broke off the kiss and pulled himself away from her. “Is there something you must tell me?” he said, his voice even and devoid of emotion.
She looked up. Tears began to well in her eyes.
Soth feared the worst.
“I … I am not with child as we had hoped.” When she finally said the words, they escaped her lips in a rush, like water gushing from a broken damn.
Soth was simultaneously hit by waves of relief and disappointment. Korinne had not conceived, but his dream and subsequent fear over her infidelity had been little more than folly on his part.
As he looked at her, he made sure his face betrayed none of his emotions. He simply gazed into her pale green eyes and said, “Then we shall have to try again.” He allowed a loving smile to creep onto his face. “And often.”
Upon hearing the words, Lady Korinne let out a long sigh.
Obviously she had feared his reaction would be more severe. But what could he do? Draw his sword and threaten her with it until she produced an heir? It was a popular tactic with barbarians, but there was no proof that it actually worked. No, this was just as difficult for her because she wanted a child just as much—perhaps even more—than he did. Soth felt it best that they try to ease each other’s pain rather than add to it.
“Perhaps we should even try … right away. Right now,” said Soth.
A girlish sort of smile broke over Korinne’s face.
He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs toward their bedchamber.
The passionate nights Soth spent by Lady Korinne’s side continued throughout the winter, keeping them both warm and protecting them from the chill of the winter months—Frostkolt, Newkolt and Deepkolt.
But the winter’s icy cold lingered despite the coming of spring when Dargaard Keep was rocked by the news of Lord Reynard Gladria’s death at his home in Palanthas. Although he had been ill for many months, his death still came as a shock to Lord Soth and Lady Korinne. Indeed, all of Solamnia mourned the man’s passing. But what made it doubly painful for Korinne was that she hadn’t given her father a grandchild before his passing. For this reason, Korinne long considered herself to be a failure and no amount of words from Soth, family or friends—however kind—could bring her out of her state of despondency.
After journeying to Palanthas for Lord Reynard’s elaborate public funeral, Soth remained in the city for several weeks while the slow passage of time gently eased Korinne’s pain. Then as the month of Brookgreen came to a close and Soth felt he’d neglected his knightly duties long enough and was compelled to return to Dargaard Keep, he offered to let Korinne remain with her mother in Palanthas and return to the keep only when she felt she was ready.
Korinne refused.
With a loyalty and honor worthy of a Knight of Solamnia she told Soth, “My place is by my husband’s side. I will return with you to Dargaard Keep.” And with that they returned to Knightlund with renewed hopes of birthing an heir before Korinne’s mother Leyla also passed away.
But Yurthgreen also came and went, and despite the flowering of the plants and the greenery beginning to sprout on the trees around the keep, Korinne once again came to Soth with the now agonizingly painful news.
This time Soth simply raised his eyebrows expectantly, having used words to ask the question far too often.
Korinne shook her head.
Soth let out a sigh, his chest aching. He’d been able to remain optimistic by believing that when Paladine (the Great Dragon and the God of Good) wished him to have an heir, he would bless the couple with one. After all, were not the Knights of Solamnia also called the Sons of Paladine? Surely, a new “Son” for the Soth household was only a matter of time. Still, the wait grew more and more painful with each passing month.
Korinne’s eyes welled up with tears. She looked away from Soth as if asham
ed, then turned and quickly left the room.
Soth remained where he was, his words on the matter—no matter how kind—having been unable to ease her pain for many, many months now. He tried to busy himself with some task, but could not.
Korinne’s sobs could be heard echoing too loudly through the keep.
The forest was burning.
Soth looked around him and saw nothing but flames eating up the trees. He was being pushed northward, the fire at his back leaving him no other choice.
He must have been running for hours. His legs had become heavy and leaden, each step becoming that much harder to take. At last, he could not go on.
“Father?”
The voice, it was the same one as before. It belonged to his son.
“Father? Are you there? Help me!”
Soth tried to run, but his legs had grown far too tired, his body exhausted from continually running from the flames. He took two more awkward steps and fell to his knees.
“Father, why don’t you help me?”
He searched the smoke that hung over the forest like a pall and discerned movement in the distance.
It was his son, younger than before, dressed in the garb of a squire. His eyes were closed, no doubt seared by the heat and smoke of the fire. He was wandering the forest aimlessly, stepping over fallen trees and smoldering ashes, even walking at times directly toward the fire itself.
Soth opened his mouth to call out to the boy, and suddenly realized he did not know what to call him.
He didn’t know his own son’s name.
“Father! Save me!”
Soth opened his mouth once more and gagged on the thick black smoke enshrouding him like darkness incarnate.
“Father, are you there?”
He gagged and coughed on the acrid smoke. He wanted to call out, but before he could make a sound a burning tree toppled, crashing down onto the younger Soth, knocking him to the ground and setting his clothes ablaze.
As he watched the flames eat away at his son, his own flesh and blood, Soth heard the boy’s final words.
“Father, it hurts …”
Soth’s eyes shot open and he coughed to clear his throat of phlegm. He looked over to where Korinne lay. Thankfully, she was still asleep, the slight smile gracing her visage proof that she’d remained oblivious to the horrible nightmare that had haunted him yet again.
Soth rubbed his fisted hands against his sleepy eyes. It had been months since he’d had such a dream, not since he had been on the trail toward Halton. At the time he’d dismissed it as simply a product of his eagerness to do battle. But now, there had been months of calm and peaceful existence within the keep. Even the citizens of Knightlund had been cooperative, settling their minor squabbles and arguments themselves rather than wasting the valuable time of the lord of the keep.
Then what could have brought it on?
He rose from the bed, careful to leave Korinne undisturbed. Then he quickly got dressed in leggings and a tunic, and slipped into a pair of soft-soled boots so as to not make any noise as he wandered through the keep.
