Lord Soth

by Edo Van Belkom

  The mage decided to read the smith’s mind.

  Little more there … Too much … A curve here … More … More …

  The thoughts seemed to correspond with the blows of his hammer.

  Again … Harder this time … More … Too much!

  But in addition to the simple thoughts that went along with each blow, there was also an underlying current of anger. Anger against what or whom, the mage couldn’t tell, but it was there just under the surface, ready to break through at any moment.

  Too much work for so little pay … Flatter … Harder … Again …

  Suddenly the sword the smith was working on cracked, sending pieces of hot metal flaring away like comets before sizzling against the damp stone floor of the shop.

  More time and money gone … Too much work, even for the Kingpriest …

  The smith lifted the broken sword away from the anvil and inspected the crack, and then its sharp, pointed tip.

  Perhaps it’s just sharp enough for the Kingpriest … Straight through the heart and a quick turn for good measure …

  The mage gasped at the wickedness of the thought. To kill the Kingpriest was unthinkable. The mage simply could not allow such evil thoughts to fester in the smith’s mind. And there was only one sure way to put a stop to them.

  The mage closed his eyes and began to mumble a string of unintelligible words and syllables.

  And as he did so, the smith began to sway as if he were beginning to feel dizzy. The smith shook his head slightly and closed his eyes, but still continued to sway.

  At last the mage fell silent.

  The spell had been cast.

  The smith fell forward still holding the sword in his hands.

  The hilt hit the floor and the sharp point pierced his throat, choking off his breath …

  And putting an end to all his evil thoughts.

  Chapter 10

  Sunshine-filled days and rain-swept nights provided the perfect conditions for farming, and the farmers of Solamnia were already thanking Paladine for what they expected to be a bumper crop and bountiful harvest.

  But for Lord Soth, the month of Holmswelt meant something else. Every summer the Knights of Solamnia traveled across Ansalon to meet and confer about everything from the training of squires, to the retirement of elderly knights, from the latest developments in weaponry and armor to scholarly studies of the Oath and The Measure.

  The previous year, Soth had missed the annual meeting because of preparations for the wedding and the transfer of rule of Knightlund from his father to himself. This year however, Soth had to attend because, as a leading member of the Order of the Rose, he would be more than conspicuous by his absence.

  And so, on the first day of Holmswelt, Soth and six of his loyal knights prepared for the three-day journey across the Solamnic plains to Palanthas, the great port city and the jewel of Solamnia.

  Soth had chosen to take only six knights with him—Crown knights Caradoc, Kern and Krejlgaard, and Sword knights Valcic, Vingus, and Farold—the journey being something of a reward for their outstanding conduct over the course of the past twelve months. Soth took everything into consideration when making his choices, from bravery in battle against the ogres in Halton to keeping spirits and morale high throughout the long, cold winter. He might have been able to bring more knights with him, but with a limited number attending the meeting, that would have come at the expense of other Knights of Solamnia stationed elsewhere on the continent.

  Besides, the system currently in use had proved best in terms of educating the entire knighthood. When Soth’s six knights returned to Dargaard Keep, they would instruct the others in what they had learned. In this way all the Knights of Solamnia could grow stronger while those in Palanthas wouldn’t have to scramble in order to accommodate every knight who wished to attend.

  Out of respect for the hot summer sun, Soth dressed for the journey by wearing a light tunic and leggings and covered that with lightweight leather armor. He expected little trouble on the way and indeed there had only been a few uprisings (such as the ogre attack on Halton) ever since the Kingpriest of Istar’s Proclamation of Manifest Virtue. The proclamation, made many years ago, had dealt a death blow to the minions of Evil still brave (or perhaps mad) enough to show themselves on the continent of Ansalon. At times Soth felt the Kingpriest was becoming too powerful for his own good, but that was something for clerics and politicians to decide. He was a warrior, and fought for the cause of Good in whatever guise it decided to manifest itself.

  The six knights were already mounted upon their horses and waiting patiently while Soth said goodbye to Korinne.

  “The Knights’ Meeting runs seven days. I will likely be gone twice that length of time.”

  “Take as much time as you need,” said Korinne. “No more, no less.”

  Soth nodded. Korinne was a strong woman and had proved to be an excellent wife in all but one crucial area.

  She looked at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Perhaps by the time you return—”

  Soth cut off her words by placing his right index finger to her lips. He shook his head. “It pains me to continue to be so hopeful,” he said, knowing the words would hurt Korinne, but not knowing any easier way to say them. “Perhaps it would be better for both of us if you would talk to me about children only when you are truly with child.”

  Korinne looked up at Soth, her lips pressed together to no doubt keep them from trembling. Her eyes looked wet and glassy, on the verge of tears. “Yes, milord.”

  He leaned forward to kiss her and felt her dry lips press against his cheek. He straightened up and looked at her for several moments wanting to say something but not knowing what. Finally, he turned away and mounted his horse.

  “To Palanthas!” he said.

  He led the knights slowly through the gate, under the portcullis and over the drawbridge leading out of Dargaard Keep. Although the portcullis remained up until they were well on their way and nearly out of sight of the keep, Soth never once looked back.