It was still quite early in the morning and few in the keep would be awake yet. Even the roosters had yet to begin crowing the dawning of a new day.
He slipped out of the room and ventured down to the keep’s gatehouse. The drawbridge was already down in preparation for the morning’s deliveries. Soth asked the footman on watch to raise the portcullis enough to allow him to get outside of the keep and wander the grounds.
“Alone?” asked the footman.
Soth merely glared at him. Even though it was customary to have a knight or footman accompany anyone venturing out of the keep on foot, Soth wanted very much to be alone.
The footman looked at Soth for several seconds waiting for an answer. Then, realizing he wouldn’t be getting one, he said, “Yes, milord.” He began turning the winding gear that slowly lifted the portcullis. Soth crouched down and ducked under the still-rising portcullis, then walked across the heavy wooden bridge, his feet making no sounds against its planks.
He stopped at one side of the bridge and looked down into the chasm below. It was dark and foreboding, like the open maw of a dragon might appear when viewed from close up. There were several pebbles on the bridge. Soth nudged one toward the edge and finally over the side. He listened carefully, but did not hear the stone hit bottom.
He moved on, crossing the bridge and heading toward the small garden kept on the grounds. After the wedding, flowers and trees and shrubs had been planted on the site and now, almost a year later, the plants were beginning to bloom. The garden was awash in bright yellows and oranges, and rich blues and greens. It was still too early for the roses, but the groundskeepers had assured him they would be a brilliant spectacle of red, white and yellow when they bloomed in a few short weeks.
The stunning rebirth of nature did little to improve Soth’s state of mind. The blossoming of new life only served to remind him of his and Korinne’s inability to do the same.
It just didn’t make any sense.
If his father, Aynkell Soth, had been able to create offspring so often—and with such apparent ease—then why not him as well? Was he not of the same flesh and blood?
And what of Korinne? Hadn’t Lord and Lady Gladria given birth to a large family, providing Korinne with several brothers and sisters, each of them with several children of their own? Why hadn’t such fertility been passed on to her as well?
For the first time since the wedding, Soth’s mind was infected by doubt.
Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in marrying Lady Korinne.
The thought hit him like the slap of a hand encased in cold, hard mail. How could I have thought such a thing? And yet it continued to haunt him, like the dreams.
He walked through the garden, smelling the flowers in the hopes that the devilish thought would fade from his memory. But instead it lingered.
He approached the small gazebo positioned in the center of the garden. It was closed off by a small gate and the gate was kept closed by a latch. Although the latch was made to accommodate a lock, it was without one. Soth opened the latch and stepped into the gazebo. As he closed the gate behind him he was reminded of a kender saying.
“Why insult a door’s purpose by locking it?”
Indeed, and why would Paladine allow them to build a nest of such love if its destiny was to be barren? Soth still believed Paladine was waiting for the proper time to give the couple children, but he was beginning to question why the Great Dragon was making them wait so long.
As he sat down on the bench inside the gazebo and watched the morning sun begin to crest the peaks of the Dargaard Mountains to the west, he felt he had an idea of what the answer might be.
Perhaps Paladine was making him pay the price for his father’s indiscretions and his own concealment of them.
The sins of the father.
They would be with him.
Always.
Soth felt a breeze blow heavily down from the mountains.
It was a cool wind and it made him shiver.
“Milord.”
Soth turned to his left. Caradoc slowly appeared out of the garden’s shadows.
“Is everything all right?” asked Soth’s seneschal, concern for his lord apparent in his voice.
“Yes, everything is fine,” said Soth. “It’s just that there’s a chill in the air this morning.” He pulled his cloak more tightly around his body to stave off the cold. “Can you feel it?”
Caradoc looked at Soth strangely. “No milord, I can’t.”
Chapter 9
The elderly mage walked casually through the streets of Istar, his yellow and white robes flowing behind, swirling over the cobblestones. Every once in a while he would glance into a store front or shop window looking at everything, but nothing in particular.
It was a strange feeling.
He had been empowered by the Kingpriest to read the minds of the people of Istar so that he could discern their evi
l thoughts. But, what was he to do about those evil thoughts after they’d been found out, and how was he to prevent them from becoming evil deeds?
On this subject the Kingpriest had been vague, leaving the matter up to the discretion of the individual mages.
Earlier in the day the mage had watched a business transaction being conducted in the marketplace on the city’s west side. A fisherman from the coastal down of Cesena had brought baskets of fish to trade for grain, sugar, spice and other necessities of life. In this particular transaction he had exchanged twenty-four fish for two bushels of grain, a poor trade given that the fish were quite fresh—even packed in ice—while the quality of the grain was rather dubious. But grain at this time of year was hard to find, especially high quality grain, so the fisherman was forced to make the trade or else do without.
After the deal had been made and the two men shook hands, the mage read the minds of each. The grain dealer was obviously happy, but the fisherman was frustrated by the deal, knowing he had given up more than he’d received.
And then … something of an evil thought.
The fisherman wished that the grain dealer would be similarly cheated in another transaction later in the day.
As he’d watch the two men part, the mage considered the fisherman’s thought.
Had it been evil?
At length, he decided it was not. It was simply wishing that the trader eventually got what he deserved. That had not been an evil thought, but rather, merely fair.
Now as he walked the streets of the industrial district, the mage stopped by the open window of a blacksmith’s shop and watched the smith as he worked.
The interior of the shop glowed orange from the light of the fire burning hotly off in one corner. Judging by the several decorative swords leaning against the wall in a neat row, the smith was busy hammering out items to be hung in one of the halls within the Temple of the Kingpriest. The hilt ends of the swords were of an elaborate design and considering the amount of effort the smith was putting into the sword currently on the anvil, quite difficult to fashion.
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