  “A honed broadsword, a sturdy shield and a little plate armor is all a good Knight of Solamnia ever needs in battle,” said Caradoc, riding alongside Soth as they neared the end of the first day on their journey to Palanthas. They had already discussed life in the keep, prospects of a good crop, and the charms of certain women Caradoc found “interesting.” And now they were talking about weaponry, a subject that would have much attention paid to it when they reached the Knights’ Meeting.

  Soth was of a mind that there was more to weapons than simply a broadsword and shield. While they would always be the chosen weapon of the Knights of Solamnia for close man-to-man fighting, there were other weapons in development across the continent that would prove most effective should there ever be another large-scale war.

  “A broadsword is a fine weapon,” said Soth. “No doubt about it, but the great Huma Dragonbane proved that battling certain enemies requires specialized weaponry.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caradoc, obviously not ready to fully concede his point.

  “Take elven weapons for example,” Soth continued. There were still many long hours ahead of them and conversations didn’t necessarily have to end just because the other party was partially in agreement. “I hear talk that they have developed several types of arrowheads for use with their crossbows: a narrow spiked head for piercing armor; a heavy ironwood head for bashing; a razor-sharp Y-shaped head for cutting ropes, banners, legs and arms; a flanged leaf-shaped head for inflicting the maximum amount of damage; and a “singing” head that is fitted with a hollow tube that creates a piercing shriek when it’s fired.”

  “Really?” Caradoc’s eyes opened wide, perhaps in terror of the weapon, perhaps in amazement over its ingenuity.

  “Yes, a dreadful weapon if there ever was one.”

  “I would be interested in seeing such a weapon.”

  “Eiwon van Sickle has told me that there will be examples of them on display in Palanthas. Dem
onstrations are scheduled as—”

  Soth’s words were cut off by a scream.

  A woman’s scream.

  Instinctively, all the knights stopped in their tracks and listened for the sound again.

  Moments later there was another scream, this one more faint and less sharp than the first. It was coming from somewhere up ahead and to the left. Soth looked in the direction and saw that the trail crested slightly in the distance. On the left of the trail the tops of several trees could be seen peaking over the horizon. The dip on the other side of the crest had to be fairly deep considering that the valley had given rise to a small forest in the midst of the plain.

  There was yet another scream, this one different from the first two. Obviously there was more than one woman in peril.

  Without a word, Soth gave his mount a kick in the ribs.

  The large, black horse shot forward and was quickly running at full speed toward the forest.

  And without even losing a step, the knights were right there with him, three on each side.

  Soth slowed as he came over a crest. Below he could see what looked to be an encampment. It was a small clearing at the edge of the forest, a place where many travelers had rested on the road between Palanthas and Dargaard Keep. Except these travelers were not resting. Judging by their screams, it sounded as if they were being tormented.

  But by whom?

  Soth cut to the left and headed for the edge of the forest in the hopes that the knights could reach the woods without being seen. After slowing to assess the situation, he stepped up the pace again. Time appeared to be of the essence.

  Upon reaching the edge of the forest, Soth gestured to Colm Farold to take two knights around the other side of the woods while Soth and the three remaining knights went to investigate what was going on in the clearing.

  The forest was small and in no time Soth and his knights had circled back to the clearing. When the camp came into view, things suddenly became clearer.

  Much clearer.

  Whoever had made camp had been ambushed by a small party of ogres. Soth could see one of the brutes, holding someone to the ground. The screams coming from the person beneath the ogre sounded muffled, yet the terror contained within the scream was real.

  Soth dismounted and ran to where the ogre wrestled to subdue his victim. Drawing his sword as he approached, he gave the brute a kick to the ribs to announce his arrival.

  That seemed to get the ogre’s attention.

  He rolled off his victim and onto the grass. An elderly elf-woman lay on the grass, eyes wide with fright, body trembling in fear.

  The ogre held his midsection tightly and struggled to catch his breath. When he looked up and saw Soth towering over him, he searched the ground for his weapon, but it was too far away to be of any use. Quickly he stood up and prepared to fight Soth with his bare hands.

  Soth wasn’t about to battle an unarmed opponent with his broadsword, but then what constituted a fair fight with an ogre? Thankfully, the ogre settled the matter himself by picking up a sturdy nearby branch, using it as a pike.

  The ogre thrust the branch forward, but Soth was able to deflect the blows with his shield. Then the ogre decided to sweep the ground with the branch hoping to knock Soth off his feet. Soth was able to step quickly enough to avoid the sweeping branch, then managed to go on the offensive while the ogre was bringing the branch back into position.

  Wielding his sword with a single hand, Soth brought it straight down upon the ogre. But instead of splitting the beast in two, the blow was blocked by the branch, which only chipped and splintered.

  After several near misses for each of the combatants, Soth was able to execute another overhanded blow. Again the ogre protected himself with the branch, but this time the blow broke it in two, giving the ogre two too-short clubs and rendering him once again weaponless.

  This time, however, Soth had no qualms about battling an unarmed ogre. While the ogre was still looking dumbfounded at the broken wood in his hands, Soth lunged forward running the beast through with his sword.

  After crying out in pain, the ogre looked at Soth with a mix of shock and terror for several long moments before Soth wiped the look from his face with a backhanded swipe of his shield. The ogre’s eyes suddenly glazed over and turned upward as he fell heavily to the ground.

  Dead.

  Wasting little time, Soth ran to the elderly elf-woman who had been helped off the ground by Darin Valcic and Zander Vingus. Apparently, as Soth had been finishing off the ogre, they’d made sure she wasn’t in any danger, then ventured into the forest in search of more of the foul beasts.

  “Are you all right?” Soth asked, seeing a thin line of blood running down from her pointed left ear.

  “I think so,” she nodded, her eyes staring blankly before her. “We’re on pilgrimage to Palanthas,” she said. “To become Revered Daughters of Paladine.” A sigh. “We stopped here for the night. We were just about to begin our prayers when … when … they came.”

  “How many ogres were there?” asked Soth, his voice as calm and soothing as he could make it under the circumstances.

  “Five or six. Maybe more. It was so hard to tell, they all look so much alike. Hideous, horrible …” The shock of her ordeal was beginning to settle in and she began to weep.

  Soth had to know one last thing.

  “How many in your party?”

  “Five. Myself and … four young maidens.” She drew in a sudden gasp in realization. “Oh merciful Mishakal! What’s become of them?”

  Soth knew the woman needed further comfort, but there were others in greater danger. If there were ogres in the forest, his six knights would need all the help they could get in finding and defeating them.

  “Will you be all right on your own for a short while?”

  The question seemed to give the elf-woman reason to compose herself. She sniffed once and nodded. “Go find the others. Ill be well enough.”

  “Good,” said Soth, rising up and heading into the forest.

  “There’s two of them over there,” said Colm Farold, pointing to a small clearing just through the trees.

  “Three,” said Wersten Kern, pointing to the right side of the clearing.

  “So there are.”

  Kris Krejlgaard came up behind the two knights after circling the clearing. “It looks as if they’ve captured a group of elf-maidens. Two of the women are tied to trees just past those bushes. They appear to be unharmed, but it’s hard to tell from a distance.”

  “Any other ogres?” asked Farold.

  “Not in the immediate area,” answered Krejlgaard. “I heard some voices in that direction, but Caradoc was over that way and further along should be Valcic and Vingus.”

  “Very well then,” nodded Farold. “We’ll sweep through the woods in that direction once we’re done here. Did you see any weapons?”

  “A few clubs and swords, maybe some daggers. Nothing out of the ordinary for ogres.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There’s a formidable foul stench downwind of them. It burned my eyes and seared my throat.”

  Farold turned to Krejlgaard and gave a little smile. “All right then. There are some maidens in distress. Let’s save them, shall we?”

  The three knights rose up proudly, drew their swords and rushed into the clearing with a loud, sharp battle cry.

  There was the sound of running water up ahead. That seemed strange to Caradoc because he hadn’t seen any creeks or streams cutting through the forest.

  He took two more cautious steps forward, using his broadsword to part the overhanging branches ahead of him.

  And then there he was.

  An ogre.

  Relieving himself against a tree.

  The ogre’s weapons were lying on the ground several feet away. Caradoc laughed inwardly at the sight. Such a vulnerable position for an ogre to find himself in—for any warrior to find himself in for that matter.

  He took a few more steps
toward the ogre and smacked his hairy behind with the flat side of his broadsword.

  “Ow!” cried the ogre, turning around to see which of his fellows had been so brazen. When he saw Caradoc he was suddenly in a hurry to finish relieving himself, but his body didn’t seem to be cooperating.

  Caradoc couldn’t help but laugh at the ugly brute as he struggled to finish his business while he hurriedly tried to collect his weapons off the ground.

  “If you were at all familiar with the Oath and the Measure,” said Caradoc, a bit of smug confidence to his voice, “you would know that it is against the Knights of Solamnia’s code of ethics to battle an unarmed opponent in anything other than a fair fight.”

  The ogre seemed to be comforted to hear this and calmly went about finishing his business against the tree.

  The beast’s sudden casual demeanor angered Caradoc. It was obvious that the ogres had attacked innocent and defenseless travelers, robbing and looting them, and Paladine only knows what else. In just a few moments they had turned an otherwise peaceful journey into a nightmare of horrors. And now the ogre thought he’d be getting a fighting chance just because the knights happened to be governed by a strict and chivalric code. Well, it was obvious to Caradoc that the ogres lived by no such honorable code of conduct, so why should he be bound by honor in a fight with one of them?

  “But since you’ve probably never even heard of the Oath and the Measure,” Caradoc continued, his voice now edged with a hint of contempt. “I see no good reason why I should remain bound to it.”

  Caradoc immediately raised his sword and swung it from left to right, the sharp cutting edge leading the way.

  Almost at once, the ogre’s head became separated from its shoulders. It spun in the air and hit the ground with a thud, its mouth open and its eyes wide in a look of utter surprise.

  A moment later, the ogre’s great body fell to the ground like a tree, covering the upturned head and face with its trunk.

  “Stupid savage,” said Caradoc, wiping his bloody sword on some of the leaves around him.